The Deputy Commander's Game, Your Life is the Pawn

Zhao Tianxiong's trusted man was called Chen Mo, a Martial Disciple Rank 9, an old hand at this line of work.

He spent half a day digging up everything about the previous night's situation in the Wilderness.

Two pursuers died under the West Cliff—one slash to the throat, a severed wrist as a finishing blow. Clearly the work of a seasoned hand.

Within a three-kilometer radius, Exotic Beast carcasses littered the ground: Steel-Bristle Fierce Rhinos, Armor-Splitting Bears, Shadow Leopards—the most troublesome kinds in the F-Class—all killed with a single blade.

The last signal point from the Tracker, drawing a straight line from the North Gate, led to the nearest barracks—Barracks No. 12.

It housed Wang Tie, Li Ming, and a new recruit named Lin Feng.

Chen Mo placed the report on Zhao Tianxiong's desk, stepped back to the door, and said nothing.

Zhao Tianxiong read the paper twice, then slapped it back onto the desk.

"Lin Feng? Martial Disciple Rank 7?"

Chen Mo didn't answer.

Zhao Tianxiong picked it up again, stared at it a moment longer, then slowly leaned back into his chair.

Could it really be such a coincidence?

Two consecutive incidents both pointing to the same person?

Coincidental—too coincidental.

But Lin Feng's strength at Martial Disciple Rank 7 didn't fit the killer's profile.

He'd seen plenty of prodigies, but could a Rank 7 carve through three kilometers of Wilderness in one night and take down two pursuers? He didn't believe it, but that's what the paper said.

"The goods?"

"Not found."

Zhao Tianxiong rubbed his temples and said nothing.

The origin of those ten Body Tempering Pills couldn't see the light of day. No public channel could handle them, so he had to investigate privately, but even that turned up nothing.

He pulled open a drawer, folded the report, locked it inside, and leaned back into his chair again.

"The F-Class Rift mission in two days—did he sign up?"

"All three are on the list."

"Good."

That "good" told Chen Mo he was in a decent mood.

"Things inside the Rift," Zhao Tianxiong paused, "who can say for sure."

Chen Mo: "I'll arrange two men to follow in."

"Make it clean."

North Gate, mission assembly.

Seven people stood in a row, Lin Feng sandwiched in the middle, Wang Tie on his left, Li Ming on his right. Their gear had already been checked, and none of the three spoke.

Lin Feng swept his gaze over the other four.

Two of them looked unfamiliar.

Not the kind of fresh faces just assigned recently—they were faces he'd never seen in the camp at all. Wearing standard combat uniforms, their stance casual, but their eyes weren't casual at all—staring straight ahead, not at anyone's face.

Lin Feng lowered his head, tightened the buckle on his scabbard, and withdrew his hand.

Footsteps came from the right.

The moment Zhao Tianxiong walked in, those two unfamiliar men straightened their backs simultaneously, their movements as synchronized as if triggered by a single switch.

"Everyone's here. Good."

Zhao Tianxiong swept his gaze across the line, paused on Lin Feng for two seconds, then looked away.

"Something's been going on in the Wilderness lately. Anyone know about it?"

Wang Tie shook his head: "Didn't notice."

Li Ming shook his head too.

Zhao Tianxiong brought his gaze back to Lin Feng: "What about you?"

"Slept too soundly that night. Didn't know a thing."

Lin Feng looked up and replied flatly, his expression unchanged.

They stared at each other for about three seconds.

Zhao Tianxiong turned his head away first, smiled: "Just asking casually. Nothing serious."

He turned around and began explaining the mission procedure, his voice steady, his wording concise.

Lin Feng lowered his head and touched his scabbard again, saying nothing.

The Rift was ten kilometers north of the city; the team had been marching for nearly an hour.

Before they arrived, the stench of blood and sulfur drifted over first, thickening with every step until it was almost clogging their throats.

Li Ming covered his nose with his sleeve, his pace lagging half a beat, until Wang Tie yanked him forward to catch up.

The Rift was larger than Lin Feng had imagined.

A black gash lay across the ground, nearly twenty meters wide at its broadest point. Peering inside revealed nothing but pitch darkness, with only a few dim red pulses rising and falling in the depths—whether magma or the eyes of Exotic Beasts, he couldn't tell.

A low-frequency tremor emanated from deep within, less like a roar and more like the ground itself trembling.

Two of the new recruits had already stationed themselves behind the entrance, their heels edging backward two steps.

Among the two who had followed them in, the one called Liu Gang glanced back and said, "F-rank, a bunch of rookies. What's there to be scared of?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he himself took half a step back, putting a little more distance from the edge.

Lin Feng paid no attention to this. He was studying the rock strata on the opposite cliff face.

This fissure had been torn open by the big earthquake three months ago—a fresh crack. The things inside had never been systematically cleared.

The density wouldn't be low.

Wang Tie sidled over and lowered his voice: "Something feels off in there."

"F-rank never has anything good." Li Ming tugged at his gloves, forcing a calm expression, but his hands betrayed him—he'd wrapped the glove strap around three times.

Zhao Tianxiong strode to the front of the team and raised his hand.

"Move in."

Lin Feng followed the team, his peripheral vision sweeping over the two unfamiliar faces—one walking to his front left, the other lagging to his rear right.

Their positioning was spot on.

He pushed the hilt of his blade upward, loosening it half an inch in the sheath, and stepped into the Rift.