Chapter Seven: When You Really Can't Hold Back

[Hard Black Bread*2 + Slightly Rotten Venison*1 + Level 3 Water = Sweet Venison Porridge*1 (a pot’s worth, an excellent tonic for replenishing energy and blood, enough to restore one’s vitality!)]

As expected, black bread is best eaten through the synthesizer; even without venison, you can make porridge, and the effect is far superior to just bread—otherwise, you’d probably end up dead in your own house for nothing...

Colin muttered to himself, suspecting that simply on the first day, many people’s fates had already been sealed.

Without dwelling on it, Colin turned to his two subordinates whose eyes were practically glowing. He ladled a bowl for each:

“Fifteen minutes. Eat, and then we’ll continue our exploration.”

Holding the steaming, fragrant venison porridge personally served by their lord, the two servants were moved to tears.

In their blurred memories, as slaves, they had to toil all day just for a morsel of food that wouldn’t even fill their stomachs, and in exchange—under the crack of the whip—they’d get a piece of bread, likely moldy, sour, and mixed with dirt.

Until now, both had assumed Colin would grant them the bread.

That hard, black bread.

Even if it was hard as stone, to them it was still a rare delicacy.

Because it was truly free of mold and stench, and likely without even a trace of grit.

But neither could have imagined Colin would let them drink porridge—not the kind with barely a grain of rice floating in it!

Even better, there was meat in it.

As the sweet porridge was sucked into their mouths, its aroma and vitality filled their hearts; for the first time, the servants felt the beauty of life.

Yet as they ate, their eyes grew red and wet, the muscles around their mouths tensed and ached, and they felt a rising urge to cry.

Gratitude and emotion overwhelmed them.

...Three minutes passed; it seemed all was well. Colin observed their personal information, and seeing no unusual status effects—no [Poisoned], no [Unconscious], or the like—he finally relaxed and drank his own thick porridge.

He couldn’t quite understand why a “Suffering Subject—Confessor Priest” would yield venison, but that didn’t stop him from eating.

He simply had to be cautious.

At that moment, Colin heard his two servants, voices hoarse, say, “Lord, you are truly a good man.”

The words came from their hearts, untainted by any system prompt.

“Is...is that so...” Colin glanced at the pot of porridge, feeling somewhat guilty.

After each had their bowl, about half a bowl remained in the stone pot.

Colin seemed to recall something and turned to Servant Two, looking at the deep, palm-length wound on his arm:

“You were injured for my sake. There’s only half a bowl left; it’s all yours—focus on healing.”

When he’d been caught in “mental confusion,” that “Aberrant Entity” had attacked him, but Servant Two had bravely shielded him.

Don’t be fooled by Colin’s later heroics; without Servant Two, he’d certainly have been injured, if not worse.

Thus, Servant Two’s arm was wounded.

Whatever else, rewards and punishments must be clear.

So Colin wasn’t stingy.

“Lord, how can I accept this? To fight and die for you is a servant’s duty. The priority is to ensure your stamina...”

Servant Two tried to refuse, but under Colin’s “stern” gaze, he ate three big bowls with tears streaming down his face.

“I wonder how the other survivors are doing now.”

Colin had a habit of reading something while eating; he pulled out a scroll made of unknown leather and started scrolling.

He savored the venison porridge while browsing the regional chat channel.

“I’m so hungry, my throat is about to catch fire. I’m begging for food—give me anything, I’ll do whatever you want, sob sob...”

“Sorry, can’t help you. No one knows how to light a lamp yet, so there’s no way to go out exploring, let alone share food.”

“Sigh, I knew nobody would really say it. With a thousand people in each region, this is a game of life and death—who would be so kind?”

“If you really can’t bear it, girl, you can eat the servants. They won’t fight back...”

“They’re living beings, how could I eat them? What if, what if...”

“What if you catch the stomach virus?”

“Just don’t eat their brains...”

“But, they? Are your two servants female? Then you must be a girl—otherwise you wouldn’t have female servants...Sigh, seems I’ve acquired more useless knowledge.”

“Eh, a girl? Not interested anymore.”

“Just eat, don’t hesitate. If you don’t, you’ll end up like that survivor in the world channel, starved to death. Survive one more day if you can, everyone, hang in there...”

“Don’t bluff and scare people into cannibalism! I’m telling you, nobody dies of hunger on the first day—everyone’s stamina is the same, only after tonight might someone starve...”

“I want to eat black bread, want to drink water...”

“..........Get lost.”

...

The discussion veered again to cannibalism...Colin’s lips twitched, his stomach churning.

He wondered who had started this trend, turning the chat channel into a cesspool.

But Colin knew most were just venting; as long as you stayed inside the wooden cabin, your stamina wouldn’t deplete too drastically.

At least, making it to nightfall shouldn’t be a problem.

So, before then, the vast majority wouldn’t go to such extremes. As for the few who might, Colin had no idea.

“Come to think of it, since this is a global game, with billions of people, even if only a hundredth of a percent discovered how to light a lamp, that’s at least ten thousand people. Out of ten thousand, not a single one is willing to share the method? Or perhaps, speaking out triggers some warning or...erasure?”

Colin frowned, pondering, but found no clues, no hints, no answers.

Forget it; better to have another sip of porridge to steady his nerves.

After finishing his porridge, Colin opened his [Backpack] to check his spoils.

He could have reviewed his gains while eating, but remembering some of it was human flesh, he refrained.

After all, he wasn’t a medical student with nerves of steel—he couldn’t dissect and eat at the same time.

On ordinary days, Colin barely dared to kill a chicken.

Yet, the chat channel was no better than the backpack.

“The ‘Filthy Bones’ and ‘Corrupt Meat Chunks’ are almost useless...”

Colin looked them over; unlike venison, these came from the “Confessor Priest.”

The prompts said bones could be ground to powder for fertilizer, and the meat chunks, if cooked, could be eaten like venison, though they might upset the stomach...

The issue was, the “Confessor Priest” was clearly human in life—how could he stomach eating that?

And using human bone ash as fertilizer—far more potent than dung or urine.

Still, Colin didn’t discard them; in case he was truly driven to the brink of desperation...