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Within the domain of Heavenly Tao network, most of the ancient relics had already been excavated, so they had to risk venturing into the Shadows to dig further.

The special force field shields installed on the ships could temporarily fend off the encroachment of the Shadows, but each activation of the shields caused a rapid increase in the reactor’s workload, quickly leading to an overheated state.

If they didn’t shut it down within two minutes, the only outcome for the spaceship was a reactor overload, with the casing melting due to intense heat and the ship vanishing into the Shadows.

Because of the technological gap, the squirrels could not solve this problem and could only allow the pilots to enter and exit the shadow-covered area as quickly as possible within those two minutes, searching for any relics and bringing them back.

Since the two minutes included the return time as well, the squirrels’ operating range wasn’t large—they understood that one had to stay alive to bring back anything at all.

But for the players, as long as the goods were retrieved, the person was dispensable.

After receiving the new main quest to acquire ancient technology, some players quickly figured out the corresponding version’s answer.

The vessel had to be the fastest one, the Kuafu, with the lightest mass and capable of repeated space jumps, allowing it to swiftly penetrate the Shadows and start scanning.

Among the chips that could be fitted into the craft, scanning and extreme computing were necessary; the former increased scan range and speed, enabling quick situational awareness and rapid identification of various relics.

Upon finding a relic, they would warp it directly towards the array range, while the searcher would continue looking.

Since players didn’t need air or water, air systems, water recycling equipment, and temperature control devices were all removed from the ship during the modification process, further increasing its speed.

The modified spacecraft was practically a flying coffin. Engineers shivered subconsciously at the sight of it, and even more so as they watched players enter nonchalantly and then head towards the Shadows in search of relics.

The Gods above, these envoys of the Outer God were truly fearsome.

For players, this process was jokingly referred to as “drawing cards.”

The price for the VR piloting simulation pods had dropped to 5 yuan for a chance at three lives. With those lives, one could play for about half an hour in normal mode, but only six minutes in Treasure Hunt Mode.

In these six minutes, players had to pilot the Kuafu, scan frantically within the Shadow domain, dart around, and locate as many ancient relics as possible before the ship exploded, eventually sending them back.

Some relics contained only irrecoverable storage media, but others might contain complete novel weaponry. This gamble-like behavior kept some players hooked and earned them numerous reward points.

The introduction of the new mode increased the “coin-eating” rate of the VR simulation pods again, and many arcades even sought out Kirin Industry to bring in machines, and then made a fortune.

Every time a player’s craft exploded, it left a trail of spectacular light within the Shadows, a beam that signified the passing of life and, due to the slow-motion effect of the Shadows, lingered in the sky for an extended period.

For the squirrels, seeing these beams of light should have been a somber affair, but now it was completely different.

Tens of thousands of players piloted the Kuafu in a frenzy of “card drawing,” with the explosions creating a succession of lights that were almost omnipresent in the dark Shadows, painting the outside world with brilliant colors like light pollution.

The squirrels of the past would never dare to do this.

Relic Hunters faced a death rate as high as 21%; venturing into the Shadows meant a 21% possibility of never returning.

Not to mention the risk of being captured by the Shadows or chased by the monsters materializing within them; even the Ace Hunter Glacier Team narrowly avoided being torn apart by Shadow Hand. Had they not been lucky enough to fall into a black hole and return to their home planet, they wouldn’t be here today.

The incredibly high death rate meant they only conducted a few dozen explorations each day, and their spaceships, once destroyed, didn’t regenerate, the astronauts didn’t return. The immense losses were a heavy burden weighing down on the squirrels.

Yet, they were compelled to continue.

The gap in technology forced them to use this method as the only chance to advance; surviving in this universe was a luxury, a chance that had to be seized with all their might.

“The Pilot Song” was the best commentary on their philosophy, where all fear and despair dissipated within the melody, leaving only the courage to face certain death and still proceed.

But now things were different.

The involvement of the players increased the speed of exploration and continuously brought ancient technological artifacts into the base, making squirrel scientists the most urgently needed profession.

Squirrels freshly rescued and still confused were swiftly fitted with lab coats, given Yanjing-glasses, and dragged onto research ships with a work badge pinned on them—a new scientist had been freshly minted.

Grab your Plague Chicken, find any room to enter, and join them; they’ll tell you what needs to be studied.