Pirate Phantom
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[AR] Chapter 12: Until the Last Drop of Blood
🕑 Added 2025-08-08 07:42:33 +0000 UTCAfter some rest, everyone had recovered their strength. But the so-called “weapons” they had taken from the activity room were already falling apart. Most were so flimsy they were good only for a sense of security. Only Xintong’s iron rod and Tian Bo’s already-damaged homemade spear were still usable.
“Come to think of it… why does junior Fengling carry a dagger everywhere? And why does she look so natural when using it?”
Xintong had noticed this before, but the memory of Fengling driving the blade into a Corrupted Vanguard’s skull came back to her.
Fengling stepped down from Luo Yuan’s shoulder, her fingers brushing the dangerous dagger.
“Well… I use it to relieve stress when I’m unhappy.”
Her words made both Xintong and Luo Yuan uneasy. Xintong imagined a lonely girl using self-harm to stay sane. Luo Yuan, meanwhile, found his gaze drawn oddly to the dagger’s handle.
Fengling’s cheeks flushed. She nudged Luo Yuan with her elbow, then looked at her senpai.
“Just as you’re thinking, Senpai. But now…”
She glanced at Luo Yuan, thinking this was a good chance to raise her favor with him.
“With Luo Yuan here, I don’t need it anymore.”
She smiled innocently, though Luo Yuan’s mind still drifted back to his earlier, less-innocent guess.
She didn’t stop him from imagining things. If she wanted this emotional stone to finally crack, she needed to plant the seeds early.
That dagger held many memories. Even in her last life, up to the very end, she had kept using it.
It wasn’t a divine weapon — just an ordinary industrial product — but it had been stained with her aura and the blood of countless monsters. That alone had raised it far above its origins.
After she took the seed and became female, she had needed pain to suppress her mental collapse. Centuries of being nourished by her blood turned the dagger into a true peerless weapon. Still, its short length made it impractical for normal combat, so she used it mostly for ambushes… or as a staff.
Yes, a staff — not the improper kind, but a medium for amplifying and finely controlling her powers. In fact, Collapse, the final technique that melted away all disasters and beauty in the world, had been cast using it as a staff.
Since her rebirth, she had been nurturing it again, soaking it in jars of her blood whenever it wasn’t in use, even using it in “improper” staff mode to further strengthen it.
Its growth now was far faster than in her previous life — already as strong as it had been ten days after she lost Luo Yuan back then.
By the time she came back from her thoughts, the group had finished searching for supplies. They hadn’t taken too much, knowing it could slow them down.
“Let’s go. We keep moving toward the stadium,” Xintong told them.
Still caught up in the joy of having food again, the others sighed and reluctantly followed.
Luo Yuan and Fengling were last to leave. She stopped at the counter, scanned a payment code, and paid for everything they had taken. Luo Yuan looked at her with curiosity, but her face was solemn.
“Until the last drop of blood,” she whispered in English. Her eyes held no sadness or numbness over the collapse of order — only a soldier’s resolve.
“What are you doing?” Luo Yuan asked. She’d never been the overly lawful type. In the apocalypse, such things seemed meaningless.
“Luo Yuan, do you think breaking order and taking things like this is acceptable?” she asked.
“It’s not moral… but in the apocalypse, it’s understandable,” he replied. After all, human treachery was the norm now.
“Yes. It’s excusable. No one can truly condemn it,” she said, her gaze firming. “But it must never be considered right, and it must never become normal. Humanity is neither wholly good nor wholly evil, but civilization is what lets us rise above ourselves. Whether in the apocalypse or in human affairs, this must never be the end of our path toward a future.”
Her long hair swayed in the doorway’s breeze. The setting sun lit her dark brown eyes like a starry sky.
“Because the world is imperfect, because dreams are always out of reach, idealists must fight for beauty and for dreams. War is fought so that war will end. In the apocalypse, we face the worst in human nature so that it will not have to surface again,” she told Luo Yuan — the man who, in her previous life, would become the greatest idealist.
“Though darkness clings to humanity, some will fight for the other side of the ideal — until the last drop of blood.”
She thought of the ones who fought until the very end in her last life. Even after losing their leader, Luo Yuan, and having headquarters destroyed, they resisted in every corner of the world for decades. One person’s fall could not make humanity kneel. Even after the cruel assassination she relived in her nightmares, humans perished without ever surrendering.
Ahead of her, Luo Yuan suddenly felt the “frail” girl seemed like someone else — a great warrior who, even after crushing losses and losing every comrade, still stood to fight despair again and again.
Just as she had whispered — until the last drop of blood.
Luo Yuan almost teased her for being chūnibyō, but this time, it didn’t feel right.
“Just words. Don’t think too much. Let’s go — Senpai is waiting,” she said, ending the topic. But a seed had been planted in him — a will that could make even gods tremble.
Ha… I’m such a liar, Fengling scolded herself. She was a petty, inhuman monster, yet she’d spoken as if she belonged among the truly great.
But… someone who could lead humanity for decades after losing the one they loved, watch the world collapse into despair, and still survive a century to take revenge on an evil god — could that ever be just a selfish, cowardly girl?
The two rejoined the group. Fengling’s sharp aura faded, replaced by her usual self.
They kept moving toward the stadium.
In front of the lab building, they ran into more Corrupted Vanguards — the earliest infected. Even with many having gone to the dormitory mother-nest to deliver and evolve, there were still over a dozen here.
Xintong hadn’t expected so many on this route. Corrupted Vanguards were stronger than the average unarmed human. Without better weapons or greater numbers, passing them was nearly impossible.
Worse, one held a fire axe. Its crude handling showed it had basic weapon skills, and its healed bite marks told Fengling what it was — an E-class Corrupted Vanguard.
In her last life, E-class Vanguards had been the backbone of infected hordes. Their minds were simple but not gone. They could follow the mother-nest’s orders to break through defenses humans thought safe.
In short — they were in danger.
“Hold on. I see more than ten Vanguards, and one has an axe…” Fengling saw them and quickly moved to the front, pretending to peek around the corner as she warned the group.
“An axe... Our weapons are too damaged to match them,” Xintong said.
Luo Yuan scanned their surroundings for an opening — and spotted one.
“Senpai, look over there.”
They saw a weed-choked dead-end with a shut iron door.
“I came here once during a practicum. It’s the lab’s side entrance. Normally it’s locked, except during training sessions. Inside are welding tools, lathes, presses — I learned the basics. Making simple melee weapons would be easy,” Luo Yuan explained.
The others hadn’t expected this lucky find. This school, once a joint project between Huaxia and the old Soviet Union, had been the province’s biggest heavy-industry training facility. Though its prestige had faded, the infrastructure remained. With skill and materials, it could even serve as a small arms workshop.
“But how do we get in…” Xintong’s gaze drifted toward Fengling.
“Leave it to me,” Fengling said, feigning timid pride.
“I’m starting to wonder what kind of life you lived before school,” Tian Bo muttered.
“It’s nothing… and don’t look at me like that. I’m not some career burglar. Just a coincidence,” she said, lying twice — she couldn’t actually pick locks, and she was indeed dangerous.
She peeked at the main entrance, then slipped silently into the dead-end. Her footsteps were quieter than a falling leaf.
Xintong’s eyes flashed with interest.
Using a bit of wire, Fengling had the door open in seconds. The group counted down from three, then rushed inside, slamming the door shut behind them.
“Two straight safe spots, and a lock-picking junior,” Tian Bo said with a grin, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the machines.
The wide first floor was lined with idle equipment, like a solemn factory — a symbol of humanity’s most civilized yet most brutal power.
After searching, they found a sealed bag of metal rods and some lightly rusted scrap plates.
“Then… let’s become the strongest team in this school,” Tian Bo declared, excitement overriding his lack of actual skill.
