Chapter 23: "If it's useless... just offer a stick of incense to yourself."

"Hmm."

Kerr Cowell glanced at the scars and injuries on Scar Dog's body, going silent for a moment. He sat down next to Scar Dog on their makeshift bed, looking at the corpses in front of them, speaking casually.

"It's good you're okay; don't charge in next time."

"Um...Mr. Jacob."

Scar Dog couldn't help but breathe in the cold air, wincing in pain. His breathing became more and more rapid as he looked at the setting sun not far away. For some reason, he felt pain all over his body.

He couldn't help but try to divert his attention through conversation.

"Today in City 18, we had a meal with the boss of the Cold Wolf Gang, didn't we?"

"The food was so bland."

"My mouth almost lost its sense of taste."

"Do you remember when we used to work as waiters in a high-end California Cuisine restaurant on Blue Star?"

"I remember."

Kerr Cowell nodded, lit another cigarette, and handed it to Scar Dog.

"Oh man."

Scar Dog took the trembling cigarette without taking a puff, holding it between his fingers, looking at the distant setting sun with a somewhat absent-minded expression, mumbling, "That restaurant was so expensive."

"A single meatball would cost hundreds of dollars."

"A chicken-wrapped shark fin would cost nearly ten thousand dollars."

"At that time, I thought, 'It's just chicken-wrapped shark fins; how can a few dollars' worth of street food be so expensive?' Later, I found out that it was because the chicken was filled with shark fins."

"Everyone in the private rooms was an upper-class person."

"All dressed in suits and leather shoes, not taking more than a few bites of the food on their tables. Many people toasted one after another."

"And we could only stand aside and watch them quietly."

"Mr. Jacob, do you know what I was thinking then?"

"I know."

Kerr Cowell looked at the ash on Scar Dog's cigarette, which had grown half a finger's length, without saying much.

"Back then, I thought…"

Scar Dog's voice weakened, his breathing becoming more rapid, and he continued dreamily, "I thought, 'What did these bastards do to have so much money?'"

"Why don't we have any?"

"I want to be rich someday. I want to sit there instead of standing by."

"I want to be rich, too."

"I want to taste that nearly ten-thousand-dollar chicken-wrapped shark fin, see how it tastes."

"Is it really worth that much money?"

"Later... later, we two brothers finally had money."

"When we got the money, the first thing you did, Mr. Jacob, was take me to that restaurant and order the most expensive dishes."

Scar Dog couldn't help but laugh a few times while saying this, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, looking at the setting sun that was gradually getting darker, and then laughing again.

"I clearly remember the scene."

"I remember, we were like nouveau riche, sitting in the private room and cursing every bite we took, saying, 'What's this broken food? I'm practically tasting piss.'"

"California Cuisine… it was so bad."

"Not a single dish I liked, especially not the ten-thousand-dollar chicken-wrapped shark fin."

"But… I still remember how it felt back then."

"I finally managed to sit in that position I used to gaze at."

"No way."

Kerr Cowell couldn't help but laugh and shake his head, "Didn't you like the meatballs? I saw you eat several of them, and they were hundreds of dollars each."

"At that time, I had just started my own business and didn't have much money. You ate more than ten thousand dollars' worth of food in one meal."

"It pained me for days."

"Heh."

Scar Dog laughed along, but his breath gradually weakened, and his body swayed as if he could no longer sit still while looking at the setting sun. "You know, Mr. Jacob."

"I'm afraid of dying, but I'm more afraid of being poor."

"I'm tired of living a life that is dependent on others' whims and barely scraping by."

"Whether it's on Blue Star or in this world."

"I, Scar Dog, don't want to live like an insignificant ant."

"I'd rather be sitting at that table, like a nouveau riche, scoffing at expensive dishes that taste terrible."

"For that...I can die."

"Alright, alright, I got it."

Kerr Cowell consoled Scar Dog like a child, lighting another cigarette for him and putting it to his mouth: "When have I ever let you down, whether it's on Blue Star or in this world."

"We will eventually sit in that position, brazenly commenting on every dish."

"The ones who will always die are the others, not us."

"I don't want to smoke anymore..."

Scar Dog took the cigarette, sandwiched it between his fingers, and waved his hand with a bitter smile: "What were you thinking, Mr. Jacob, not telling me my head had been blown off."

"If I had known, I wouldn't have used that capsule. That was our last one, such a waste."

"By the time I saw it, you had already used it."

Kerr Cowell glanced at the horrifying wound on Scar Dog's head and said nothing more.

Scar Dog's forehead was gone completely, the upper part of his head, above the eyes, was obviously blown off by a large-caliber firearm, even the skull was gone.

One could even clearly see the hot brain matter flowing under the skull.

In extreme pain, adrenaline levels soar, making a person unable to feel the pain.

That's why at first, Scar Dog only thought he had been shot in the leg, not realizing half of his head had been blown off.

Not knowing he had sustained such a serious injury, Scar Dog persevered until the effects of adrenaline wore off and the severe pain in his head hit him.

"Thankfully, I'm a Human Player."

After greedily inhaling a deep breath from the cigarette, Scar Dog felt the rapid loss of life in his body and the severe headache all over.

He took a deep breath and suddenly burst into laughter.

"I don't even know if this Racial talent is useful. That group is still not resurrected."

"If it's not..."

"I'll light the incense for myself."

The next second—

Scar Dog abruptly raised the cigarette in his hand and jammed it deep into the exposed brain matter on top of his head.

Then his breathing stopped.

The corpse heavily fell to the ground.

And the scarlet cigarette butt dropped into the pool of blood, extinguishing completely.

"Crazy."

Kerr Cowell shook his head calmly, without helping Scar Dog's corpse. He just sat there quietly, embracing his rifle, waiting for that group's resurrection.

At this point, the sun had gradually set.

He could vaguely see a trace of dusk on the horizon, but not the sun.

In his absent-minded state, he remembered that... California Cuisine.

Scar Dog hated eating California Cuisine but liked to eat it anyway.

It wasn't about the taste.

But that... the scenery he always longed for when feeling down.

A breeze blew.

Kerr Cowell sat calmly, surrounded by corpses, patiently waiting.

He had always been patient.

And at that moment—

He suddenly saw a corpse slowly becoming translucent under his watch, then disappearing completely on the spot.