Jax’s mood was a tangled mess.

  He had one piece of good news， and one very bad news.

  The good news was that even though he’d traveled 200 years into the Great Cataclysm， a world where civilization lay in ruins， resources were scarce， lawlessness ruled， and radiation and mutated horrors lurked everywhere，

  he had a cheat ability. And it was absurdly powerful: Time Stop.

  The bad news?

  One minute.

  Just one minute. His Time Stop only lasted one minute per day.

  What could you even do in a minute? Not even enough to pull your pants up…

  The only silver lining was that the time could stack. If he didn’t use it one day， it would roll over at midnight， turning into two minutes the next day.

  Bang!

  The crack of a gun cut through Jax’s thoughts.

  It was followed by the wild， savage cheers of a crowd.

  He lifted his eyes. The central square of Ashwood Town was packed with people.

  It was night， and harsh white floodlights blazed over the square， casting a sea of shifting shadows. Paired with the frenzied shouting， it looked like a horde of demons dancing.

  “Killed another one? That’s the third already. Tsk. Can these barbarians ever get bored?”

  Jax stretched， working some feeling back into his numb legs. The iron chains around his ankles clinked sharply.

  Yeah. He was a slave to these crude， violent brutes.

  Ashwood Town was a human settlement of 800 people. Towns just like it dotted the Wasteland.

  At the very center of the square stood a table.

  Sitting beside it was a young man in a floral shirt， a cigarette dangling from his lips. Across from him? A corpse with its skull blown open.

  The dead man’s hand still clutched a bizarre revolver. Forged entirely from bleached bone， its surface coiled with thin， blood-red patterns that wriggled like living veins.

  The eerie veins spread not just across the gun， but burrowed deep into the corpse’s right hand， as if rooted there.

  It looked grotesque， like someone with five IV needles jammed into their arm， all pumping at once.

  Sss—

  A stomach-churning sucking sound filled the air. The revolver drained the corpse into a desiccated mummy.

  The men behind the floral-shirted man erupted in triumphant shouts.

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  “We won again! We won!”

  “That’s our Ryker ‘Sleight of Hand’! Three wins in a row， win a few more， and we’ll meet the bonding condition for the Forbidden Artifact Breath of Bone!”

  “Haha… Breath of Bone is ours! West District’s!”

  While the West District raged with excitement， the crowd behind the mummy， the East District， wore dark， silent expressions.

  “Who’s next?” Talan， the East District leader， glared coldly at his men.

  Everyone his gaze landed on looked away， too cowardly to meet his eyes.

  Seeing his men stay silent， Talan burned with rage， and a flicker of helplessness. He only had two dozen core fighters left， and three were already dead.

  Lose any more， and he’d be a leader with no followers. How would he rule the East District then?

  “Useless! All of you useless trash!”

  The East District crowd hung their heads， terrified of being picked. Many cursed inwardly: If you’re so tough， do it yourself! You’re just too scared to step up!

  Their silence only made the West District bolder. Filthy insults flew.

  At the back of the crowd， a ragged boy chained at the ankles curled his lip. That was Jax.

  He knew his chance had come.

  A chance to break his chains， and claim a Forbidden Artifact.

  Jax was an East District slave. When he’d first crossed over yesterday， he’d been just a lowly underclassman， but he’d tested his Time Stop ability， caused a tiny little accident， and woken up as a slave.

  He stared at the Breath of Bone on the table， and information about Forbidden Artifacts flooded his mind.

  A hundred years ago， the Great Cataclysm swept the world， shattering civilization. Every living thing， animals， plants， even some inanimate objects， had twisted and mutated.

  Forbidden Artifacts were born from that chaos. The Breath of Bone was one of them: a normal revolver warped into something unnatural， with terrifying power.

  To wield a Forbidden Artifact， you had to meet its bonding condition. These were no longer lifeless tools， they were alive.

  They had minds of their own. Only by satisfying their demands could you earn the right to use them. It was like choosing a master.

  The Breath of Bone’s condition was simple: gamble with your life.

  In this lawless Wasteland， a deadly game was popular: Roulette of Fate.

  A revolver held six bullets. The rules were simple， load one round， spin the cylinder， leave it all to chance.

  The two players took turns pointing the gun at themselves and pulling the trigger. Whoever survived the fatal round won.

  Before it became a Forbidden Artifact， the Breath of Bone was used exactly for this game. Maybe from killing so many， or some other dark trigger， the ordinary gun had twisted into something unnatural.

  Most Forbidden Artifacts’ bonding conditions tied into their pasts， which was why Breath of Bone demanded victory in the Roulette of Fate. One win wasn’t enough. It had to keep winning until the artifact approved.

  Only the luckiest， bravest souls could earn its favor.

  Jax glanced at the clock hanging on the square’s stone wall: 23:49.

  Wait， not yet. His ability only reset after midnight.

  “Talan， if no one from the East District dares to play， then Breath of Bone is ours.”

  Viper， the West District leader， sneered. The metal cybernetic eye in his left socket glowed an eerie red.

  Talan’s face darkened. “I found that artifact first. The West District won’t lay a finger on it!”

  “Oh?” Viper chuckled darkly. “How many days have you had it? Your East District trash is too weak to bond with it. And Ashwood Town is already targeted by mutated horrors outside， how will we fight them without a Forbidden Artifact?

  If your men can’t bond with Breath of Bone， do you plan to stop mine? Do you want to doom this whole town for your greed?!”

  His words made the townsfolk shift uneasily. They didn’t care which leader got the artifact， they only cared about surviving.

  Watching the crowd turn against him， Talan’s face twisted. He knew if he clung to the artifact， the desperate people would tear him apart without a second thought.

  But handing it over felt worse than death.

  The East and West Districts had been rivals for years. They kept the peace on the surface， but clashes were constant. Talan knew it well: once the West District had the artifact， they’d beat back the mutants， then come for him.

  He exhaled sharply.

  “Talan would never doom Ashwood Town for selfish gain. Forbidden Artifacts belong to the strong. But…”

  His voice turned icy， eyes locking on Viper.

  “The East District hasn’t lost yet!”

  Viper smirked dismissively. “So you’ll let your men die to the last. Fine. Let’s keep playing. Let’s see who from your East District has the guts!”

  Talan spun around， his heavy gaze sweeping over the East District crowd. His men shrank back.

  But his eyes skipped past them， landing on the ordinary townsfolk watching.

  “People of the East District! I， Talan， promise this， if any of you can bond with Breath of Bone， you’ll be my brother! My right hand， co-leader of the East District!”

  The crowd exchanged nervous glances. No one spoke. The air turned awkward.

  Who’d be stupid enough to trust Talan after how many of his “brothers” he’d gotten killed?

  Talan burned with anger. His plan was simple: even if his own men couldn’t claim the artifact， better it went to an East District underclassman than the West District.

  But despite his generous offer， no one stepped up.

  Just as he was about to explode in rage， a clear clink of chains cut through the silence.

  “Move aside! Do you want the whole Wasteland to think the East District has no guts?!” A young， arrogant voice cut through the crowd.