183: Chapter 183 The Aftereffects of the Withering Technique

Qin Ce stood on the training ground, looking at the figures groaning all over the floor.

In their eyes, there was resentment and anger, but more than that, there was fear.

A deep-seated, inexplicable fear that reached their very bones.

The moment the Ku Mantra struck them, they felt as if they had been drained dry.

It wasn't pain; it was emptiness.

Their blood, strength, and spirit were snatched away by an invisible hand, leaving behind only an empty shell.

Qin Ce glanced over them, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.

Did they think the Ku Mantra only injured them? That they would be fine after a few days of rest? That they could escape by hiding away?

The Ku Mantra of the Seven Kills Chaos withers the blood, shrivels the muscles and bones, and dissipates the spirit.

Once that energy seeped into the body, it wouldn't dissipate or be expelled; it would only sink deeper day by day.

A week later, they would find themselves becoming weaker and more listless, until walking felt like stepping on cotton.

By then, forget about running into the wild to hide from him—they would be begging Qin Ce not to go into the wild where they couldn't find him.

Because only Qin Ce could dispel the energy of the Ku Mantra.

His mention of finding them in a week was intended for those who had fled today.

Qin Ce withdrew his gaze and turned to walk toward the Seventh Squad.

"Let's go."

Twenty-three people followed behind him, crossing the training ground and heading toward the other side of the camp.

What happened on the field quickly spread throughout the entire Wuji Army.

"The Seventh Squad's captain took down over three hundred people by himself!"

"It wasn't just taking them down; he knocked them all out with one strike each!"

"What weapon did he use? A bone! The thigh bone of a ferocious beast!"

"What's his rank? Upper Bronze Rank! There were several Silver Rank fighters among those three hundred-plus people, and they couldn't even touch the hem of his clothes!"

"Those who were beaten are still lying at the entrance of the infirmary. The military doctor said he can't find anything wrong, but they just can't stand up!"

"I heard that the Seventh Squad's captain is the same Qin Ce who killed the Raven King in Fengling City!"

"What? That Qin Ce? The Bronze Rank who killed the Gold Rank Raven King?"

"That's him!"

The news spread through the camp like a plague, leaving an uproar in its wake.

Those who had previously mocked the Seventh Squad for "hiding in the mountain gullies to coast through missions" shut their mouths.

Those who had placed bets at the cafeteria entrance on the "Seventh Squad's total annihilation" quietly tore up their betting slips.

Those who had joined the heckling, demanded compensation, or participated in the blockade hid in their barracks, not even daring to step out the door.

The Seventh Squad captain they had always mocked, looked down upon, and thought of as a little lamb turned out to be a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Qin Ce led the group, but they didn't return to their barracks.

They crossed half the camp and headed toward the northwest corner.

There stood a drab, gray building with a sign hanging at the entrance that read "Enforcement Office." The paint on the sign was peeling, but the words were still legible.

The gates of the Enforcement Office were wide open.

When Qin Ce walked in, there was no one inside.

Qin Ce glanced around without saying a word. He walked through the office area and toward the Detention Center in the back.

The hallway of the Detention Center on the first floor was very long. Half the lights were broken, and the dim, yellow light cast mottled shadows on the walls.

Qin Ce's combat boots clicked sharply against the terrazzo floor, the sound echoing back and forth in the empty corridor like heavy drumbeats.

At the end of the corridor, behind an iron door, came a rustling sound.

Someone was unlocking it, but their hands were shaking. The key wouldn't fit into the keyhole, and the sound of metal clashing was exceptionally piercing in the quiet space.

A jailer was squatting in front of the iron door, holding the keys with both hands, sweating profusely, his face flushed red.

Qin Ce stood behind him without making a sound.

The jailer's movements paused. His hands shook even more violently, scratching the keyhole several times before finally inserting the key. With a click, the door opened.

The jailer didn't look back. He stood up, head lowered, and quickly walked past Qin Ce.

He started to jog and finally disappeared at the end of the corridor.

Qin Ce didn't look at him. He pushed open the iron door and stepped into the Detention Cell.

The Detention Cell wasn't large, less than ten square meters.

A bed, a table, and a chair. There was a palm-sized vent on the wall, letting in a bit of gray light. The air was filled with a damp, moldy smell and a faint scent of blood.

Feng Bao sat on the bed, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. His military uniform was wrinkled, and his collar was open, revealing a thin collarbone. There were injuries on his face, dried blood at the corner of his mouth, and a bruise on his cheekbone. He had lost weight—in just three days, he had noticeably thinned down.

Qin Ce stood at the door, looking at Feng Bao.

Feng Bao's eyes opened. He froze for a moment when he saw Qin Ce, then smiled.

"Captain." His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against wood.

Qin Ce didn't say any words of comfort.

He just stood at the door, looked at Feng Bao, and asked, "Can you walk?"

Feng Bao was stunned for a moment, then pushed himself up from the edge of the bed. His legs were a bit weak, and he wobbled for a second as he stood up, but he steadied himself.

"I can walk."

Qin Ce turned and walked out of the Detention Cell, with Feng Bao following behind him.

The moment he stepped out of the Enforcement Office's doors, the sunlight hit his face, making him squint.

He raised a hand to block the light and then saw the training ground.

On the training ground, people were lying all over the place. Not just one or two, but in vast patches, like crops flattened by a storm. Some were groaning, some were crying out in pain, and some were being helped toward the infirmary. Even more people lay on the ground, unable to move, lying there like breathing corpses.

Feng Bao's footsteps faltered.

Feng Bao turned his head to look at Qin Ce.

Qin Ce walked ahead without looking back, without explaining, and without even slowing down. His pace was the same as when he arrived—neither fast nor slow, as steady as a mountain.

Feng Bao's throat bobbed.

Three days.

Their captain had just walked in like that and picked him up.

Feng Bao's pace quickened again. He walked by Qin Ce's side, not falling half a step behind. His shoulders squared, his back straightened, and his head lifted. There was a light in his eyes—not the relief of just being released, but a brighter, hotter light, like something had been ignited.

At the entrance of the Seventh Squad's barracks, twenty-three people stood there, lined up in two rows.

They stood at attention when they saw Qin Ce approaching. Their eyes lit up when they saw Feng Bao following behind him. No one spoke, and no one moved, but the expressions on their faces shifted from waiting to welcoming.

Qin Ce reached the barracks entrance, stopped, and turned to Feng Bao. "Go rest first. I'll check your body in a bit."

Feng Bao nodded, but he didn't leave.

He pulled a handful of things from his pocket and held them out to Qin Ce.

They were various types of packaging—plastic bags, rubber gloves, sealed bags, and a few pieces of shredded oil paper. Some were covered in dust, some were stained with blood, and some were wrinkled as if they had been clenched in someone's hand for a long time.

Qin Ce's gaze fell on the packaging.

"Captain," Feng Bao's voice was very low, so low that only Qin Ce could hear, "these are the things Tianlu brought that day. That bottle was wrapped layer by layer in these bags. The powder inside the bottle can attract pterosaurs."

His fingers sifted through the pile of packaging, picking out two or three pieces and placing them on top.

"Look at this."

Qin Ce's gaze fell on those few pieces of packaging. In the corner of the bags, an emblem was printed.

It wasn't an ordinary logo, but a family crest—a shield-shaped outline with a longsword in the center, its blade entwined with vines. Around the edge of the crest was a circle of fine, dark patterns, a specific identifier used only by internal elites.

The Wang family crest.

Qin Ce's gaze turned sharp in an instant.

"Go rest."

...