“Have some manners! Have some manners!” Luo Shang discontentedly knocked on the armrest of his wheelchair.
This wheelchair was still the “Eternal” one that had accompanied him for eight hours.
Ever since Su Mingyao and Su Bingyao had reported the anomaly with this wheelchair, Su Bingyao had single-handedly decided that as long as Luo Shang remained here for even one second, this wheelchair would belong to him.
At least this way, they no longer had to face the absurd situation of “destroying the world because the wheelchair broke.”
“Eternal” truly lived up to its name as “eternal,” and only something “eternal” could withstand a great god like Luo Shang.
Because of this matter, Su Bingyao had even sent a message to the wheelchair manufacturer. The gist was that they no longer needed to customize the particularly sturdy wheelchair he had requested, and to cancel the previous order—after returning from the Void for the second time, Su Bingyao had placed an order with the wheelchair seller for a model that was especially durable and could reach speeds of eighty kilometers per hour without falling apart. Unexpectedly, Luo Shang had resolved the wheelchair issue himself, so naturally, he didn’t need to spend that money anymore.
“Eternal” was the exclusive name that Su Bingyao and Su Mingyao had given this wheelchair. No matter how Luo Shang knocked on it or with how much force he used, it wouldn’t break.
Now, whenever Su Bingyao and Su Mingyao watched Luo Shang knock on the wheelchair’s armrest, their moods remained perfectly calm. They only wondered if his hand might hurt.
“Is it necessary to get so worked up?” Luo Shang asked.
“Look at what you’ve done to these ordinary people—you’ve scared them half to death.”
When he opened his mouth to speak, the guests below the stage immediately ceased their commotion, waiting only for him to deliver the final judgment.
Sophia glared hatefully at these humans who had caused her to miss out on the Peach Pit from the Peaches of Immortality. The resentment of a Half-Lich was itself the strongest curse—ordinary people who encountered it would die instantly, and it would implicate three generations of their blood relatives both upward and downward (since those cursed often couldn’t produce a fourth generation of descendants), as well as the five surrounding clans of relatives.
But Luo Shang had applied an Entropy Reduction energy field over this area, weakening all idealistic Supernatural Abilities to 90% of their original strength.
On top of that, this was inherently a Low Spiritual Energy World, with the spiritual energy medium in the air being exceedingly scarce.
The Half-Lich’s vicious curse, which could originally make people drop dead in an instant, had been diminished to the point where it could only make these people sneeze.
Now, she had become someone who made anyone she glared at sneeze. As her gaze swept around the room, sneezes erupted one after another, creating a somewhat comical scene.
The guests had originally tried to hold them back, but there are only three things in the world that can’t be hidden—and unfortunately, sneezes were one of them.
Luo Shang also realized that this was disrespectful to a Half-Lich mage, especially since he would soon have a favor to ask of her. Thus, he immediately pressed his hand downward, strengthening the Entropy Reduction effect.
Then, even the guests’ sneezes stopped.
“As expected of the Lord of All Entropies,” Sophia said sarcastically.
High entropy equated to chaos, while low entropy equated to order. The use of Supernatural Abilities inherently accelerated the rate of Entropy Increase—especially idealistic magic, where reality bent to one’s will and caused Entropy Increase to skyrocket.
Therefore, as long as Luo Shang capped the local rate of Entropy Increase at a certain threshold, many Supernatural Abilities were naturally locked down tight.
“I haven’t reached that rank yet,” Luo Shang said, waving his hand dismissively.
“Since when have you been so gentle with these ordinary people?”
Sophia looked at him. She had been thwarted multiple times by these ordinary people—not only forced to restrain her own abilities, but also deprived of that Peach Pit benefit. If Luo Shang hadn’t stopped her, this city would have long since become her undead domain.
It was precisely because she remembered that Luo Shang wasn’t an extremist from the Absolute Ordinary People Protection Alliance that she hadn’t bothered to restrain her aura or state!
Yet now, he was the one adopting this stance.
This left Sophia feeling aggrieved and sparking a bit of curiosity in her.
“Have you joined that organization?”
Luo Shang knew exactly which organization she meant.
That was the Absolute Ordinary People Protection Alliance, infamous throughout the Reincarnation Space for ages. The group advocated treating the ordinary inhabitants of mission worlds a little better—not using them as cannon fodder, and instead protecting them with absolute friendliness and care.
This principle was a good one, but the Reincarnation Space was no ordinary place. The high-level Players inside were, to varying degrees, somewhat mentally unstable.
The founder of the Absolute Ordinary People Protection Alliance was no exception. She possessed a twisted perception and extreme goodwill—that originally noble intention had warped in the process, unleashing an evil far surpassing mere goodwill.
To raise awareness and vigilance for ordinary people protection, they frequently launched terrorist attacks on other Players. Over time, the organization devolved into an extremist faction, utterly notorious among Players…
They weren’t short on manpower. Every year, a steady stream of new players were tricked into joining because their cause sounded so noble. Most players’ families consisted of ordinary people, and if the alliance ran smoothly, it would offer them significant protection.
But those who stayed long enough would eventually discover what the Absolute Ordinary People Protection Alliance truly was. By then, however, it would be far too late…
“No… I have some personal matters to attend to,” Luo Shang emphasized again. He was starting to grow impatient.
He had already said it was personal. Why was she prying like this?
He hadn’t even told Ke Yanjin, worried it might trigger a reaction in him. There was no way he would share it with Sophia, who was just a casual friend.
“Whatever. It’s already come to this, so let’s deal with it quickly. With you here, it’ll be much easier.”
Sophia reined in her aura of death, the crimson soulfire in her pupils shifting into the ordinary black-and-white eyes of a young girl.
“Little Shang, are you really going to kill us?”
It had been a long time since Su Bingyao had heard Luo Shang’s heart voice, and with no idea what he was thinking, he boldly spoke up.
From the heart voices he’d heard before, Su Bingyao knew he held the highest favorability with Luo Shang. If anyone was going to ask, it had to be him.
Luo Shang looked down at him.
“No, what I meant was to have her help handle your memory problem.”
“You guys really know how to jump to conclusions,” Luo Shang said, speechless.
“Ah?” The other guests fell silent.
What? Handle our memories? You could have just said that! Don’t make it sound like you’re about to murder and dismember us!
Recalling the chaotic, embarrassing spectacle from moments ago—even veterans like the Head of the Song Family, whose thick skin had been forged in over a decade of business battles—couldn’t help but cringe at their own behavior.
“Sophia, I’ll leave it to you to handle their memories in a bit,” Luo Shang said.
“I’ll pay you separately for this. To restore their vitality, just soak the peach pit in some water and have them drink it. Too much and it’ll burst them open. You can keep the remaining pit.”
“Understood.” The news improved Sophia’s mood, her expression no longer quite so dour.
Luo Shang turned to Su Bingyao. “She’s more skilled at smashing your brains and turning you into her skeleton soldiers or zombies, but she’s also a true master in the mental domain—unlike a half-baked novice like me. That said, if any of you would rather die, I can oblige.”
Su Bingyao doubted anyone wanted that.
“Thank you, thank you,” he said repeatedly.
“No need for thanks,” Luo Shang replied, rubbing his temples.
This mess had stemmed from his purchase in the first place. If his home weren’t so remote—where messages often failed to send due to the distance—he wouldn’t have needed to be so terse, and none of this would have happened.
But thanks were in order regardless. Luo Shang was a being of immense power who hadn’t simply crushed them outright. The very fact that he had opted for memory alteration over extermination was reason enough for gratitude.
Compared to the monsters in the Reincarnation Space, Little Shang really was a kind soul, Su Bingyao thought, completely unaware of the budding Stockholm syndrome Luo Shang had subtly cultivated in him.
Luo Shang reached into the void and pulled out a peach pit. Sophia’s eyes locked onto it instantly, staring without blinking. Even the scattered bones of the bone dragon on the ground stopped rolling.
He then grabbed a cup of water from a nearby table, tossed the pit in, swirled it around a couple of times, fished it out, and threw it to Sophia.
She caught it hastily and carefully stowed it away in her spatial pouch.
“Feed this to them—one spoonful per person should do,” Luo Shang instructed.
“No problem. I’ll handle it.”
With the promise of extra payment—though it had been agreed upon earlier—Sophia set to work with unusual enthusiasm.
With a wave of her hand, the bone dragon’s remains reassembled into individual skeleton soldiers. They took the cup from Luo Shang’s hand, scooped out spoonfuls using spoons fashioned from bone, and dashed off to force-feed the guests.
The guests didn’t dare refuse and swallowed it down.
Some gulped it like poison, faces twisted in agony. Others, upon hearing it was water infused with a pit from the Peaches of Immortality, were so eager they nearly licked the bone spoons clean—much to the disgust of their skeletal feeders.
“With so many people, modifying their memories one by one would be too tedious. How about this approach?” Sophia suggested. “I’ll shatter this memory segment and hide the pieces, creating blank spots. Then I’ll bury their fear and other emotions deeper. Tonight, the fragments will erupt as nightmares, triggering the fear. By morning, they’ll just think it was a terrifying dream.”
