Apocalyptic Era: Starting from picking up a Bishoujo
Chapter 175: Girl Lu Chan 1672

Chapter 175: Girl Lu Chan 1672

Chen Long’s utterance of the name "Lu Chan" to the girl with the demeanor of a female student hit me with an impact that was even greater than the shock I experienced upon realizing that the place I had teleported to resembled a horror game setting.

Who did he just call "Lu Chan"? Was it really that girl, or someone near her? Regrettably, Lu Youxun wasn’t in the vicinity either, and all the eyes present were drawn to the girl as Chen Long spoke, leaving me no choice but to admit that everyone here seemed to consider that girl as Lu Chan.

In my memory, Lu Chan was a very distinct male; he could never be a female, much less a young girl.

However, if I had to speculate based on the assumption that what was happening before my eyes was true, then I could only guess that perhaps Lu Youxun had undergone some cruel human body experiment at the Human Bureau that changed his physiological gender and provided him with a very detailed plastic surgery from head to toe... No, that couldn’t be right; this should be the time when Lu Youxun had just been captured by the Human Bureau.

Does that mean Lu Youxun was originally a young girl who was then transformed into a young man by the Human Bureau? That shouldn’t be right either. Zhu Shi knew Lu Youxun before his capture by the Human Bureau and should know the truth, yet he never mentioned such a thing to me, nor had he ever exhibited any odd behavior in front of Lu Youxun.

Or could it be that Zhu Shi was considering Lu Youxun’s dignity and emotions and purposefully put on a façade of natural interaction? No, my head is too cluttered; it’s probably better not to think too much for now.

I now suddenly have a particularly strong desire to teleport myself back to the Luoshan Office and ask Zhu Shi and Lu Youxun what the truth really is, but first, I must restrain myself and focus on observing the development at hand.

For convenience, from now on I will continue to refer to the Lu Youxun I know as "Lu Youxun," and the girl before me as "Girl Lu Chan."

"You traitor, finally decided to look this way?" said a strange male voice, looking at Chen Long with a cold laugh.

Finally, Girl Lu Chan spoke; her voice was quite young, with a hint of immaturity, yet her tone was mature, "There’s no need to talk to him. He’s already been brainwashed by Silver Mask."

"I’ve said it many times before, I haven’t been brainwashed. All of this is my own choice," Chen Long replied indifferently.

"Betraying friends, colleagues, the organization... even family and the master, all to join an organization that regards us demon hunters as guinea pigs, resorts to any means necessary, and hides in darkness as a wicked group..." Girl Lu Chan looked disheartened at him, "Tell me, for a demon hunter like you, filled with kindness and passion, to do such things – if not for being enslaved by the Silver Mask on that side, what else could it be?"

"Because you can’t even see the truth of such things, that’s why you’re tied up there now, Lu Chan," Chen Long answered, missing the point of the question.

I was also particularly interested in whether he had been brainwashed, observing him closely. Sadly, the real world isn’t like an animation or comic where signs of brainwashing, like "no highlights in the eyes," make the mental state obvious.

At the same time, I also probed with my heat perception. When targeting him at Great Success Rank, my heat perception couldn’t penetrate his body; and if this really was the time slot from two years ago, he should only be at an achieved level, and my heat perception should be able to peek inside.

Immediately following, I suddenly realized something was wrong.

His body appeared to be protected by powerful Mana, and my heat perception couldn’t invade. At the same moment, he furrowed his brow and looked around suspiciously. I reflexively withdrew my Perception.

Seeing Chen Long’s suspicious behavior, Dr. Silver Mask asked curiously, "What’s wrong?"

"...Nothing, just felt a pang in my wound, as if someone touched it," Chen Long explained.

"It’s from the burn wound you got on your mission outside, right?" Dr. Silver Mask understood.

"Yes. That Flame Ability User I confronted earlier, though completely ignorant about soul attacks, seemed to unleash flames with a soul attribute. My soul was slightly affected, and it’s still paining me up to now," Chen Long touched his right arm.

"That’s because you always refuse to use the Shadow Entanglement right from the start," said Dr. Silver Mask.

"Overreliance on such things can cause one to regress in skill," Chen Long remarked.

"You’re injured because you think this way. No matter how clever a move, if you fail to use it in time, it might as well not exist."

Dr. Silver Mask shook his head first, then said to the "prison guards," "Take these people to the usual rooms. As for this child... temporarily lock him up there too, but don’t hurt him."

After speaking, he left with Chen Long and the other three researchers.

The crosses that bound us began to move again, with the prison guards encircling us as we were led away.

I pondered over my recently gleaned perceptions and the dialogue between Chen Long and Dr. Silver Mask.

Although it wasn’t as I had initially surmised, Chen Long was undoubtedly at the "Great Success Rank," displaying the same strength of anti-perception ability as he had in our previous battle. And without question, when he mentioned the "Flame Ability User from before" to Dr. Silver Mask, he was referring to me; the wounds he bore were caused by my flames.

Isn’t this the same time period as two years ago? So why does that strange man act as if Chen Long had just recently betrayed Luo Mountain and Lu You Patrol, and what about the girl Lu Chan, who seemed freshly captured by the Human Bureau?

It didn’t take long before us test subjects were escorted to the designated detention location. It was still a corridor; the "prison guards" pulled out iron keys, opened the iron doors on both sides, and one by one pushed the crosses with the bound test subjects into the rooms.

I could clearly see inside the rooms behind the iron doors, which resembled torture chambers, replete with all sorts of bloodstained, foul-smelling torture implements, from rusty saws to spiked interrogation chairs, and even an "Iron Maiden" I had only read about in books.

Some rooms were empty, while others contained test subjects and "researchers"—I call them researchers simply due to their attire of green surgical gowns and caps. Each of them was brawny and obese, their faces bluish and decaying hidden behind blue surgical masks, and in their hands, they wielded bloody torture tools.

The "prison guards" first entered the bloody, foul-smelling rooms to drag out the carcasses of test subjects tortured beyond recognition, while from a distance came the occasional sounds of human screams and groans.

The faces of the demon hunters strapped to the crosses were looking particularly unsightly.

Some "prison guards" chatted casually with the researchers nearby, "How’s the experiment progressing, still going smoothly?"

"What do you mean by smooth or not smooth? We are still in the trial and error phase; who knows when we’ll see results," responded the researcher casually. "We’re off to lunch now, we’ll come back later. We leave this place in your hands for now."

The researchers emerged from those iron doors and temporarily departed.

The scenes unfolding here were utterly incomprehensible to me. Experiments? Trial and error? Results? Their conversation sounded like a group of lunatics who had taken over an asylum were playing a game of human experimentation. What connection did the torture implements in the room have with scientific experiments? Was torturing demon hunters the experiment they intended to carry out?

I’d heard that in the barbaric and ignorant times of early human civilization, medicine had gone through a phase that looked very much like blood-soaked torture, but it’s not the old times anymore. Even if the scientific research of demon hunters and the power of the strange was destined to differ from ordinary science and perhaps seem heterodox, did it need to be so crude and insane?

Perhaps I needed to re-evaluate my situation. When everyone around you seems to have gone insane, it might not be them who are insane but yourself.

Could it be that some anomaly had occurred on my side? I’m not joking; I am seriously considering this issue.

Amidst my pondering, my cross was pushed behind one of the iron doors, which then closed with the sound of a lock securing it.

There were no lights in the room, and the floor was still like an overlapping mesh of iron wires, with gaps faintly revealing lava-like firelight and heat. Listening closely, one could hear sounds reminiscent of an iron foundry.

Through the dim firelight, I could vaguely make out the numerous torture implements hanging inside the room. Occasionally, the leaking sound of blood plasma dripping from the tools onto the floor and the half-lit ambiance only served to send chills down one’s spine.

I had to decide what to do next.

For one, I was not adept at stealth activities within an enemy stronghold; for another, I lacked the necessary direction and clues for action. After much consideration, rather than overthinking it here, it seemed better to just take action. Even if I were discovered escaping, it wouldn’t matter—I would simply start fighting my way out.

Just as I was about to break free from the restraints of the cross, a sound of keys unlocking came from the direction of the iron door. I stopped moving and waited quietly for the change.

The iron door opened from the outside, and a researcher in a green surgical suit, spattered with patchy bloodstains, walked in.

He had a clipboard tucked under his left arm, with a few dirty sheets of paper clipped to it.

"We meet again."

After nonchalantly closing the iron door, he turned to me, his voice sounding vaguely familiar.

"Are you the senior researcher that spoke with Dr. Silver Mask before?" I guessed.

"Oh? You do remember faces, even though I’m wearing a mask," the senior researcher said indifferently. "But now, it’s my turn to ask you questions."

He walked up to me, picked up the clipboard, and looked at the materials on it.

"Zhuang Cheng, male, twelve years old, living in Saltwater City, New District Experimental Middle School..." He earnestly recited data that, aside from the name, gender, and city of residence, did not match me at all. He then ended with an intimidating tone: "This is you, correct?"

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