Future Masters in Modern Times

Chapter 48: Unbelievable

All eyes were fixed on Zhao Wuji. Zhao Wuji’s expression remained impassive as he watched quietly while two heavily armed guards swung open the iron cage door with a clang. To many, the iron cage looked like a giant maw ready to devour anyone it chose—and one that wouldn’t even spit out the bones. How dare he?! Even a team of five would proceed with extreme caution when facing so many wolfhounds, fearing they might lose their lives at the slightest misstep—yet this Chinese man, Number 105, actually demanded that all the wolfhounds be let in. All by himself, against so many wolfhounds? I really don’t know what he was thinking—he probably won’t last even a second! Many people thought maliciously as they watched the horde of wolfhounds, secretly imagining what a bloody mess he would be torn into. The moment Zhao Wuji stepped into the iron cage, the murmurs and whispers among the fighters in the arena fell silent. Instead, they adopted an air of anticipation, waiting for the scene of blood and gore to unfold. The iron door slammed shut. Alan clenched his fists and looked away slightly, unable to bear witness to what was about to unfold. At the same time, he had some doubts. Zhao Wuji didn’t seem like an impulsive, thoughtless person; on the contrary, he gave off an air of composure and calmness. Why? That word kept swirling in his mind. Max’s gaze returned to its usual coldness. He ordered the guards to push several cages forward; inside, wolfhounds were crammed tightly together, barking restlessly. Their cold eyes glowed with a faint, eerie light as they scanned the humans present. Several guards held spray bottles and sprayed a liquid into the cages. As soon as the liquid made contact, the wolfhounds first grew restless, then began ramming against the cramped cages. The cages were shaken to the point of collapse by their force, creaking loudly. Max saw that the time was right; he first raised his hand slowly, then brought it down with a heavy thud. “Put them all in there,” Max said, enunciating each word as if it were laden with complex emotions. The cages were pushed to the ground and then shoved by the guards toward the small door beside them; the bottoms of the cages scraped against the floor, producing a piercing screech. Finally, the cage was pushed up to the small door. Zhao Wuji glanced at the wolfhounds about to be released, a faint smile curving his lips. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, as if what was about to happen had nothing to do with him—as if he were merely a bystander. The iron gate separating the wolfhounds from the outside world was slowly pulled upward. The wolfdogs filed in one after another; more than twenty of them entered the cage. To those outside, it looked at first glance like a dark, dense mass; they filled nearly half the space inside the cage. “Attack him! Tear him to pieces!” Berken screamed inwardly. His massive fists clenched so tightly that the veins bulged, trembling with excitement, while his eyes gradually filled with a blood-red haze—a bloodthirsty frenzy had completely consumed his very soul. Many of the boxers wore excited expressions; after all, watching more than twenty wolfhounds tear a man to pieces was bound to be quite a spectacle! Alan’s face was etched with worry. At this very moment, all he could do was pray—pray that this Chinese man, whom he had come to regard quite favorably, would survive this ordeal. Even though he knew the chances of survival were slim to none, so what? Max, however, felt a sense of calm deep within. For a fleeting moment, he thought back to many years ago—that confident, spirited figure, that aura that was destined to make him a true powerhouse! Gradually, his thoughts returned to the present, and he silently watched the figure inside the cage. Same age, same ethnicity. Yet, in the end, he was not him—that eternal No. 105. Sigh… No one heard that sigh. Max merely turned his face slightly away—whether because he couldn’t bear to watch what was about to unfold, or because he didn’t want anyone to see what lay deep in his eyes… At that moment, the eyes of everyone in the arena were fixed on the wolfhound and the dog inside the large cage. What was to follow would surely be a brutal spectacle! A fighter stood waiting, his eyes fixed intently on the cage. No movement… He kept staring, but still there was no movement. Many of the fighters in the arena were just like him, waiting for the battle to begin—but something seemed terribly off! Their eyes were wide open, so wide that their eyeballs ached and tears streamed down their faces. But even so, none of them saw what they should have seen. At that very moment, inside the cage… Zhao Wuji looked at the pack of wolfhounds before him with utter nonchalance, as if he were looking at a group of harmless white rabbits. And what about those wolfhounds? Facing Zhao Wuji’s gaze, they actually recoiled in panic. What was wrong with them? Any observant person who looked closely at the wolfhounds would notice that their bodies were actually trembling, and the crimson glow in their eyes was steadily fading. Zhao Wuji strolled casually around the cage; the wolfhounds scattered to make way for him. Some, unable to get out of his path in time, let out whimpers like puppies—a sound that was truly spine-chilling. After walking a few laps, Zhao Wuji simply stopped moving, leaned casually against the barbed wire fence, and closed his eyes to rest. “What’s going on!” The boxers present were livid. When they’d entered, the wolfhounds had been as hyped up as if they’d been injected with chicken blood! So why were they so listless now? Well, in fact, those wolfhounds *had* been pumped up—but hadn’t the ones Zhao Wuji was facing now been given the same treatment? They felt resentful—extremely resentful. One fighter ran a hand over the scant flesh remaining on his arm, which twitched with pain—his arm ached, but his heart ached even more. Berken’s clenched fist suddenly relaxed. The bloodshot look in his eyes hadn’t faded yet—was he still planning to enjoy a long, bloody spectacle? But what was the reality? It was as if he’d punched thin air—that sense of powerlessness left him so frustrated he almost wanted to kill himself. How could this have happened? Alan’s face lit up with joy; though his heart wasn’t quite at ease yet, he had already breathed a huge sigh of relief. Only Max was lost in deep thought. Faced with the bizarre scene unfolding inside the cage, his first reaction was: Were his eyes playing tricks on him? After confirming that everything was as it seemed, he began racking his brain to find an explanation for what had happened. As he thought, his thoughts became as tangled as a ball of乱麻. Suddenly, as if a shooting star had streaked across the pitch-black night sky, illuminating the entire heavens, a flash of insight flickered through his mind. He’d got it! Could that possibility really exist? Legend has it that there exists a kind of person in this world who kills without mercy; wherever they go, rivers of blood flow and mountains of corpses pile up. Such a person has a fitting name—the “Slayer of Ten Thousand”! What is a “Slayer of Ten Thousand”? Only one who has slaughtered ten thousand is truly a “Slayer of Ten Thousand.” Such a person exudes a bloodthirsty aura so intense it turns half the sky crimson; wherever they go, the night is filled with the wails of ghosts and the howls of wolves, sending chills down one’s spine. Of course, the bloodthirsty aura of such a person cannot be detected simply by smell. When ordinary people encounter them, they experience only one sensation: as if they’ve fallen into an ice cave, their whole body grows icy cold, and their mind goes completely blank. However, there are creatures that can clearly sense the bloodlust emanating from such a person—creatures endowed with spiritual awareness, including canines. And now, seeing these wolfhounds react this way—could it be because the man standing before them is a mass murderer? Max stared at Zhao Wuji’s unremarkable face—which even bore a cheerful smile—and simply couldn’t believe that this ordinary Chinese man was the legendary “mass murderer” said to have committed boundless acts of slaughter. Deep down, Max refused to believe any of it. “It’s not fair! The spray must not have been strong enough!” A boxer from the crowd shouted loudly. This outcry was like pouring oil on a fire; all the boxers’ eyes turned red as they fiercely voiced their discontent. Max hesitated for a moment, then gave the order again. “Increase the dosage!” As soon as they received the order, the guards grabbed their sprayers, walked over to the cage, and, through the bars, sprayed another heavy dose of the solution onto the group of listless wolfhounds. What would happen this time? Everyone watched with bated breath, hoping the pack of wolfhounds would leap to their feet—just as they had against them—and pounce viciously on the Chinese man. Thanks to the effects of the solution, the pack of wolfdogs indeed began to stir one after another, regaining their energy—a clear sign they were about to attack. Couldn’t you hear that suppressed growl in their throats? “Attack!” the boxers shouted inwardly. With bloodshot eyes, the pack of wolfhounds scanned the area for a target, yet they seemed to be deliberately avoiding Zhao Wuji, darting about aimlessly like flies on a brow. Finally, one wolfhound launched an attack—but not against Zhao Wuji; instead, it attacked one of its own packmates. Immediately afterward, it seemed as though every wolfhound launched an attack on the companions right beside them.