Chapter Twelve: The Great Boss Battle—Please Support and Bookmark

The situation on the street was much the same as before. Now, Liang Jing, helmet on his head, clad in leather armor with protective leggings, gloves, and sturdy work boots, was fully armed and could roam the streets unhindered. Even when faced with an assault from mutant mosquitoes, he no longer needed to seek out advantageous terrain; he could meet them head-on, fighting and hacking straight through. Such was the power of defensive gear! At this stage, perhaps there was no one else who could stride so boldly as Liang Jing.

A flash of silver, a sharp whistle—Liang Jing swiftly sliced the two mutant mosquitoes before him into quarters, their dark red blood splattering as two copper coins clattered to the ground. His left hand moved constantly, not wishing to let the mutant mosquitoes cling to his body. Though the danger was now minimal and he could kill them more easily, Liang Jing preferred it this way; he wanted the mosquitoes to stay airborne, as agile and swift as possible. As his physical strength increased, he felt his control over the blade growing less precise, his aim deteriorating.

He was using these nimble mutant mosquitoes to train himself, to overcome the discomfort that came with growing strength; only when he could fully master his power would it truly be his own. He tilted his head, catching a glimpse from the corner of his eye; as though measured by an instrument and cut cleanly, a gust of wind whistled, and a mutant mosquito behind him was split in two, blood floating in the air.

Liang Jing’s eyes shone. The blade followed his gaze—hand and eye as one. No! More precisely, blade and eye as one! This was incomparable to before; no matter how skilled or accurate he had been, his physique lacked the power and speed, so he could never achieve such synchronization. It was a great leap forward, though he found it difficult to replicate that perfect strike again, feeling a touch of regret.

A chime rang—Liang Jing’s eyes brightened. Equipment drop! Beside the corpse of a mutant mosquito lay a white skill book, the lowest grade, but any skill would satisfy Liang Jing, freeing him from the burden of fighting unarmed.

[Basic Insight]: Allows observation of monsters up to five levels higher than oneself; success rate is very low for higher-level monsters.

His right hand slapped down—study! To see monster attributes—what a treasure, even if it was the most basic skill, lacking levels or proficiency. After learning the skill, Liang Jing was in high spirits, his enthusiasm for killing mutant mosquitoes renewed. The goal set by that earlier perfect strike lingered in his mind; imagine, blade and eye as one—what speed, what ferocity! That single strike could rival thousands of masters; one careless moment and a life would be lost, blood splattering five paces away. Fu Hongxue, the Japanese sword-drawing style—they all practiced for one perfect strike, each earning legendary renown.

Swift, ruthless, precise!

As he continued to grow stronger, if he could enter this state at will, he would never lack offensive techniques. Of course, he still had a long way to go; if the target was close, he could sometimes force such results, but real mastery would require much more training, both in physical fitness and blade control.

“Liang Jing! Liang Jing! Help us, hurry!” A familiar voice—Liang Jing immediately knew who it was, surprised that they had run back near his rented apartment. Apparently, Gao Fuyu’s manner of speaking had become permanent; perhaps it was his own fault for not teaching him a lesson, and now he’d forgotten to do so.

He saw the landlord Gao Fuyu and Liu Zhen, somehow having ended up in a small room by the big iron gate. They stood at the window facing the street, gripping the steel bars and calling out to Liang Jing for help, their faces twisted in misery, resembling performers of the lament “Tears Behind Iron Bars.”

“What are you two up to now?” Truth be told, Liang Jing was already tired of them and reluctant to help.

“Woof... howl...”

“Buzz buzz buzz...”
“Chirp chirp chirp chirp...”
“Hiss hiss hiss hiss...”

Several types of mutant creatures’ noises mingled in a cacophony. No need to ask—the answer was obvious. These two seemed to attract hatred wherever they went. Originally, there were five mutant mosquitoes; now the numbers were counted by species. It was baffling how they managed to survive amid so many mutant monsters.

Could they be followers of Brother Chun?

Not daring to waste time, Liang Jing gestured for silence. Stealthily, no gunshots—both understood and stopped calling out, waiting to see what would happen. He owed them nothing; if he could save them, he would, but not at the cost of his own life.

Goodness, he wondered why they were shouting but no monsters were bothering them, living safely while chaos reigned inside the building. Corpses littered the ground, rooms on the first floor nearly opened up, even the second floor’s boards were smashed through. What force and fierce combat must have caused this? Clearly, the monsters didn’t care about their fate.

Liang Jing swallowed hard.

Mutant rats, larger than ordinary dogs, with gray-black fur bristling like steel needles and claws gleaming coldly.

Mutant spiders, bigger than washbasins, yellow-brown bristles, fiercer and larger than any Liang Jing had seen before.

Even mutant mosquitoes, covered in red spots, more formidable than those Liang Jing had previously slain.

There were also mutant flies, as big as the spiders, their green bodies buzzing disgustingly. Their taste had changed: instead of eating corpses and garbage, they joined in to feed on the living, seeking freshness.

What surprised Liang Jing most was that these groups of powerful mutant monsters were all united against a single target. Looking at the besieged, towering figure—at least two meters tall—covered in mutant rats and flies biting, clawing, and crashing into it, ferocious beyond measure.

These monsters, formidable in Liang Jing’s eyes, seemed mere toys before the might of this figure.

Liang Jing’s gaze narrowed. Though the creature’s form had changed drastically with mutation, he recognized it: the purebred Caucasian shepherd dog his factory boss had imported from Germany to guard against theft, not some crossbred dog bought cheaply in China. The boss’s wife, a dog lover, had insisted on spending so much to acquire it—a guard dog and a pet.

Before mutation, it stood over eighty centimeters tall, weighed about eighty kilograms; now, after mutation, it was more formidable—over two meters tall, nearly four meters long, like an enhanced lion, its dense brown-gray fur bristling like steel wires. Its massive head was almost as big as a small car’s hood, two thick gray-yellow brows nearly covering its black, fierce eyes. Its canine teeth were long and sharp, gleaming coldly, its limbs thicker than a person’s thigh, powerful and strong, its claws over ten centimeters long, black and shining, dripping with blood and bits of flesh—a picture of power and majesty.

Far more robust than a lion, far sturdier—almost like a small elephant.

Current status: Advanced evolutionary form (Boss class??), dangerous!

Again, the “system” prompted automatically. With so many bizarre abilities arising, Liang Jing had come to define this special ability as the “system.” An advanced evolutionary form—were there others? Liang Jing focused hard, using Basic Insight. After many failures, he finally succeeded in seeing the Caucasian dog’s attributes.

“Caucasian Shepherd Evolutionary Form (Boss class, awakening... strength reduced by 50%, wounded): ?? level. Due to environmental influence, has evolved. Possesses immense power, extremely high defense, rapid speed; claws and fangs can tear steel; top-level predator! Bloodline awakening in progress...”

The name was not white, but blue tinged with gold—Boss class, and on the verge of evolving into a golden Boss.

Monsters were ranked by color: white names for ordinary monsters, green for elite monsters, blue for leader Bosses, gold for Boss monsters. Whether there was anything higher than a golden Boss was unknown; in games, the most powerful were golden Bosses.

Golden Bosses had impressive backgrounds, ancient lineages, formidable abilities, far superior to ordinary Bosses—like an old noble family compared to a nouveau riche, the depth and capabilities were simply incomparable. Golden Bosses represented the strongest, noblest, most ancient beings of their level.

Liang Jing was filled with excitement and longing. Though it had only been a day, so much had happened that it felt much longer; all he’d fought were ordinary white-named monsters, yielding only the lowest-grade white equipment. Except for Yang Yuyuan, he’d never experienced the thrill of killing a Boss.

Now, unexpectedly, such a high-level monster had appeared. What treasures would killing this Boss yield? How much experience (white spiritual light) would he gain? The thought made Liang Jing shiver in excitement.

In games, green elite monsters needed several players in a party to defeat; blue Bosses took dozens; golden Bosses required an entire guild, sometimes the whole server.

But now, lured by immense rewards, Liang Jing’s eyes burned with greed. One could hardly blame him for risking his life—under immense survival pressure and after being poor for so long, how could he resist the lure of gold? Even elite monsters always dropped at least one item.

Though the Caucasian dog, about to become a golden Boss, was dangerous, it was weakened by evolution (down 50% in strength) and severely wounded by the attacks of so many strong mutant monsters; its power was greatly diminished. Liang Jing made up his mind—he would take the risk.

Of course, he wouldn’t rush in immediately; that would be suicide. He’d watch the show, prepare useful things, and wait for opportunity. When the snipe and clam fight, the fisherman benefits; when the mantis stalks the cicada, the oriole follows behind—this was true wisdom.

Using Basic Insight to examine the other monsters, Liang Jing became ever more convinced that his plan was sound; both sides were stronger than he had imagined.

“Mutant Rat: Level 5. After crossing into another dimension, mutated due to environmental influence. Bloodthirsty and fierce, sharp claws and teeth, agile movements, extremely dangerous incisors.”

“Mutant Mosquito: Level 3. After crossing into another dimension, mutated due to environmental influence. Frenzied hunger for blood, carrying multiple viruses, extremely dangerous.”

“Mutant Spider: Level 5, after crossing...”

“Mutant Fly: Level 4, ...”

Reading these descriptions, Liang Jing was puzzled—mutated after crossing? These were clearly mutated versions of common mosquitoes, rats, and flies. He should still be on Earth, right? Did Earth itself cross dimensions? That seemed absurd.

These mutant monsters were likely powerful beings from nearby, drawn by the intense blood energy emitted from the evolving Caucasian dog. Insects and vermin are far more sensitive than humans, and they were irresistibly attracted by the strong blood energy—vital for their own evolution.

Even as most died, those left persisted in madness.

As time passed, the mutant flies, lacking offensive power and able only to feed by sucking with their mouthparts, were the first to perish. Whether they truly lacked attack or were desperately absorbing the nutrients in the Caucasian’s blood to evolve, it was clear they cared nothing for their own lives, reduced to bloody pancakes by the dog’s body as a weapon.

The mutant spiders fared little better. Level 5 spiders, whether in web elasticity or bodily strength, were at least twice as strong as those Liang Jing had killed before. Now only three remained, soon to be one; their webs had no effect on the Caucasian dog, but they refused to give up, and so tragedy struck. Even the last one had its abdomen shattered, a fang broken, two fore-eyes completely destroyed—clearly on its last legs.

Boom...

As the Caucasian dog’s beast-like body crashed into a wall, half of it collapsed, and a level 5 mutant rat was smashed and gravely wounded.

Gradually, only two of the most cunning mutant rats remained. One played hide-and-seek atop the Caucasian’s head, its sharp incisors having punctured one of the dog’s eyes. The other clung beneath its belly, gnawing a bloody hole, crimson liquid gushing, intestines nearly spilling out. These mutant rats were likely stronger than ordinary humans, their claws and teeth especially vicious.

Despite fighting for so long, the Caucasian dog’s wounds were few, testament to the resilience of its fur and skin.