Apocalypse Gachapon Chapter 1868: Forcing someone out

The third small cycle wrapped up amid swirling undercurrents.

Meanwhile, the choice reached by the universe's races, after sparking massive turmoil, finally eased into tranquility. Aside from the dominant major races wielding unchallenged might, the rest of the races pondered their counters or straightaway launched preparations.

All the while, they directed sharper focus toward this fresh battlefield for newcomers.

As the third small cycle concluded, glancing at the figures atop every leaderboard, they grasped an even profounder insight into this exceptional round.

This beginner battlefield boasted the highest participant count, surpassing thirty thousand souls, rendering the rivalry utterly brutal.

With such a crowd, losses were bound to mount—each race had braced mentally for that. Yet, with barely half the duration elapsed, the tally had plunged below twenty-five thousand. Notably this round, the final ten percent got wiped out outright—close to three thousand gone.

Numerous races saw every dispatched member vanish, dooming their scores to zero. So what if they threw in three fighters at the close?

Contingency strategies now demanded urgent thought.

Those leading in points started probing the assorted rankings they'd previously overlooked, shifting away from fixating just on the overall and personal points boards.

In earlier times, even if these rookies topped the charts, the universe's races barely glanced their way. After all, they were mere beginners; no matter their prowess, it only shone among peers and meant little to seasoned fighters. But this round broke the mold, tangled with countless issues and stakes.

These exceptional rookies emerged one after another, prompting folks to dig into why they climbed so high.

That covered spots on the points board, efficiency list, and beyond.

Ye Zhongming stood out too, drawing heaps of scrutiny. Tracing his growth arc for scrutiny, observers reeled in astonishment: Heavens, this fellow's hooked on slaughter! In under ten days, he'd racked up that many kills! Most of his score stemmed from those.

Without digging in, it seemed ordinary; but once they did, a revelation hit: Do the guidelines of this rookie battlefield push infighting to such extremes?

In prior rookie battlefields, sure, there were incentives to stir conflict, but nothing this blunt or savage. Usually, they'd permit clashes on the final day to snag points or spoils, which already spiraled into chaos.

Yet here, slaying a foe granted one-third of their points. As the battlefield stretched on, who'd bother chasing parasites? All would turn to hunting kin!

Sure, choices lingered in the mix. Amid the wild carnage, some could opt to burrow away and stealthily pursue parasites, securing their own endurance at minimum. Come the end, with survivors thinned, their points wouldn't lag.

Plus, preying on others packed steep dangers. Certain ones might rally a band of powerhouses for joint hunts, leveraging extra point perks to fend off the bloodbath. In numbers, foes hesitated to strike.

Upon dissection, this rookie battlefield boiled down to just two routes: group hunts or slaying for scores. No alternate path existed. The notion of solo powerhouses striking alone—this top-tier route seemed viable, yet proved a snare. Such types would either amass points from parasites then get mobbed to demise, or pivot to preying on fellow rookies for bigger hauls.

No matter the route, it all funneled toward a clash between two camps: the hunters and the blood-marked killers.

On this front, Helsky had glimpsed the broad strokes, but Ji Ruiguang pierced the core. His pitch of the Great Country Plan to Ye Zhongming stemmed from this pattern, merely labeling the dynamic.

Beholding the lofty scores of these figures and realizing they'd exploit this break to grow mightier, nearing an unstoppable peak, countless races could no longer stay idle.

Across the prior two cycles, they'd skimmed over it, mulled lightly, or dismissed it outright, opting to observe. But who'd foreseen so many standouts in this crop of rookies, with vast chasms separating them from the average, fueling wild divides.

The outcome loomed as a drastic drop in rookie counts through coming cycles, birthing a handful of grand squads of varying sizes. Those finishing the trial might not top ten thousand.

What's more, beyond picks from a scant few ultra-major races, most notables hailed from petty clans. This threatened to flip the script entirely.

Not just the common races stood stunned; even potent ones reeled similarly.

By the point they could dispatch warriors, their kin might already lie slain. What purpose would this rookie battlefield serve them then? Yes, your sentinels could be fierce, mowing down droves. But rivals would dispatch too, and if outmatched, the edge stayed slim. Then what?

Unease and ire started bubbling up across many universe races right then, rippling through survivor strongholds and swelling into a tidal surge.

A few ultra-major races found themselves blindsided.

They commanded heights, indeed, but the others merely clustered loosely around, no vassals or thralls. Isolated rebellions? They could quash with pretexts. But over half the races banding for claims? That forced gravity, even... concessions.

It boiled down to pressure; yielding was the sole play.

As Ye Zhongming and his crew seized these twelve hours to gear up and bolster without pause, a hasty summit convened among the universe's races. Following hours of fierce wrangling, open and sly, a decision slowly solidified.

When Zizikaba soared aloft to herald the fourth small cycle's kickoff to the rookies beneath, for the first time, his arms weren't folded, and that grating grin had vanished.

"Now, I declare the altered rules for the fourth small cycle."

This declaration froze every rookie below.

Rules shifting once more? Were they hiking shop costs or elimination quotas?

Loads of lower-ranked rookies soured instantly.

"First, zoning takes effect. Per personal points order, rookies at each level stick to matching zones! Hunt zones expand to fifty."

This lone proclamation ignited bedlam below.

"Quiet! Any more racket, and you're dead on the spot!"

Zizikaba wielded his power to quash the din, then pressed on: "Now, the zone assignments. Bottom 5,000 pick zones 1 to 15. Next tier, from fifteen thousand to five thousand from the tail, take zones sixteen to twenty..."