153: Chapter 152 Encirclement by Jackals? I was just worried about having no one to practice on.

By the time Lin Feng emerged from the Library Pavilion, the sky had already darkened.

It wasn't the darkness of dusk, but the unique gloom of the Secret Realm—the hazy sky shifted from light gray to deep gray, like a rag soaked in filthy water.

The wind grew stronger, and the sand grains hitting his face felt like needle pricks. He squinted and pulled his collar up.

He stood on the steps at the entrance of the Library Pavilion, looking into the distance.

That light was still flashing—faint and soft, like moonlight or candlelight, flickering on the hazy horizon.

He took a deep breath, preparing to step forward.

Then he stopped.

The open space below the Library Pavilion was filled with people.

It wasn't just one or two; it was a crowd.

They were in small groups—some standing, some sitting, some leaning against rocks, and others crouching on the ground.

They wore various uniforms—dark blue military fatigues, earthy yellow Explorer suits, black tight-fitting gear, and white research coats.

Various badges were pinned to their chests—the Stars and Stripes, the White-Blue-Red tricolor, the Taegeukgi, the Hinomaru, and patterns Lin Feng couldn't name.

The American team, the European team, the Korean team, the Japanese team, and people from over a dozen other nations.

He counted them—over twenty, nearly thirty people.

They were scattered across the clearing in front of the Library Pavilion, some chatting, some checking equipment, some smoking, and others resting with their eyes closed.

But their gazes, whether intentionally or not, kept glancing toward the gates of the Library Pavilion.

Then they saw Lin Feng.

The clearing went silent for a second.

Everyone stopped what they were doing—the smokers put out their cigarettes, the talkers shut their mouths, and those checking gear looked up.

Over twenty pairs of eyes looked at Lin Feng in unison.

In those gazes were greed, excitement, tension, and hesitation.

Like a pack of hungry wolves spotting a lone sheep.

Lin Feng stood on the steps, looking down at them from above.

The wind blew from behind, ruffling his hair.

His face remained expressionless, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly—not a smile, but a sneer.

He realized that these people couldn't get into the Library Pavilion.

They were blocked by the Formation; otherwise, they wouldn't be waiting outside.

Unable to enter yet unwilling to leave, they blocked the entrance, waiting for whoever was inside to come out.

As for who was inside, they didn't care.

Chinese, Japanese, American—it was all the same to them.

As long as the person came out, whatever they carried would belong to them.

Lin Feng stepped down the stairs.

His pace was neither rushed nor slow; every step was steady.

His boots clicked against the stone slabs, making a crisp sound—tap, tap, tap—like a pendulum, like a heartbeat.

Their eyes followed his footsteps, from the steps to the flat ground, until he came to a halt.

He stopped and looked around.

The three members of the American team stood at the very front. Johnson had his arms crossed, a half-smile playing on his lips, his blonde hair fluttering in the wind, his eyes looking as if he were watching a good show.

Williams stood beside him like an iron tower, hands hanging at his sides, fingers slightly curled, ready to draw his gun at any moment.

Anderson stood at the back. Her short hair was messy from the wind, but her gaze was sharp, like an unsheathed blade.

The three members of the European team stood next to the Americans.

Dupont sported a refined beard and held a cane topped with a sapphire that shimmered with a faint light in the gloom.

Schneider stood to his right, her short hair neat and her expression solemn. Her hands were in her pockets, but Lin Feng could see her fingers moving—she was forming hand seals.

Beltini stood on the left, his long hair draped over his shoulders and his features deep-set. He looked as if he were spacing out, but Lin Feng noticed his eyes were constantly shifting, scanning the surrounding terrain.

Only two members of the Korean team remained.

Park Jeong-hwan stood at the front, young and handsome in his white Explorer uniform, a gentle smile on his face, but his eyes were cold.

Beside him stood Lee Soo-min, with short hair and a sharp gaze, clutching a pair of short swords. The scabbards were white, matching her uniform.

The Japanese team also had only two members left.

Sato Ichiro wore gold-rimmed glasses and a black Explorer uniform, standing straight as an unsheathed sword.

Beside him stood Yamamoto Taro, with a buzz cut and a rigid posture, holding a tachi. The blade was slender and glinted coldly in the dim light.

The teams from other countries were scattered about, some alone, some in pairs.

Canadians, Australians, Brazilians, South Africans, Turks, Saudi Arabians...

They stood on the periphery like spectators, like vultures waiting for a share of the spoils.

Lin Feng looked at them, and they looked at Lin Feng.

The wind blew from the west, carrying sand and the scent of blood.

No one spoke.

The clearing was so quiet that one could hear the sound of sand rolling.

Johnson was the first to speak.

His Chinese was fluent, with a hint of a Beijing accent.

“Mr. Lin Feng, we meet again.”

He paused, glancing at the Library Pavilion's gates. “Is there anything good inside? Why not bring it out to share?”

Lin Feng looked at him. “None of your damn business.”

Johnson's smile stiffened.

He hadn't expected Lin Feng to be so blunt and rude.

Williams, behind him, took a step forward, his hand resting on the grip of his gun.

Johnson raised a hand to stop him, his smile returning to his face.

“Mr. Lin Feng, that's no way to talk. This Secret Realm is a no-man's land; whatever is inside belongs to whoever finds it. For you to claim so many good things all by yourself... it's not quite right, is it?”

Lin Feng looked at him. “Whether it's right or not isn't for you to decide.”

Johnson's smile stiffened again.

He stared at Lin Feng, his gaze turning cold.

“Mr. Lin Feng, there are so many of us and only one of you. Do you really think you can leave with those things?”

Lin Feng looked around at the twenty-odd people.

Their eyes told him that what Johnson said was true.

They wouldn't let him leave with the items alone.

He withdrew his gaze and looked at Johnson. “Try me.”

Johnson's smile vanished completely.

He looked at Lin Feng as if looking at a fool who didn't know what was good for him.

“Mr. Lin Feng, I'll give you one last chance. Hand over the items, and we can let you leave safely. Otherwise...”

He didn't finish, but Williams behind him drew his gun.

The gun was large, silver-white, with runes carved on the barrel, and the muzzle was aimed directly at Lin Feng's head.

Lin Feng looked at the gun and laughed. “Is that it?”

Johnson's expression changed.

He didn't expect Lin Feng not to be afraid of the gun.

This wasn't an ordinary gun; it was a special energy gun for Explorers, capable of piercing the armor of a Level 50 monster in one shot.

But Lin Feng didn't even spare it a glance, as if looking at a toy.

Williams pulled the trigger.

A beam of blue light shot from the muzzle at an incredible speed, straight for Lin Feng's head.

Lin Feng didn't dodge; he raised his right hand, fingers splayed.

The blue beam stopped in front of his palm, as if hitting an invisible wall.

It struggled, twisted, and hissed, but it couldn't advance an inch.

Lin Feng clenched his fingers, and the beam shattered, turning into countless blue sparks that drifted into the air.

The clearing fell silent once more.

Everyone watched the blue sparks like they were watching fireworks.

Williams' face went pale, and the hand holding the gun trembled.

That shot had used seventy percent of its power, enough to pierce through a half-meter-thick steel plate, yet it hadn't even broken Lin Feng's defense.

Johnson's face also turned pale.

He had heard that Lin Feng was strong, but he hadn't expected him to be this powerful.

He glanced at Dupont, who was also looking at him.

The two locked eyes for a second, both reading the same intent in the other's gaze—this man cannot be allowed to remain.

Dupont spoke, his voice calm, as if discussing something trivial.

“Mr. Lin Feng, we admire your strength. But no matter how strong you are, you are only one person. There are over twenty of us; do you really think you can win?”

Lin Feng looked at him. “Try me.”

Dupont nodded and took a step back.

Schneider stepped forward, pulling her hands out of her pockets.

Her fingers were forming hand seals so fast they were a blur.

A white light shot from her fingertips, transforming into a net that descended toward Lin Feng.

The net was massive, covering the sky, its mesh so fine it looked like a spiderweb, a fishing net, an inescapable snare.

Lin Feng looked up at the net.

He didn't dodge; he drew his dragon slaying sword and slashed downward.

Golden Sword Qi erupted from the blade, striking the net.

The net broke, torn apart like paper, its fragments scattering everywhere.

Schneider's expression changed, and she stumbled back two steps.

Her technique had been interrupted, and the backlash made her chest feel tight.

Beltini charged forward.

He pulled two daggers from his waist—they were black and non-reflective, like two shadows.

His speed was incredible; like a gust of wind, he was in front of Lin Feng in the blink of an eye.

The daggers lunged at Lin Feng's throat and heart, one from each side, swift and precise.

Lin Feng didn't retreat. His dragon slaying sword swept across to block the left dagger, while his azure thunder sword thrust out to parry the right one.

Clang, clang—two crisp sounds echoed as sparks flew.

Beltini was knocked back three steps, his hands holding the daggers trembling.

He looked at Lin Feng, his gaze shifting from contempt to gravity.

Park Jeong-hwan and Lee Soo-min also moved in.

Park Jeong-hwan held a longsword, its blade slender like a needle.

He thrust at Lin Feng's chest, the tip of the sword whistling through the air.

Lee Soo-min charged from the side, her twin blades hacking at Lin Feng's waist in rapid, vicious succession.

Lin Feng used the azure thunder sword in his left hand to block Park Jeong-hwan's longsword and the dragon slaying sword in his right to fend off Lee Soo-min's twin blades.

Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang—the four weapons collided, sparks showering the air.

Park Jeong-hwan was forced back five steps, the webbing between his thumb and forefinger splitting, blood trickling down the hilt of his sword.

Lee Soo-min was also knocked back, nearly losing her grip on her blades.

Sato Ichiro and Yamamoto Taro made their move as well.

Sato Ichiro drew a tachi, its slender blade gleaming coldly.

He gripped the sword with both hands and slashed down, the wind of the blade howling as it aimed for Lin Feng's shoulder.

Yamamoto Taro charged from the other side, his tachi thrusting toward Lin Feng's waist with speed and precision.

Lin Feng deployed both swords. The dragon slaying sword blocked Sato Ichiro's tachi, while the azure thunder sword parried Yamamoto Taro's.

Clang, clang—two loud crashes rang out as Sato Ichiro and Yamamoto Taro were both thrown back.

Sato Ichiro's glasses flew off, and Yamamoto Taro's tachi slipped from his hands, clattering to the ground and bouncing a few times before coming to a rest.

The rest of the crowd swarmed forward.

Canadians, Australians, Brazilians, South Africans, Turks, Saudi Arabians...

Over twenty people lunged at Lin Feng from all directions like a pack of mad dogs.

Lin Feng stood in the center, swords in hand. Golden light and azure lightning intertwined, illuminating the entire clearing.

He looked at the charging crowd, and the corner of his mouth curled up.

It wasn't fear; it was excitement.

He was just worried he had no one to practice on.

Those skills, those Fusions, those newly acquired abilities—he hadn't tested them yet.

These people would make perfect targets.

He took a deep breath and charged into the crowd.

The dragon slaying sword swept across, a golden arc of Sword Qi striking three people. They were sent flying with cries of pain, crashing to the ground and unable to get back up.

The azure thunder sword thrust out, a bolt of azure lightning piercing through the shoulders of two men. Blood sprayed, staining the sandy soil red.

“Come on! I was just worried I had no one to practice on!”

His voice echoed across the clearing, carrying far into the distance.

The people looked at him as if looking at a demon crawled out of Hell.

They wanted to run, but their legs wouldn't obey, as if nailed to the ground.

They wanted to fight, but their hands were shaking, unable to even hold their weapons steady.

The twenty-plus of them against him alone, yet they were being utterly routed.

Johnson stood at a distance, watching it all, his face deathly pale.

He knew they were finished today.

It wasn't because they were outnumbered, but because Lin Feng was too strong.

Strong beyond reason, strong beyond the rules, strong enough to drive them to despair.

He turned around, wanting to flee.

He had barely taken a step when Lin Feng's voice came from behind. “Stop right there.”

Johnson's body froze.

He slowly turned around and looked at Lin Feng.

Lin Feng stood in the middle of the crowd, his swords hanging at his sides, tips pointing to the ground.

Blood dripped from the blades—drip, drip, drip—staining the sand below.

He looked at Johnson with a calm gaze, as if looking at a dead man.

“You said earlier you wanted me to hand over the items?”

Johnson's lips trembled, and his legs did too.

He wanted to speak, but his throat felt as if it were being squeezed, and no sound came out.

Lin Feng looked at him. “Now, do you still want them?”