Chapter Twenty: The Dark Dungeon
This black market bears a peculiar name: the Dark Dungeon. As its name suggests, the market lies beneath the ground, fashioned from several enormous, abandoned sewer tunnels that crisscross ten meters below the surface.
Few know of the Dark Dungeon’s existence; ordinary folk are completely unaware of it. Yet in his previous life, Xiao Cheng was familiar with this place, though he had never set foot inside.
Within this black market, nearly anything can be bought—contraband, firearms and ammunition, a bounty on someone’s head, and even stranger things…
For instance, Xiao Cheng now stood before a hulking mass of camouflage-painted steel, pure steel tracks, and a long, intimidating gun barrel—none other than a tank, and not just any tank, but a T99 Main Battle Tank from Russia.
The tank was displayed right at the entrance; such a showy gesture was a bit foolish, yet it served its purpose well, a testament to the Dark Dungeon’s claim: everything is for sale, and a demonstration of its owner’s power. Xiao Cheng was not overly surprised; after all, after his family was wiped out in his past life, he had witnessed many terrifying factions. Cultivation sects could exist grotesquely in the world; selling tanks was hardly unusual.
He noticed a pair of oversized, four-cornered beach shorts hanging on the tank, emblazoned with blood-red characters: “Only 58,888,888—take this mighty tank home.” Xiao Cheng smiled; few would dare to drive a tank home openly. Not even the so-called ****, nor the freedom-obsessed United Federation, would allow such a thing.
Beside the tank stood two models—not car models, but tank models, completely nude, with sun-kissed skin, athletic bodies, and a pair of lethal, strong legs, their curves reaching a striking 36D—a pair of extraordinary beauties.
The two stood perfectly still, so much so that they might have been mistaken for artistic statues if not observed closely.
They were identical in height and appearance—clearly twins. Many wealthy men favored the allure of twins, but around their waists hung a sign that read: “Not for Sale.”
Xiao Cheng frowned as he looked at them; the owner of this dungeon was clearly a beast of a man—only someone depraved would devise such twisted displays. Still, he would not interfere; every place has its own rules, and they were strangers, so he owed them nothing.
Descending the steps into the dungeon, Xiao Cheng found it surprisingly bustling: four intersecting streets lined with all manner of shops. The only difference from the world above was the absence of sky. The environment was clean, not the foul stench one might expect.
He had only just entered when a plump man approached, asking in a shrewd tone if Xiao Cheng needed a guide—only a thousand per hour. Xiao Cheng nodded and asked whether meteorite iron was for sale; it was a tentative inquiry, as meteorite iron was rare, yet unexpectedly, it was indeed available here.
His purpose for buying meteorite iron was to forge weapons. Though useless to most, to him it was precious, for meteorite iron possessed a unique property—it could hold true energy. Anything that could bear true energy could be fashioned into a cultivator’s weapon.
Of course, meteorite iron was not the only material with this property; it was merely the least effective among such materials, but it was more common than the others.
If he could obtain meteorite iron, he could forge a low-grade Dao weapon, and with a weapon, his combat prowess would rise a level. Even facing his fourth uncle, Xiao Guowei, he might not win, but he would at least stand a chance.
He followed the plump man to a shop specializing in stones, but the owner was absent. The plump man inquired and learned the owner was enjoying himself at the Fallen Angel Bar.
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Since Xiao Cheng had come this far, he did not wish to leave empty-handed. He asked the plump man to lead him to the Fallen Angel Bar. As they stepped out, two burly youths dressed in punk fashion approached.
Xiao Cheng swept them with his spiritual sense and discovered they carried guns. Guns were not something he could handle at his current cultivation; perhaps with condensed true energy and peak innate spiritual sense, he could dodge bullets. Still, he felt no fear—guns were wielded by men, and as long as he did not let them draw, there would be no trouble.
The two youths came, but not for Xiao Cheng—they confronted the plump man behind him.
“Sun Qian, today is your last chance. Come with us,” sneered the youth with piercings all along his left ear.
They ignored Xiao Cheng entirely, treating him like air. They had seen many reckless fools over the years, but in the Dungeon, one must keep their head down. Xiao Cheng was just a greenhorn; why would they care?
“Please, give me a few more days,” Sun Qian pleaded, trembling and shrinking behind Xiao Cheng.
Xiao Cheng was slightly annoyed. He had come to buy meteorite iron and was about to find the owner, but now this nuisance threatened to delay him. If the two took Sun Qian away, he would need to find another guide, wasting time—a bother he detested. Yet, this was someone else’s territory; he could not be too outrageous.
“Gentlemen, let me find the person I’m looking for first, then you may take him,” Xiao Cheng said politely.
Hearing him, the two youths finally took notice, sizing him up with disdain.
“This is the Dungeon. We make the rules. Who do you think you are, daring to bargain with us?” the other punk youth snapped, pulling a gun from his back.
Xiao Cheng had come to purchase goods, not cause trouble, but that did not mean he feared it. Some people only listened after being beaten; Xiao Cheng did not mind teaching them a lesson.
He gave the man no chance to draw his gun. True energy surged to his legs; his right leg whipped out in a blur, and with two sharp cracks, the youth’s knees were shattered.
The youth felt his strength vanish and collapsed to his knees, the pain slow to register, his face pale, unable even to cry out, pointing at Xiao Cheng and choking out a hoarse sound.
The other, seeing his companion’s plight, instinctively tried to draw his gun—Xiao Cheng broke his legs just as mercilessly.
“You! You dare hit us?”
Despite their shock at encountering a true menace, they did not fear; they had ruled the Dungeon for years, and never had anyone who caused trouble left unscathed.
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“Heh, I could kill you if I wished,” Xiao Cheng said, taking two pistols from their bodies and aiming them at their heads.
Seeing their prized weapons pointed at them, the two finally felt fear. Whether this man would escape later was irrelevant—at this moment, their lives were firmly in his hands.
They could not fathom why this man, younger than themselves, was so ruthless—breaking their legs without hesitation, and now, with that look, he might kill them without a second thought. What kind of monster was he?
Xiao Cheng pressed the pistols against their brows, smiling. “Do you think these guns might be unloaded?”
“There are bullets! There are bullets!” they answered hastily, all bravado gone.
“Oh? How can we know without testing?” Xiao Cheng smiled.
He was not a saint—he had committed countless crimes in his past life, and later killed without remorse. Though reincarnation had given him a moral baseline and sense of responsibility, he was at heart a scoundrel. To bully him was sheer folly.
With those words, he pulled the triggers. One youth fainted instantly; the other sweated profusely, his eyes filled with despair and supplication.
But when Xiao Cheng pulled the triggers, the guns did not fire. The conscious youth’s face lit with joy, thinking the pistols had jammed. But how could both jam at once? His joy turned to confusion as he saw the pistols had become a heap of intricate parts in Xiao Cheng’s hands.
Xiao Cheng spread his hands; the parts clattered to the ground, rendered so misshapen they could never be reassembled. The youth stared, dumbfounded—his entire worldview overturned.
Long after Xiao Cheng had left, the youth still lay on the ground, repeating, “How is this possible?” over and over.
Guns, in their minds, were unrivaled instruments of death, yet in Xiao Cheng’s hands they became mere toys, dismantled in an instant. The confidence, worldview, and sense of reality they had built over years all collapsed in that moment.
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