Apocalypse Gachapon Chapter 1863: Country plan

The objective of this strategy wasn't anything extraordinary, just a tad "crude"—merely to endure and fulfill what the cosmic races hadn't managed despite countless years of effort.

A lot of folks had probably pondered this idea for ages.

However, success had always eluded them.

No one was shocked that Ye Zhongming harbored such thoughts; inwardly, they shared the sentiment. It only sharpened into focus once voiced aloud.

Understanding the concept differed from mere contemplation, yet execution remained murky. How exactly? What steps? Those details stayed vague.

"Above all, the key step is fortifying ourselves. We must grow so formidable that the universe's races can't overlook us anymore—then our views will carry weight, our statements will hold value, and no one will dismiss us with, 'Newcomer, mad? Worse awaits.'"

The group nearly chuckled, realizing Ye Zhongming alluded to Zizikaba.

"Of course, others have pulled this off in the past." Ye Zhongming eyed He, who appeared ready to chime in but held back, aware these hired fighters knew the cosmic races' dealings inside out. Mere strength alone might not suffice to seize control of their fates.

"Our task is to achieve genuine might, comprehensive power across the board."

"Among the universe's races, numbers abound, experts plentiful, but what's the ratio of elites in their populations?" He halted briefly, not awaiting replies, then pressed on, "In mightier groups, it might hover near thirty percent. Half more sit at mid-tier power, with the remainder as basic members. For feebler races, elites could be just ten or twenty percent."

"Faced with hordes of parasites from every Slave Race underclass, how do they cope with that setup?" Ye Zhongming scoffed.

The rest weren't dimwitted; they grasped the implication instantly.

In essence, authority!

Individual authority! Clan authority! Racial authority! Coalition authority!

And gains!

Personal gains! Clan gains! Racial gains! Coalition gains!

Despite expulsion from their territories by the Slave Races, forced to huddle on seven man-made bastions for bare survival, these races clung fiercely to such pursuits.

For the dominant ones especially, upholding dominance came first. The cosmos stretched endlessly; even leisurely devouring by Slave Races would drag on forever. Preserving the current order suited them fine.

Some cosmic races even proposed dispatching scouts to uncharted cosmic voids, scouting livable spots, recovering strength there temporarily, and later confronting advancing Slave Races with renewed vigor. Victory meant triumph; defeat? No issue—they'd evacuate more souls, more refuge strongholds, and wander the stars anew.

Discovering a suitable world might end reliance on Moonspan Gold. At minimum, they could dispatch hunters to gather essential parasites.

Without that enigmatic wheel overshadowing all cosmic peoples, they likely would've pursued this already.

Yet Ye Zhongming rejected such a path, for his birth world now lay shrouded by a Slave Race, siphoning its vitality ceaselessly. Soon, it'd turn into a barren rock!

That place was his origin.

This scheme hadn't started as the "I Win" plan; it was the Greater Earth Plan!

How could Ye Zhongming and Ji Ruiguang, once mighty forces in the nation sector, stomach being trampled? Be they cosmic races, Slave Races, or the wheel's hidden tech overlords—in these men's sights, all stood as foes to vanquish, not masters to bind them!

Maybe this fire burned in every nation-born soul. They could stumble, lag, face scorn, or perish, but surrender? Never. The heavier the boot, the wilder the fight back—that unyielding spirit explained why the nation's legacy endured unbroken across millennia.

Backbone—scarce in many nationals; resolve—plenty bent low, groveling.

Still, far more rose tall and defiant!

Without question, Ji Ruiguang and Ye Zhongming embodied that breed.

To outsiders, they'd brand it the "I crave victory, I crave endurance" scheme, yet deep inside, it rang as the Great Country Plan!

Indeed, not even the Earth Plan.

Pre-cataclysm, the nation chased the top global power, nearly claiming the crown when doom struck and froze progress. Now, Ye Zhongming and Ji Ruiguang forged a bold detour. The twist? They aimed not just to crown Earth, but the entire universe.

"My aim is to empower every single one of us, transform all into mighty warriors, leveraging our elite caliber and vast numbers against the Slave Race."

Tales whispered that slaying every parasite would starve the Slave Race to extinction.

True or myth? Unproven, untried.

But didn't that spark hope?

"Sounds workable to me."

Jie Kui, Ye Zhongming's steadfast follower now, voiced approval first.

As hired guards, their lives glittered on the surface, perks tilted their way, but aimlessness gnawed. Were they fated to endless peril in gigs like the rookie arena?

Sticking to Ye Zhongming's vision demanded hazard too, but if death loomed regardless, why not stake it for personal gain over others' whims?

These pair of loops had shown: trail Ye Zhongming, and even sans prime cuts, you'd sip hearty broth—bone-rich brew! Back home? Mere tools for the elite, discardable on a whim.

He seconded the nod. Her inner turmoil settled, she'd back any idea uplifting her and her kin.

The rest voiced qualms after brief wavers and queries. Ye Zhongming fielded them all, and consensus built. Solely the Cijin energy fighter mulled deeply before stating gravely to Ye Zhongming, "Captain, apologies, but I fear I can't align with you. My people follow their own course, and betrayal's impossible. Better I bow out now than clash later over it. Naturally, in the rookie arena, if you permit my place in the squad, I'll battle with full devotion for you."

Ye Zhongming dipped his head, signaling comprehension. Just one such holdout exceeded his hopes. It revealed years of racial tactics bred widespread discontent, or at least quiet rejection.

"Fine, if victory and life are our stakes, some foes must perish inevitably."

Ye Zhongming jabbed at a mark on the acquired chart, a neighboring zone.

"A squad lurks there, boasting no fewer than thirty members and points topping forty thousand. Our initial strike: ... wipe them out!"