Chapter 132: Value

In the silent forest, the leaves trembled slightly, as if shivering in response to the carnage unfolding beneath them.

"My son's kin, my son's kin..." Wang Hai muttered, his eyes bloodshot, appearing completely deranged as he paced among the prey tied to the trees. In his eyes, these people were merely tools, medicine intended to save his son; they were certainly not his equals.

"Faster, better," he whispered, his gaze settling on the frail young man from before. He gripped a sharp hacksaw and demanded, "You are smart. Tell me, which three should I choose?"

"I will not be your accomplice," the frail young man replied, shaking his head. "If you want to kill me, go ahead. I only have a month to live anyway."

Wang Hai snarled, "If you don't speak, everyone will die!"

The others chimed in, pleading, "Yes, tell him! Better that three people die than all of us!" But those who spoke did not include the people who resembled Wang Hai’s son, for they knew they were likely among the targets.

The frail young man felt a sense of helplessness. He understood their will to live—many people, unless burdened by extreme suffering, possessed a tenacious desire to survive, wanting to live even if only for one more day. He knew clearly that if he didn't speak, Wang Hai would surely choose the wrong people, likely killing over twenty individuals before finally hitting the three who held the keys.

"Child, those three are already doomed to die," an old man suddenly spoke up. "Don't hesitate any longer. Just tell him; they cannot escape this fate."

Wang Hai glared at him, his eyes filled with anxiety. If he had simply wanted to save his son and leave, he wouldn't have needed all this trouble; he could have just sawed through the trees. But that would have been meaningless, as his son’s terminal illness meant he had only half a year left to live—a painful half-year at that. He had to perform, to display his cruelty, his cold-bloodedness, and his madness, hoping that would satisfy the demon and cure his son. He even felt a sliver of gratitude for the situation; no matter how cruel, it was at least an opportunity. In the peaceful world, millions lay in hospitals waiting to die, including the rich and powerful, yet they remained helpless. He would be a father like no other!

The frail young man was silent for a moment before speaking laboriously: "I can only identify two of your son's kin now..."

...

Meanwhile, deep in the forest, the mysterious entity orchestrating the killing game found itself powerless, trapped and torn apart by five trees. Its true form was a locust tree, and on its rough, mottled trunk grew a hideous young face, currently twisted in disbelief.

"How hateful! How could you steal the power bestowed upon me by the Sovereigns?" the face cried out. "Is my performance not spectacular enough? Have the Sovereigns abandoned me?"

The young face felt its power rapidly fading. The trees that had once obeyed its commands were now turning against it.

...

At that moment, its body was being shredded by the five trees. To ordinary people, it was a god capable of orchestrating death games, a source of pure terror. But before the Sovereigns it spoke of, it was merely the lowliest slave. It had deceived itself into believing it was granting humanity a glimmer of hope, joining an organization of like-minded individuals to justify its actions. It never expected to be crushed so easily by others.

"I was too weak. I should have been ruthless sooner. I should have abandoned my useless conscience; if I had killed more people and performed better for the Sovereigns, I wouldn't be in this state!" Even in the face of death, it regretted not having been more thorough in its evil.

"Indeed, I should have killed you sooner. Otherwise, he would surely have been in danger," the five trees spoke in unison, their voices simple and direct. They pulled outward simultaneously.

"Aaaah!"

...

"Aaaah!"

Wang Hai, about to strike and embody the real-world version of Jigsaw from another dimension, was startled by the sudden, piercing scream over his walkie-talkie. The scream continued, filled with unimaginable agony; the one who had intended to make others perform bloody plays to please his master was now tasting the blood himself.

"That's the evil one's scream! He's dying!" someone exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, judging by the sound, his death will be far more painful than ours," the frail young man noted.

Wang Hai, who had been preparing to strike, froze. The courage he had finally mustered evaporated completely. People were like this: under intense pressure, they might even weep while digging graves for their own kin to survive, but once that pressure was removed, they quickly collapsed, reverting to ordinary people.

"I'm sorry, son, I couldn't do it..." he knelt on the ground.

"Old man, stop crying! Let us go!" someone shouted.

The frail young man’s expression shifted, but he soon closed his eyes in exhaustion, shaking his head without saying another word. Bullying the weak and fearing the strong was human nature, but they forgot that when an honest man snaps, he becomes even more terrifying—he becomes a man-eater.

"That's right, brother. Your son is beyond saving, and we still want to live a few more days..."

In an instant, all their ugly sides were laid bare.

Wang Hai cried, and then his eyes turned red. "My son is going to die. He cannot go on the journey alone. There are ghosts now; I need to find someone to accompany him!" He finished his sentence and brought the hacksaw down hard!

"Ah! What are you doing? Stop!"

...

"Why, why are there only two notes?"

Wang Hai searched frantically. Only three people remained alive in the clearing: himself, his thirty-year-old son, and the frail young man.

"The last one must be on you. I'm sorry, kid. I know you're the only kind-hearted one here, but you have to die too!" Wang Hai’s bloodshot eyes and blood-stained hands moved toward the frail young man.

The young man felt no fear, only shaking his head: "The reason you did this just now wasn't just for revenge or to find your son a companion. Perhaps it started that way, but later, you just wanted to keep pleasing the Sovereigns the mysterious one spoke of, didn't you?"

"It's a pity. I don't care about my life anymore, but I want to tell you: you will not succeed."

Wang Hai refused to believe it. "Why? I acted so quickly!"

"Because the second part of the hint says that the last of your son's kin is himself... The note isn't in my stomach. You know this clearly. His kin—the two people you already took notes from—were middle-aged men around his age, in their thirties, and terminally ill. Although I am sick, I am not even twenty. The age gap is too large," the frail young man explained.

"I don't believe it! That's impossible!" Wang Hai shouted.

"But it is the truth, because that is the best way to please those demons," the young man said earnestly.

"You seem very smart, don't you?" A fierce female voice suddenly echoed from a blood-drenched tree. "That's right, the last note was indeed hidden in his son's stomach. I saw that guy feed it to him with my own eyes."

"It's you! You demon, you've been watching the whole time?" The frail young man's face changed.

"Supreme Sovereign, please, save my son!" Wang Hai immediately knelt and begged.

"Hey, I just said you were smart, but now you're even trying to frame people? You disappoint me," the fierce female voice said, sounding somewhat frustrated.

"Oh, so you aren't one of them..." the frail young man sneered. "But just from the fact that you watched the whole thing without intervening to save anyone, I know you aren't a good person either."

"Ugh, there is only one good person left in this world. I don't have the fortune to play that role," the voice said with mock regret. "So, you were testing me just now? It seems saving you is worth it after all."

"Saving me has no value to you," the young man shook his head. "I could have lived for a month, but after all this, I'll be lucky to last another week."

"Not necessarily. I couldn't do it before, but for me now, it's a trivial matter of growing a few more blades of grass on you," the voice said with apparent patience.

A glimmer of hope rose in the young man's eyes. His previous fearlessness and indifference were built on the premise of impending death; now that he heard he could actually live, he suddenly didn't want to die. If not pushed to the brink, who would ever choose to die?