Chapter 220: Sending Invitations
Hearing Jiang Che’s message, he was only briefly distracted before quickly regaining his composure.
Because he’d had this premonition for a long time.
There were too many humans; in this world, all creatures obey the survival laws of natural selection.
Lately, he was very busy. His dungeon was the first to abandon regular expansion—in fact, everything in this city now existed for the sake of cramming in more people. Every inch of land beneath their feet had its significance.
The city was now truly divided in layers, though construction had only just started on the second layer.
Leng Feng handled business every day, almost never leaving the small conference room.
There was always someone coming in to update him on the latest progress.
They were all his own people. Any non-essential information was kept only within the circle—after all, their greatest secret was being seeds of Dark Star.
Leng Feng’s phone was with his deputy, Liu Mang, who screened which matters needed urgent attention.
When that message came through, the conference room was crowded.
Even though everyone wanted Leng Feng to consider their interests more, hearing that countless humans would be abandoned still left them with bitter emptiness inside.
"Boss, aren’t we taking in new people way too recklessly? Won’t everyone start noticing something’s wrong?"
They already knew Leng Feng’s plan: to kill Dark Star first, regardless of cost, and only then worry about humanity’s future.
Only when high-level combatants survive does humanity have a future.
Leng Feng was silent. Would others figure it out?
If you’re not stupid, you’d easily sense there’s something off on this side of things.
"Then don’t tell them. Don’t inform any other high-class humans." Leng Feng took out a ballpoint pen, aimlessly scribbling random lines across the scrap paper.
On the white page, the tangled lines intertwined, impossible to tell heads or tails.
"There are no walls that don’t leak wind. Sooner or later, people will find out."
"What we need to do is keep it secret, keep building our city, and the rest will come by themselves." Leng Feng’s pen flicked upward—right in the mess of chaotic circles, a single line pointed directly at himself.
People will always believe what they learn for themselves.
The organization Leng Feng belonged to was always trusted by the public. Previously, they’d even publish precious information openly, free of charge.
Even intel about evil spirits—they never kept anything back.
This was why so many strong humans existed; their years of sharing information played a huge part.
Now, when a phone notification pinged, everyone’s first reaction was to check if Leng Feng had released any new content to the public.
If now, a message appeared—an important one, concerning everyone’s life and death—
And it didn’t come from Leng Feng, nor anyone in his organization—
People would instantly doubt the message’s source, and even try to judge its authenticity themselves.
"Now, we rebuild the city, tell everyone it can take in more people." Leng Feng’s eyes flashed darkly; to reach this point, he had far more schemes and wits than ordinary folk.
You could say, without this cunning, he’d never have made it here, never be in this position.
Before, all his schemes—whether toward outsiders or enemies—always ended up benefiting his own.
The assistants seemed to grasp his meaning, sighing quietly.
They didn’t question Leng Feng’s choices, nor rebel against his orders.
In these times, there was no longer a choice to follow a new leader. Any order from the main commander had to be obeyed unconditionally.
They trusted Leng Feng’s character. Whatever he did now was for a longer-term victory.
Sure enough, Leng Feng didn’t release any information. But on Flying Eagle’s side, the word was already out.
The massive deaths let the already suffocating air thicken with a strong bloody odor.
This place wasn’t ventilated at all; all sorts of smells mixed, the viscous blood scent enough to make one nauseous.
Even those in the city who didn’t witness the killing could feel the danger lurking in the coagulated, blood-red air.
Online, where Flying Eagle couldn’t control things, the information exploded.
[I’m in Eyeball City. What the hell just happened? Feels like tons of people died...]
[’Just a feeling’? I swear, this bloody stink is burning my eyes.]
[What’s going on over there? Did Dark Forest invade?]
[Or did the evil spirits break in already?]
...
Where the city still survived, there was network for people to connect.
Lately there wasn’t much chaos; most posts online were complaints about overcrowding, paired with helplessness.
Finally, something big happened—it shot straight to the top of trending topics.
Flying Eagle hadn’t restricted discussion; he was only killing off those who had designs on his dungeon.
The eyeball overhead monitored everything here. As soon as a newcomer looked up at the camera, if it sensed the slightest hint of ambition, it’d rather kill by mistake than let them slip.
He couldn’t slaughter everyone, otherwise, even those reluctant to join forces against him would have to band together.
He didn’t want to become the enemy of all.
[Residents, please do not panic.]
Flying Eagle left a comment below the thread. He wouldn’t kill all, so now, all he could do was have people leave the dungeon of their own accord.
[So far, within my territory, forty-three thousand have died. But you needn’t be alarmed—these were all people who had designs on the dungeon. I’m merely thinking of everyone’s safety, simply removing some hidden dangers.]
He said those who died were the ones coveting the dungeon. People reading the post paused, then sighed helplessly.
The deaths happened fast—but not without reason.
He was only trying to protect himself.
Just like the default rule for everyone who’d fought through evil spirit dungeons before: faced with a mortal crisis, doing harm for the sake of one’s own survival, there’d be no blame from family after leaving the dungeon.
Because this is not a matter of personal will, but an era’s choice.
Now, hearing Flying Eagle’s words, all one could do was sigh.
Flying Eagle’s situation was special: a dungeon anyone could seize naturally became a hot commodity for the slightly weaker.
Living inside someone else’s dungeon couldn’t compare to owning a dungeon yourself.
With tens of thousands dead, Flying Eagle surely killed some by mistake too.
But now, nobody cared who got killed by mistake.
[While the Dark Forest hasn’t fully blocked the roads, why don’t you all come over to mine? It’s crowded, yes, but nothing as freaky as Flying Eagle’s eyeballs.]
Netizens began sending invitations to those in Flying Eagle’s dungeon.