The muddled eyes reflected the silhouette high in the sky, and the hair of the White Horse Tombstone lightly swayed. The martial artist’s instinct drove her to frantically calculate and deduce.

Jump, death. Dodge, death.

Then there’s only...

Earth Shattering Fist!

Without hesitation, she knelt on one knee, her withered arms pounding down with full force. The surging strength permeated radially along the asphalt road into the rock layers, detonating with a loud boom.

The road surface lifted, debris scattered, and smoke filled the entire street.

The smoke, infused with the martial artist’s Qi Force, instantly blocked the Reconnaissance Skill,

Yu Meiqin’s spine turned cold, and she instinctively decomposed the Iron Sand Giant Sword in her hand into basic iron powder, reforging it into an egg-shaped cocoon to envelop herself.

This instinctive move saved her life as, in the next moment, the Iron Cocoon was grabbed by brute force and slammed heavily into the ground.

The egg-shaped cocoon, able to withstand rolling steel coils, was forcibly imprinted with the mark of a hand, even the fingerprints clearly visible.

The neck... is going... to break.

Yu Meiqin’s consciousness gradually blurred, and in a daze, through the egg-shaped cocoon, she heard the sharp whistling sound of something piercing the air.

A silver arrow shot through the sky, piercing through the ulna and radius of the White Horse Tombstone, pinning her arm along with her body to the ground.

The arrow came from the RLG Team’s archer Lamborg, who wore red sunglasses and held a Hand Crossbow. His strong body descended like a wing-suit flyer, murmuring, "Let’s hunt those plunged into darkness."

Li Cheng’s eyelids twitched slightly. He really couldn’t say these people were being abstract—according to the Script World’s timeline, internet memes from the early twenty-first century had been refined over seventy years into a commonplace cultural symbol,

So from the perspective of indigenous NPCs, this might just be paying homage to historically renowned esports players, which is not surprising.

He glanced at Gray Rain with the corner of his eye; the latter’s Furnace of Eight Trigrams withstood prolonged sawing, having already shaved off about 5 millimeters from an indestructible 40-millimeter-thick wooden door.

Got to stall for more time.

Swish swish swish—

Li Cheng used his right hand to pull out the Ancient Long War Map from the void, throwing exquisite chess pieces onto it with his left hand.

Over thirty six-legged Forbidden Army War Cars materialized out of thin air. As soon as they landed, they rotated their cannons and fired transparent Vector Cannonballs at the professional players.

In a hasty response, a small portion of players reacted swiftly, either resisting or dodging.

But most players were still blasted away by the cannonballs, even blown into the sky, where they were caught accurately by Alpha Snake Head and killed with a laser.

Not only that, Li Cheng also used the Skill Mobile USB to summon the Heroic Spirit of the Farmer, deploying it straight into the battlefield using the Ancient Long War Map.

"You Gotta Move, You Gotta Move~"

The air seemed to be filled with the soothing tune of a slide guitar song (played by pressing strings with objects like metal or glass),

The farmer, wearing a cowboy hat and holding a revolver in one hand and a whip in the other, appeared again, with a bright sunny smile on his face.

The professional players present had all reviewed the intelligence briefs shared by the online surveillance department, knowing that this Spiritual Body had the ability to induce immense pain and exceed the game’s pain perception limit,

making them turn pale with fright and scatter in retreat.

However, the farmer was faster than they were. He flicked his whip, like a lasso, hooking two people’s necks, and fired three shots from his revolver, leaving three people bloodied, rolling on the ground, and wailing in agony,

uttering the mournful cry "Oh oh oh oh oh."

There was more or less the farmer’s personal feelings mixed in this,

Considering the global birth rates of various races in the 2020s extending to the 70s and 80s,

it’s not hard to calculate that in the future, the proportion of white people in Europe and America would fall to a pitiful 5% or less, with the global population mostly consisting of East Asians, Southeast Asians, Southern Asians, Black People from Africa, and Latin Americans.

This data was also reflected among the professional players—at a glance, there weren’t many white people.

The farmer whipped without any psychological burden until... he made eye contact with the MAGA cowboy.

"..."

"..."

Both wore the same cowboy hat, the same cowboy boots, their whips had similar styles, and their skin was a reddish-white,

Even the metal belt buckles on both of them were engraved with the Stars and Stripes pattern.

The cowboy swallowed; he practiced the spirit of MAGA at all times in his daily Life, married a white wife, watched Hollywood movies, had a Bible on his nightstand, and held hands to say grace before every meal,

His vehicle of choice was a heavily invested antique pickup truck (electric vehicle with a pickup truck shape since AI era policies eliminated non-environmentally friendly oil vehicles).

’I’m as white as can be, are you still going to whip me?’

It seemed he guessed right, as the farmer’s Heroic Spirit hesitated, glanced past the cowboy.

The latter instinctively breathed a sigh of relief, lowering his previously shredded palm, a drop of blood slid from his fingertips.

Step.

The farmer’s Heroic Spirit suddenly came to a halt, turned around, and pulled out a large square machine from the Other Dimension space behind him.

That... was a high-throughput sequencer specifically for gene detection.

The farmer embraced the machine and swooped down, catching the blood as it dripped into the tray. The machine rumbled to life, and with a "ding," a report was ejected in no time.

Taking one glance over it, the farmer’s vaguely present smile completely disappeared, his lips instantly pulling downward.

[Customer: White male, 23 years old]

[Family residence duration: 1820 years]

[Reference sample: Global Genome Atlas (GGA)]

[Ancestry composition: British Isles 38.5%]

[Poland: 26.1%]

[Germany: 22.3%]

[Scandinavia: 8.2%]

[France: 4%]

[Central Africa Congo Basin: 0.9%]

Less than 1% of African ancestry, statistically negligible,

But according to the old American "one drop rule" of the Mayflower era, any ancestors who had mixed blood with Black People made you black, unchangeably so.

Well now, a Black man impersonating a white man and dared to wear a MAGA belt—this is an added crime!

The farmer’s Heroic Spirit gave a shake, flipping out over a dozen whips, lashing heavily at the cowboy. The tips of the whips moved so fast they even caused a sonic boom.

"Oh—"

The cowboy’s wails abruptly ceased as his eyes rolled white and he fell to the ground.

The intensity of the pain pierced directly through the code and the game pod, triggering the brain’s self-protection mechanism. He couldn’t get up again.

And having completed this whip, the farmer, with a satisfied look, dispersed into smoke and vanished.

Li Cheng wore a peculiar expression. Uh... actually, the farmer didn’t need to go to all that trouble,

In this Script World, although the Great America had been lost for over twenty years, the old era’s relics and holdouts all nostalgically remember the Great America,

They often gathered, railing against the AI era,

They even compiled a set of noble titles according to old era identities.

These include East Coast Old Money Yellow Banner, Silicon Valley Technology Yellow Banner, Wall Street Blue Banner, Washington Politicians’ Blue Banner, West Coast Hollywood Red Flag, Texas Military Energy Red Banner, Ivy League Academic Pure White Banner, Global Elite Embroidered White Banner.

With these Eight Banners, they vow never to forget America’s Golden Age, and sooner or later, they plan to take it back.

The cowboy himself was part of the Texas Military Energy Red Banner, and he even had an organizational motto tattooed on his sole, "Against AI, Restore the Great America."

If the farmer’s Heroic Spirit, a fundamental MAGA, knew about this, he surely couldn’t tolerate the abstract actions of these relics,

No need for a genetic testing report, he could whip the cowboy like a top.