Gray Crow is challenging the dungeon, and Jiang Che has no intention of holding back—this is what Gray Crow himself demanded, not wanting Jiang Che to go easy on him, not wanting to clear the dungeon easily and leave.
Gray Crow moved with seeming indifference, and before long, the first Spirit Body had already tainted him.
The pain he felt was slight; his movements visibly stalled for a moment. He hadn’t expected that the dungeon of Jiang Che—infamous online as certain death—would have such light damage at the start.
As he ran, Gray Crow’s black suit grew disheveled.
No matter what he did, he always appeared careless, but the moment his suit got wrinkled, he grew visibly flustered, hastily smoothing out the fabric.
Once his clothes were neat again, he quickly pulled out another notebook from his pocket. With a single glance, Jiang Che recognized the notebook carried peculiar energy—it was a dungeon item.
He hadn’t seen a truly useful dungeon item in ages; this was the first decent one he’d come across since claiming his own territory.
Jiang Che could observe everything in the dungeon. He watched as Gray Crow fled in panic, clutching the notebook and scribbling rapidly with his pen, recording every rule he encountered during the trial.
"The first wound is mild, like a mosquito bite. The second’s pain doubles, and if my guess is correct, each subsequent attack will double in intensity until resistance becomes impossible."
Though he appeared to be fleeing chaotically, with no method to his actions, he carried out two things with absolute seriousness.
First: Even under overwhelming pressure, he would still take a moment to smooth out his black suit, striving to preserve that eerie elegance—as if this suit were the final boundary of his dignity.
Second: He was utterly focused on recording the dungeon rules of Jiang Che.
Gray Crow darted left and right through the corridor, with dangers in constant pursuit behind him.
His ragged breaths sounded especially loud in the silent dungeon, yet his hand holding the pen never paused for a moment.
"The third strike, like being splashed by boiling oil."
"The fourth, akin to being whipped by a lash."
With each entry, resolve grew sharper in his eyes.
Although his black suit had already sustained plenty of damage, he obstinately smoothed every crease with the same persistence.
Jiang Che watched the dungeon map in silence. If his guess was right, this must be on Black Crow’s orders.
Yet, cultivating talent like Gray Crow was nearly impossible—was he really going to just let someone like that die in his dungeon?
When intruders died, their Life Energy would be devoured by the dungeon.
Gray Crow’s strength was considerable—even greater than Leng Feng’s. If he died in Jiang Che’s territory, it was almost like receiving a massive windfall.
Jiang Che didn’t believe Black Crow would send him energy as a gift.
As Gray Crow delved deeper, he took more and more damage, yet he kept that notebook tight in hand, diligently documenting each detail.
"The fifth—the sensation of being smashed by a heavy hammer."
"The sixth, as if cut by a razor-sharp blade."
His handwriting was growing sloppier, but it was still clear enough to read his descriptions.
By now, sweat poured down Gray Crow’s face, and his hair had become utterly unkempt.
But whenever he found the chance, he would reach to straighten his suit—as if that was his only comfort left.
Gray Crow struggled forward through the dungeon, his steps growing weighted, blood soaking him. The once immaculate black suit now was thoroughly stained and tattered with gore.
"The seventh attack—like being crushed by a massive boulder."
"The eighth—it feels as though my soul is being torn apart."
Yet even so, he didn’t stop recording. His hand holding the pen trembled, but remained steadfast, writing line after line.
His gaze burned with a mad persistence, as if not even excruciating pain could disrupt his task.
Blood dripped from the edge of his suit, leaving a jarring trail across the floor.
But Gray Crow seemed oblivious, only bearing his teeth, dodging incoming threats while continuing to write.
His breaths came shorter, each gasp a tortured moan.
"The ninth—feels like being pierced by thousands of arrows."
"The tenth—it’s as if my whole body is about to be ground to dust."
Gray Crow’s face was ashen pale, but his eyes remained unyielding.
At this moment, he finally set down the pen and wrote "End" at the bottom of the notebook, as if he knew he wouldn’t survive the next attack.
During the trial, no outside contact was allowed—not even Black Crow’s followers could communicate out.
His shaking fingertip summoned a feeble spark, which, faint yet striking, flickered in the dungeon’s darkness.
Immediately, the notebook—his painstaking record—burst into sudden flame, burning with a voracious blaze.
In the blink of an eye, the notebook was reduced to ashes.
He hadn’t come to clear the dungeon—his single purpose appeared to be documenting the level of threat in Jiang Che’s dungeon.
Once the notebook was burned, it instantly turned to smoke and disappeared.
By then, Gray Crow had only cleared a fifth of the dungeon’s progress.
His progress was abysmal, even worse than the average Survivors who’d come before.
Those ordinary Survivors, weak as they were, never ended up as pathetically as this.
Yet he’d made it this far solely through his near-fanatical willpower.
Meanwhile, Long Yun, guardian at the exit, had been battle-ready since the moment Gray Crow entered. As a combatant for Jiang Che’s dungeon, he could feel the tremendous presence of this intruder—so intense it weighed down his every breath.
He didn’t know who the intruder was—only that their presence was formidable. He had felt something like it only from Leng Feng before.
For a moment he even wondered if Leng Feng and Jiang Che had fallen out, and Leng Feng had come to attack Jiang Che’s dungeon.
But soon he realized that wasn’t it.
For as strong as the intruder’s aura was, it bore subtle differences from Leng Feng’s.
This one—he felt—even more dangerous than Leng Feng.
Gray Crow swayed on his feet, about to collapse, a dying flame snuffed by the wind at any moment.
He stared back at the white Spirit Body trailing close behind, its savage face twisted as if to devour him whole.
Yet, a wild frenzy flashed in his eyes—an almost delirious fervor.
He cried out, "Long live Lord Black Crow!" The scream was shrill and final, echoing through the gloomy dungeon—reckless, insane loyalty blazing forth at the end.
Then, as if driven mad, he charged headlong into the white Spirit Body without a hint of hesitation.
He didn’t even scream—the final blow was so brutal his body didn’t make a sound as it was reduced to hacked flesh, which rapidly soaked into the ground, returning the dungeon to silence.
Long Yun, far away, froze. He could tell the intruder was distant from him, only a fifth of the dungeon cleared.
How could such a powerful challenger die so quickly?
Someone stronger than Leng Feng—just died so easily?