I am the one running the game

Chapter 934: The life of the interstellar survivors is to die on the spot
"Where...where am I?" Cross opened his eyes, and a lot of memories that did not belong to him emerged in his mind.

On one side was an ordinary office worker from Star Country, and on the other side was an ordinary farmer under the command of Baron Mora of the Kadra Empire.

"You're also called Cross? I guess I've come to a different world."

Cross looked shocked and confused. He had seen similar cartoons and novels, but when it really happened to him, he simply couldn't accept it.

"I was dead in Singapore." He recalled that he was smashed into a pulp by an out-of-control truck on his way to work.

It’s already very good to be able to live in a new place.

But when he recalled the memories of Farmer Cross, his brows furrowed.

This is a place constructed from the two words feudal and decadent that he had only come across in books.

Baron Mora's Tit Territory is where he has lived for generations. Farmer Cross's parents and grandparents are all farmers from the Mora family.

He lived a life of poverty all his life and died at the age of thirty-four.

If it weren't for his arrival, Farmer Cross would have continued this cycle.

What’s more important is that the information is extremely blocked and there is no circulation at all.

So he guessed that it should be an ancient world.

"I don't want to be a farmer anymore," Cross said softly.

They can only eat beans every day. Farmers cannot afford to eat fish and meat. Salt is okay, after all, people will have no strength without salt.

But there was no hope in such days, everything belonged to Baron Mora, including himself.

"Since we have traveled to the ancient world, we should do something great."

"After all, I have received compulsory education in Xingguo. I am not comparable to this group of numb fools."

"He's just a small baron, huh." Cross looked confident.

He knew that the Tit Territory was actually not very big, at most the size of a village, and the population was not large.

As long as he successfully killed Baron Mora and became the true ruler of the Titmouse Territory, it would be no problem to unify the entire world with this as the center.

Although he is not a professional, he has watched a lot of short videos. Even if he cannot innovate on his own, it is not difficult for him to imitate them.

Ordinary office workers are not ordinary.

There is a lot of knowledge stored in the brain.

"Cross, it's time to pay your grain tax!" The tax collector knocked on the door.

This made Cross's head hurt all of a sudden. He suddenly thought that Farmer Cross chose to commit suicide because he had a poor harvest this year and could not pay the grain tax.

Otherwise, how could he have occupied this body so easily.

But now Kroos is no longer the same Kroos as before. He opened the door without changing his expression.

The tax collector was a fat middle-aged man. They were under Baron Mora. It was a good job for them to have enough food without having to work.

"No food." He said these three words calmly.

The tax collector was stunned at first, then he became furious and whipped Cross.

The whip knocked Cross to the ground. Blood oozed out from the place where he was hit, staining his clothes red.

"You lowly peasant, everything you have was given by the baron. How dare you default on your grain tax?" said the tax collector, raising his whip again and whipping Cross dozens of times.

He didn't stop until he was out of breath.

Cross was covered in bruises, and even one of his eyes was blinded by the whip. He could only lie on the ground and wailing.

Although the tax collector's whip is neither a magical weapon nor a treasure, it is a specially made whip, and every whip can cause him serious injuries.

"I will come to you again tomorrow. If you still can't pay the grain tax, I will beat you to death." The tax officer wiped the blood off the whip and left after saying this.

He didn't care where Cross found food to pay the tax; he only cared whether there was enough food.

If the food is not enough to pay the standard grain tax for Cross's family, Cross will really be beaten to death.

This is Titmouse Territory, and the laws set by Baron Mora are the rules.

Cross struggled to get up and returned to the wooden bed, but as soon as he lay down, his wound began to hurt.

"No, I have to find a way to disinfect and get antibiotics, otherwise I will not survive with such serious injuries." Cross was very rational.

Because of the whipping, most of his face was beaten, and his sackcloth was torn, revealing serious wounds under the skin.

If you don't get timely medical treatment, you will die.

Of course, the treatment he was talking about was not the two unique treatments of this era, but modern scientific treatments.

"But where can I find..." Cross lay on the bed, enduring the pain, staring at the ceiling with one lifeless eye.

There is no money to buy herbs or see a doctor.

He could extract it himself, but the problem was that he didn't have enough time and the environment was not right.

The tax collector will come again tomorrow and I won’t have time at all.

"Escape?" He suddenly thought that if he escaped from the Tit Territory, he might still be able to survive. Just as he was thinking about taking action, the door creaked open and a small man came in. Seeing Cross lying on the bed, he couldn't help but reveal a cunning smile.

Cross knew the other person; he was his neighbor, a gangster.

The other party's sudden arrival gave Cross a bad feeling.

"Hey, Cross, you're not dead yet." The other person came closer, his tone full of malice.

"You won't be able to pay the grain tax tomorrow anyway, and you'll be beaten to death by the tax collector."

"Otherwise I'll help you so you don't have to suffer tomorrow."

At this moment, Cross wanted to counterattack, but because he was too seriously injured and too weak, he couldn't pose any threat at all.

Instead, he was hit hard by the other party's stab. The knife was a little crooked and didn't penetrate his heart, but hit his lung instead.

"In return, tell me where you hid the money." The other party said as he twisted the knife.

The severe pain broke out again.

"Huh..." Cross spat out blood foam from his mouth. He had never expected that the other party would kill him for money.

Cross was just a farmer, and he didn't have many copper coins at home, less than ten in total.

Unfortunately, Cross was speechless because the other party pulled out a knife and stabbed Cross in the neck.

At this moment, blood gushed out.

"You should have said it directly, but it doesn't matter. Your house is so small, it's not difficult to find it." The other party smiled and didn't care at all.

Cross's death came quickly, and he could only feel his soul beginning to be pulled out of his body.

A sense of emptiness filled his soul, but he stayed where he was, watching the rogue neighbor ransack his home.

But less than two minutes later, a terrifying feeling of squeezing broke out, and the feeling of emptiness turned into a feeling of compression.

He even felt that his soul was cracked due to being squeezed, and his consciousness was dissipating little by little as the crack expanded.

Cross struggled frantically against the compression, but to no avail.

As he was compressed, he suddenly realized that it seemed to be this world that was squeezing him.

'My soul does not belong to this world, so I am excluded.'

Such a guess emerged in his mind, but he no longer had the opportunity to verify it, let alone solve it.

With a slight sound of bubbles bursting, Cross's soul was completely crushed into pieces, and finally slowly degraded and was swallowed up by the world.

During this period, no one discovered that Cross, the farmer from Tit Territory, was once a time traveler, and his death was so simple.

...

"President, the signal is gone."

In the black hole shelter, the researchers' smiles didn't last long before they froze.

Cross's death naturally led to the direct interruption of their project.

The president of the Star Alliance also looked unhappy: "Let the other reserve continue to cross and find the best survival point."

He actually knew that the Sons of the Stars who left the black hole shelter would be targeted by the world, but he didn't expect that this targeting would happen so quickly. It only took a short time for the people to die, and even their souls disappeared.

"Yes, President!" said the researcher, and immediately began screening personnel.

"By the way, choose a psychic. They have psychic powers in their souls and may be able to survive longer." The president suddenly said.

Once genetically enhanced and mechanically modified beings are separated from their own bodies, their own strength will be as good as nothing.

On the contrary, as the source core of the developer of psychic energy, it is one's own soul, so as a soul traveler, there are certain advantages.

"But the souls of psychics are too huge. The time travel data applicable to ordinary people cannot be fully applied to psychics."

"Even if it succeeds, it will result in a loss of soul." The researcher pointed out the disadvantages.

"There has to be a first case." The president doesn't care about that. Sacrifice is necessary, as long as it's not himself who is sacrificed.

There are not many psychic developers in the Star Alliance, but that doesn't mean they can't be sacrificed.

Since this was the intention of the president of the alliance, the researchers had no choice but to carry out the order.

Compared to the specially trained traversers before, if they wanted to find psychic developers as experimental subjects, they could only choose those Alliance psychics who had been trained since childhood and were loyal.

The wild psychics would definitely not agree to that.

The Alliance controls all extraordinary individuals and complete interstellar technology. The extraordinary people who have been trained since childhood have been baptized by technology and turned into loyal warriors. Even if they are asked to commit suicide, they will not hesitate at all.

"Issue a notice to round up all wild psychics and implant loyalty programs in them," the president said coldly.

Psychics are derived from the extraordinary soul, so they are born in the wild.

The genetic and mechanical pathways require sufficient technological support and transformation, so they have not leaked out and have always been strictly controlled by the alliance.

(End of this chapter)