Chapter 123

Clearly, their destination was Meng Huai’s office. Apart from the familiar furnishings, there was a large Meng Huai sitting in a chair.

Upon seeing Su Bei and the others, he sneered, ignoring them and first asking Lei Ze’en: “Was the return smooth?”

“Smooth, my ass!” Lei Ze’en said, giving Jiang Tianming a meaningful glance before continuing, “When I arrived, two High-Level Nightmare Beasts were already attacking Jiang Tianming. During the short Teleportation, another High-Level Nightmare Beast tried to intercept. If my Teleportation array wasn’t designed to counter interference, who knows where we’d have landed.”

This carried a lot of information. First, Jiang Tianming could fend off two High-Level Nightmare Beasts alone? Su Bei pondered whether this came from the Abilities of the two wanted criminals he killed or from his original Abilities.

If the former, why didn’t he use them during the final exam? Killing a High-Level Nightmare Beast earned significant Points, and extra effort against the Teleportation Nightmare Beast might have pushed him into the top three.

The latter seemed unlikely too. If the criminals could face two High-Level Nightmare Beasts alone, how could Jiang Tianming and the others have killed them? They couldn’t even handle one High-Level Nightmare Beast!

Setting this aside for now, Lei Ze’en revealed another piece of information: their journey was indeed heavily intercepted by High-Level Nightmare Beasts. They truly shared vision and didn’t want the fact that “Nightmare Beasts are formed from human resentment after death” to be revealed.

But why?

Su Bei couldn’t understand. Logically, even if this was widely known, it wouldn’t matter. Humans couldn’t prevent resentment at death—it was as involuntary as coughing.

The Nightmare Beasts’ desire to keep this secret suggested it was disadvantageous to them. But oddly, humans also didn’t want this known.

People like Meng Huai, Wu Di, and the Black Flash boss surely knew this, yet they had no intention of revealing it and treated it with deep secrecy. Why did both Nightmare Beasts and humans want this suppressed?

Meng Huai sneered mockingly, his eagle-sharp gaze fixed on the four: “Who asked that question?”

Due to the urgency, Jiang Tianming had only briefly explained: they got a chance to ask a High-Level Nightmare Beast a question, asked about “the relationship between humans and Nightmare Beasts,” and, fearing for their safety after the answer, requested teachers to rescue them.

Su Bei didn’t back down, answering directly: “It was me.”

Meng Huai wasn’t surprised, as Su Bei had asked him similar questions before: “Why are you so fixated on this?”

“Then why won’t you tell me, Teacher?” Su Bei countered.

For questions he wanted answers to, he could only ask passively or cryptically. Asking directly would admit ignorance.

To Su Bei, admitting “not knowing” was terrifying—it meant he couldn’t use forums to extract answers through mystique. He had to maintain his enigmatic persona to force an exit if he hit a dead end.

Since they already knew the origin of Nightmare Beasts, Meng Huai no longer hid: “If many ordinary people learn this, they might create an unprecedented, overwhelmingly powerful Nightmare Beast.”

Everyone gasped. If true, it indeed couldn’t be revealed. But they didn’t understand how knowing this would let ordinary people create such a Beast.

Noticing their confusion, Lei Ze’en explained: “Human resentment after death forms Nightmare Beasts, but our research shows it’s not one person, one Beast. Sometimes, multiple deaths can form one Beast together—like five people dying in a car crash creating a powerful Beast. They can do so because they share a commonality, like dying in the same crash.”

Lan Subing grasped it: “Teacher, you mean if there’s a shared commonality, the resentment of simultaneous deaths can combine?”

Seeing her quick understanding, Lei Ze’en nodded approvingly: “Exactly. According to Ability users who can see resentment, people who know Nightmare Beasts come from human resentment, even if far apart, have their resentment converge after death.”

Su Bei understood instantly. As mentioned, 150,000 to 160,000 people die daily worldwide. If everyone knew this, their resentment would combine. A Nightmare Beast formed from 150,000–160,000 people’s resentment—Su Bei couldn’t imagine its power. Likely world-destroying.

“But if so, why wouldn’t Nightmare Beasts publicize it?” Wu Mingbai quickly spotted another issue.

If this could create a powerful Beast, shouldn’t Nightmare Beasts promote it? Especially High-Level ones with human-like intelligence—why intercept them so desperately?

This was also Su Bei’s doubt.

“Because such a powerful Beast would be unmanageable for us and High-Level Nightmare Beasts alike,” Meng Huai said with a mocking smile. “Once sentient, no creature wants to die.”

“Do Nightmare Beasts fight among themselves?” Lan Subing’s eyes widened in surprise.

Meng Huai introduced another fact: “Do you know how High-Level Nightmare Beasts are born?”

“A collection of multiple resentments? Or one person’s strong resentment?” Jiang Tianming guessed twice.

Both wrong. Meng Huai shook his head: “They’re formed from the resentment of dead Ability users. Even the weakest Ability user becomes a High-Level Nightmare Beast after death.”

This shocked everyone. They hadn’t expected High-Level Nightmare Beasts to be directly tied to Ability users. No wonder Nightmare Beasts targeted Ability users—their deaths directly boosted their strength.

From Meng Huai’s revelation, Jiang Tianming realized something else: “So, even if many ordinary people create a Beast together, without Ability users, it’s not a High-Level Nightmare Beast?”

“Smart enough,” Meng Huai rare praised. “To become a High-Level Nightmare Beast, Ability users’ resentment must exceed one-third. So, a Beast from publicized knowledge wouldn’t be High-Level.”

Su Bei understood.

Though Mid-Level Nightmare Beasts had intelligence, it was far less than High-Level ones, with uneven intellect. A Beast from massive resentment would have low intelligence.

If it appeared, neither humans nor Nightmare Beasts could survive. This mutually destructive act wouldn’t be done by Nightmare Beasts unwilling to die.

With everything explained, Meng Huai glared at Su Bei irritably: “You really know how to stir trouble. Ever wonder why I didn’t want to tell you?”

Su Bei grinned appeasingly but said nothing. He knew, even if given another chance, he’d ask the same question. Without this answer, he’d never uncover the truth behind the imbalance of good and evil, let alone complete his mission.

Seeing his feigned humility and unrepentant nature, Meng Huai rolled his eyes: “Stay at school for a day, then go home tomorrow—you’ll be fine.”

“Why?” Wu Mingbai asked, confused. “Don’t High-Level Nightmare Beasts still want to kill us?”

“They do want to kill a few Ability users for sport, but they’re more afraid you’ll leak this unknowingly. Once they know you’re back at school and educated, they won’t bother,” Lei Ze’en answered.

Everyone sighed in relief. They’d feared being stuck at school short-term. Learning they only needed one day before returning home thrilled them. A whole winter break confined at school would’ve been unbearable.

Before dinner, lacking appetite, they gathered in Jiang Tianming’s dorm to discuss the day’s events.

Even now, Lan Subing felt dreamlike: “Nightmare Beasts are formed from human resentment after death? It sounds so unbelievable!”

“No kidding,” Wu Mingbai said, sitting on Jiang Tianming’s bed, equally moved. “No wonder the teachers say Nightmare Beasts have no goodwill toward humans. They’re formed from resentment—how could they?”

Jiang Tianming looked grave: “If this is the truth, won’t Nightmare Beasts only grow stronger?”

Unlike humans, Nightmare Beasts had no growth phase—once formed, they were complete. Unless they killed as many new Nightmare Beasts daily, their numbers would only increase.

This matched reality: Nightmare Beast numbers and Different Space appearances had been rising. As Ability user training systems matured, damage was less than early days, so people overlooked this.

Pondering, he looked at Su Bei: “Did you investigate this because you noticed Nightmare Beasts were increasing?”

“Exactly,” Su Bei leaned lazily on the chair, snapping his fingers, half-truthfully admitting, “I’m here to save the world!”

Everyone ignored his grandiose claim. Lan Subing suddenly recalled: “By the way, I think I know why Zhao Xiaoyu’s Ability change was so valued.”

This made Su Bei ponder the logic. He soon realized: Zhao Xiaoyu’s new Ability was [Happiness], which countered resentment by inducing happiness. Nightmare Beasts feeling happiness might vanish instantly, more effective than purification.

Su Bei wondered if Zhao Xiaoyu’s Ability could cover the world daily, preventing new Nightmare Beasts.

But her Mental Energy was weak—a natural trait, hard to change. Damn author, knowing the world’s issue yet blocking a clear solution.

Even with strong Mental Energy, covering the world was nearly impossible, even for top Ability users.

Speaking of which, Principal Wu Di, dubbed the top Ability user, might have world-ranging Abilities.

Another new fact was that Ability users became High-Level Nightmare Beasts after death, quite surprising. No wonder even near-useless Ability users needed training—to prevent accidental deaths creating High-Level Nightmare Beasts.

“Do you think High-Level Nightmare Beasts retain their living memories?” Lan Subing asked after a silence.

Jiang Tianming shook his head: “Probably not. If any, just negative memory fragments. Otherwise, why don’t they seek out—”

Wu Mingbai agreed: “Indeed, they likely don’t have living memories, but if someone they knew saw them, they might recognize them.”

Seeing their looks, he explained: “Many High-Level Nightmare Beasts are Humanoid Nightmare Beasts. Faceless ones aside, those with faces—how are they shaped? Likely from their living appearance. Even ordinary people’s Nightmare Beasts might retain small habits.”

Like the Nightmare Beasts they met, showing traits possibly matching their living selves.

“That makes the existence of Nightmare Beasts not entirely bad,” Lan Subing said thoughtfully.

Though only resentment, they carried part of a person. Normally, death meant dust to dust, but this lingering resentment could comfort the living.

This didn’t stop them from eliminating Nightmare Beasts—the minor benefits couldn’t outweigh their endless harm. Though it felt callous unless personally affected, they leaned toward eradication over coexistence.

Unlike them, Lan Subing’s words sparked a revelation in Su Bei. He finally knew what the Black Flash leader was researching: how to turn Nightmare Beasts back into humans.

Undoubtedly, the Nightmare Beast he wanted to revert was his wife, Mo Xiaotian’s grandmother!

A Nightmare Beast with his lover’s traits, confirmed as her transformation, would drive a deeply devoted person to do anything to revive her.

This explained why the grandfather told Mo Xiaotian his grandmother would return soon—he believed their experiment would succeed. Once Nightmare Beasts could become human, she’d return.

Admittedly, this conclusion was baseless, almost pure speculation. But with Su Bei’s years of manga experience, it had an 80% chance of accuracy.

In shonen manga, protagonists might not have romance, but love is an eternal theme.

The grandmother’s departure, tied to Black Flash’s research, likely pointed to this.

Sadly, Su Bei sighed. He’d asked Manga Consciousness—turning Nightmare Beasts into humans was impossible. They were doomed to fail. If it were possible, he’d join the villains without hesitation.

After a day at school, the next morning, Su Bei remembered to split the item left by the cloud Nightmare Beast’s suicide with Jiang Tianming and the others.

As a joint gain, he wouldn’t keep it himself.

The four gathered around a table, eyeing the small tuft of cotton. Lan Subing hesitantly spoke first: “What’s this thing... for?”

“Should we ask a teacher?” Jiang Tianming suggested. There was no need to hide such items, as teachers knew the cloud Nightmare Beast died before them and could guess they got its item.

The best approach, agreed by all, was to find Meng Huai. As their homeroom teacher, he couldn’t leave while they stayed.

“This item...” Meng Huai examined the cotton-like Ability item. “I’ll test it. Follow me to learn how to analyze an Ability item.”

He led them to a specialized lab, placing the item in a transparent case, then into a metal cube connected to a computer.

Meng Huai explained as he worked: “This machine identifies energy types in the item.”

Soon, data uploaded, showing: “Weather-type Ability 70%, Summon-type Ability 30%, Estimated Uses: Unlimited.”

Meng Huai pondered, retrieving the cotton and placing it on the table. He opened a computer program, pressed a few keys, and led the four out.

As they left, a robot emerged from a wall-mounted metal cabinet. Seeing it through the glass, the four were shocked, looking at Meng Huai.

Meng Huai glanced at them disdainfully: “Is it that surprising? Can’t our modern world use high-tech? Ability items can be dangerous—direct testing risks issues. Robots are safer.”

Su Bei was speechless. The Ability world often felt ancient, detached. Seeing a robot at school finally grounded it in the modern world.

Not just him—Jiang Tianming and the others felt the same mix of wonder and disillusionment.

The robot tried tearing the cotton, but a lightning bolt shot from the tear, and it reformed.

“That’s its function!” Wu Mingbai said, half-surprised, half-understanding. As a weather-controlling Nightmare Beast’s item, weather control made sense.

Unlike the shocked humans outside, the robot lacked surprise, repeating: tear, lightning, tear, lightning...

After several times, the cotton hardened, untearable, stopping lightning. It released five bolts total, meaning up to five lightning strikes per use.

Since the computer noted unlimited uses, they weren’t worried about depletion. Likely, it had a cooldown.

The robot continued, tossing the cotton on the ground—no effect. Throwing it upward—nothing. Rubbing it turned it black, forming a chandelier-sized dark cloud that rained.

The more it rubbed, the heavier the rain, lasting ten minutes. Meng Huai used his phone to control the robot to test the rainwater.

A report showed it was ordinary, drinkable rainwater, not particularly clean.

Further tests revealed its greatest function: rolling it into a ball and throwing it upward turned it into a sun!

Yes, like the Small Sun in the Sunny Room, less powerful but still damaging if thrown at someone’s face.

Compared to the other functions, this had the most destructive power, but entered a cooldown after one use, likely lengthy.

The lightning’s power was significant too—measured at 40 volts. Above 36 volts could kill, so 40 volts was lethal to the unprepared.

After testing, Meng Huai reminded them to leave school soon and left. The four stared at the item, unsure how to divide it.

“How about Points?” Jiang Tianming suggested. “Whoever wants it takes it and gives equivalent Points to the others.”

At this, the three looked at Su Bei. Though they’d earned many Points in the midterm, Su Bei had the most—undoubtedly the richest.

Su Bei shrugged: “It’s useless to me. Just give me Points.”

He wasn’t flexing—he truly didn’t need it. The sun transformation was tempting, but after studying the Destiny Compass’ functions, he didn’t lack offense. A defensive item might have interested him.

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