Free Web NovelChapter 189: Chapter 189: Do You Think It Was a Misunderstanding?
Xiong Jie and the others stood behind Jiang Che, staring in shock at everything before them. When Jiang Che stepped forward just now, none of them managed to stop him in time.
They hadn’t even gotten the words out to beg Leng Feng for help, yet Long Yun was already sent flying by a single punch from Jiang Che?
In the distance, Long Yun’s sleeve on the arm he used to punch with was shredded, and his once immaculate tunic was torn and tattered.
Bits of shattered stone were embedded in his back, droplets of fresh blood dripping down behind him.
Jiang Che was speaking, and many people shifted their gaze to him. Compared to Long Yun, his condition couldn’t be better—practically flawless.
The muddy ground was littered with all kinds of marks, and even though some were smoothed by the gust from the punch, you could still see the jagged scars left behind—traces of where Long Yun was sent flying.
As for Jiang Che, aside from the ground caving in under his feet from the force of his punch, he hadn’t even shifted a step.
Leng Feng narrowed his eyes at the scene, pausing in surprise.
He, too, had fought Long Yun—and he could do something like that: send Long Yun flying with a punch.
But the problem was, he and Jiang Che were not the same.
Jiang Che was truly a newcomer. To reach his current rank had taken him several years of effort.
He’d entered and exited Dark Star’s dungeons countless times. He knew exactly how much experience an SSS-level dungeon clear would give, and how many runs it took to reach this level of growth.
Dark Star is generous, but also stingy.
He let Leng Feng bring people into his dungeons, but limited the number of times they could enter, forcing them to clear other people’s dungeons to gain experience.
You come in to plant the seed. But the restriction is just to make these "seeds" become parasites in other dungeons, absorbing energy there, to finish the final harvest.
But what about Jiang Che?
Leng Feng stepped in front of Long Yun. Thinking of all he himself had sacrificed to reach this point, he wondered—what about Jiang Che?
It was only recently that he first entered a dungeon, yet now he already had power rivaling his own.
So what kind of deal had Jiang Che made with the Wraiths?
To get the Wraiths to grant him this kind of power?
Leng Feng stared at Jiang Che. He didn’t believe this power was something Jiang Che gained on his own.
What sort of task had Jiang Che been given to earn these powers?
Was it to have humans create dungeons?
But what did Wraiths gain from humans making dungeons?
His mind raced, frantically searching for the Wraiths’ true motive behind all this.
He had to admit—the Wraiths’ move was brilliant: whether it was him or anyone else, after hearing Jiang Che explain how to create dungeons, they couldn’t help but want to try, even had no choice but to try.
The Dark Forest was running wild, and cities of hundreds of thousands, even millions, had become the purest possible fodder for it. Fodder with no resistance at all.
In times like these, humanity’s top fighters had to carve out new territories, to shelter survivors—to create places where humanity could survive in peace.
Leng Feng pressed his thin lips together tightly; even the saliva between his teeth tasted bitter now.
Creating dungeons was, no doubt, the path humanity had to take next. But whether Jiang Che’s method was a trap—that was another question entirely.
Long Yun felt a trace of security as Leng Feng shielded him.
The higher the rank, the greater the gap.
Every step up, your strength underwent a seismic change.
Long Yun clenched his fists, the veins on the back of his hand bulging. He had never suffered such humiliation before. He’d always been one to settle scores immediately.
This was the first time he’d been called weak to his face—called a watchdog—and yet he couldn’t refute it.
He knew well enough: at mid-fourteenth rank, if Jiang Che could send him flying with one punch, then Jiang Che’s strength must be at least fifteenth rank or higher.
Jiang Che looked at Long Yun, a hint of regret in his eyes.
Even as a guard dog, he’s rather lacking...
The oppressive silence was shattered by the droning roar of an approaching helicopter overhead.
They watched as the helicopter picked a wide courtyard and slowly began to descend. The first to step off were two people.
As soon as they touched down, the two turned to the helicopter and helped carry out a small sedan chair.
The chair was small, entirely black, with two poles at front and back—perfect for one person at each end to carry.
The two lifted it quickly, one ahead, one behind, and walked right into the center of the gathering.
The moment this person arrived, the noisy crowd went instantly silent. Many people subconsciously took two steps back, creating a wide path.
"Who’s that? Which family’s kid is that?" Zhou Ang whispered.
He frowned at the tiny sedan chair. It really was so small—miniature, even—there was no way an adult could sit inside.
It could only fit a five- or six-year-old child at most.
Before he finished the sentence, Feihu clapped a hand over his mouth.
"You can talk about anyone here—just don’t talk about him!" Feihu’s voice was hushed, squeezing every word through his teeth.
A flicker of fear crossed Feihu’s eyes. She’d never seen the person inside the sedan, but she knew exactly who it was.
His name was infamous—his unique way of travel meant that anyone who heard once would never forget it.
Zhou Ang nodded fiercely. Xiong Jie took a deep breath and forced a smile, trying his best to barely move his lips.
"That one?"
Feihu nodded hard. Other than the man in the jar, there was no one else who’d appear this way.
She’d heard many stories about him, each one more legendary than the last.
If Leng Feng was considered the hope of mankind, then this "Jar Man" was seen as a symbol of inspired human growth against all odds.
To be thrown out by Wraiths in a jar and still survive—that alone was a miracle.
At first, he volunteered to be used as a shield, enduring endless pain.
Later, once he’d grown stronger, he refused to appear in public again. Even if he did, he never revealed his face.
He founded an organization entirely focused on sheltering those wounded or disabled in dungeons.
Maybe it was the pain of his early growth that twisted his mind—he’d become cruel, bloodthirsty, utterly indifferent to other people’s lives.
"Seems lively here. Looks like there was a fight?" A raspy, sandpaper-rough voice floated out from the sedan, the curtain tightly closed. Whoever was inside didn’t show themselves.
"There was a bit of a misunderstanding just now, but it’s all been resolved," Leng Feng stepped forward immediately, angling his body slightly to look at Jiang Che.
"Let me introduce you—this is Jiang Che," he said, first making clear to the person in the sedan who Jiang Che was.
This person hadn’t appeared in public for a long time; Leng Feng didn’t know why, this time, it had to be Jiang Che he wanted to see.
"Jiang Che, this is Mr. Ren." Leng Feng didn’t know his full name, but now everyone called him Mr. Ren.
Jiang Che looked at the sedan with curiosity. When he heard the voice just now, it sounded very familiar.
The person inside didn’t come out, and Jiang Che didn’t attempt to lift the curtain, either.
"A misunderstanding? Resolved?" The person in the sedan ignored Leng Feng, turning instead toward Long Yun behind him. "Was it really a misunderstanding?"
