Matrix Survival: I Get A Random Chest Every Day - Chapter 917 - 645: Mine, Mine, All Mine! (Part 2)

Martial Soul, the essence of innate talent, encompasses the grade of countless stars, with one to three stars being Low Level, seven to Nine-star being Advanced, and a Ten-star Martial Soul as a Heavenly Gifted Spirit, known as Spirit Martial Soul, one in ten thousand!The world asks Luo Cheng: “How many stars is your Martial Soul? What grade?”Luo Cheng stares at the endless galaxy within his Martial Soul and mutters:“That's a lot of billions, it's hard to count!”

This story is about a rookie researcher, who was forcefully dragged away from his restful life, compelled into facing various killers and zombies, always having to risk his life at the brink of death, and finally becoming an advanced researcher that is acclaimed by all. And throughout his adventure, he met an alluring(?) killing machine, who he started to have fantasies on after they had an accidental kiss…

Xiao Yan: Did I fall for him? But he’s a man!

Maya: Who knows…. maybe it’s the other way round?

- Description from Novelupdates

An AI calling itself Schema has assimilated earth into its system. As a consequence, everyone gained access to status screens, power-ups, and skills. This AI turned these concepts from fiction to fact. It's easy to become intoxicated with leveling up and becoming stronger. To some, it's too good to be true like living out a dream.

For Daniel, however, it's closer to a nightmare.

He's in a bit of a predicament. Cracks in our dimensional fabric have unleashed terrifying beasts from dark, abyssal places. Schema organizes these cracks into dungeons, giving the native species of the planet a chance to fight back. Daniel finds himself trapped in one of these dungeons. Not long after, he discovers there's only one way out.

It was understood that this was a capitalist country, where the possession of the greatest amount of capital determined to whom the nation effectively belonged.The smile that had been resting on William Sheffield’s face was abruptly erased as his expression turned cold. In a tone laced with determination, it was demanded by him that the police be contacted immediately so that they could crush those who stood in their way. The reasoning behind his words seemed clear: if such actions had been taken before by someone like Rockefeller, then why should it not also be possible for Sheffield?A sense of irony hung in the air as the sentiment was expressed—this was America, where each day seemed to unfold as though it were part of an ongoing shootout, with battles fought not just with guns but with power, influence, and wealth.