Now they'd pay a king's ransom.
Cheng Shuili stashed the fragments, a grin splitting her face as she roared down the highway. She'd called it—Glory's crew would snap up the beastman town info, lured by its promise of instant value.
Soon, they'd hit the wall: no game coins, no entry. Useless intel.
When they came crawling back, she'd name her price.
Her mood soared, and she cranked the cart's throttle to the max. Burn that battery before dark—make the upgrade count. Humming a jaunty tune, she barreled forward.
Weirdly, once she committed to speed, not a single chest spawned. Like the universe was cheering her hustle. Only as dusk bled across the sky did she pull over. Night driving was suicide—monsters didn't attack, but each evening, they slunk closer, their dense, shadowy packs radiating menace. Pure nightmare fuel.
Crouching by the cart, she fused 25 fragments into a vehicle upgrade material, same as before. The system pinged:
Electric Shopping Cart Level 2 to 3 Upgrade Options:
1. Vehicle Upgrade Material x1, Iron Blocks x10, Nails x40, Insulation Material x2, Thermal Material x2, Plastic x4, Rubber x2, Wire x1.
2. Vehicle Upgrade Material x1, Vehicle Upgrade Core x1.
Double the materials from last time, plus a wire. Upgrades were getting hungrier.
She picked option one. Level 3 wasn't a milestone, and another silver chest was unlikely. No need to burn her precious core—snagging server-first last time was worth it.
Inventory brimming, she laid out the materials and hit upgrade. Ten minutes.
Propping her chin, she waited, patient as stone.
The cart hummed, then transformed. The cargo bay doubled, the driver's seat sprouted a steering wheel and foot brake, shedding its shopping cart roots. A sleek roof capped it, storage bins lined the sides, and a double-layered windshield promised silence and safety.
The real prize? A compact kitchen nook—mini induction stove, tiny fridge. A socket gleamed nearby, with a panel for battery swaps. That's why the wire.
[Congratulations, player Cheng Shuili, vehicle upgrade successful! Current level: 3.]
[Vehicle storage expanded to 500kg, top speed increased to 60 km/h.]
Cheng Shuili buzzed. The empty fridge would soon cradle fresh food; the low-watt stove could handle noodles or leftovers. "Talk about an upgrade!" she crowed.
She checked the next level's fragment cost: 125.
Her jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me?"
A hundred-fragment leap? Why not just mug me? Her 25 were extorted—grinding to 125 was a pipe dream. Shaking her head, she sighed, giving the sleek cart a wry smirk. Fine, she was still light-years ahead.
Night swallowed the wasteland. Locking the doors, she flopped onto the upgraded sofa, a touch smug, and flicked open the regional channel. The chatter buzzed—loot brags, monster gripes, team-up talks.
She itched to post but held back. Low profile, big profits.
Planning to cook, she didn't need gourmet—just edible. As she moved to close the channel, a familiar ID flashed.
[Strawberry Hard Candy]: Anyone got antidote? High price to buy.
[Strawberry Hard Candy]: Anyone got antidote, I'll trade all my loot.
He spammed desperately.
Cheng Shuili scanned her inventory. Meds were unicorns. Antidotes? She hadn't even seen aspirin.
[Little Panda]: Who's got that stuff?
[iMoney Expert]: Bro, spill why you need antidote. Share with the class.
[Strawberry Hard Candy]: Got bit by a monster in a chest. Wound's purple. After injury, using loot triggers system diagnosis. It says take an antidote.
[Purple Yam Ball]: That's legit, thanks bro, hope you recover soon.
[ALS]: Never seen it, or I'd save you. Try DMing the big shots—they might have more loot.
Cheng Shuili's brow creased. She opened her private chat with Strawberry Hard Candy, their last trade glaring back. She started typing, but his avatar dimmed.
Gone.
The channel noticed too.
[ALS]: Sigh, didn't make it.
Her fingers froze over the panel, eyes locked on his grayed-out ID. "Just… gone?" she whispered, trade logs flickering in her mind. He was all bluster and deals, but a living person.
Outside, the night was a void, the crimson sky devoured by darkness, only a few stars daring to blink. Monsters loomed closer, their murky forms swaying, low growls icing her spine.
"Everything 50% off! Everything 50% off!" The cart's speaker screeched, shattering the silence.
Cheng Shuili bolted upright, heart hammering, sweat slicking her brow. Not from the monsters—they didn't attack, not yet. It was Strawberry Hard Candy's death, a gut-punch reminder: this game was a meat grinder, far crueler than she'd grasped.
"Antidote…" she muttered, pulling up her inventory. No drugs, barely any medical scraps. If poison hit her next…