Reckless

No one expected Chen Feng to be so ruthless.

Yang Zheng, who always exuded an air of unshakable dominance, had reduced Wei Xun to nothing more than a broken, whimpering mess—a man who had once seemed formidable now lay at his feet like a beaten dog. The sound of bones snapping echoed, and with it, the occasional roars of tigers and howls of wolves seeped from Yang Zheng's body. It felt as though an invisible jungle of predators had sprung up around them, where any step could lead to death.

"This lunatic!" Yang Zheng hissed through clenched teeth.

He had come to seize the food, and breaking Wei Xun's arm was just the opening act—a warning to any who might oppose him. Having awakened the spirits of a Hundred Beasts, Yang Zheng's presence was that of a predator in his prime, allowing no lesser creature to stand in his path.

But as his eyes locked onto Chen Feng, an unfamiliar tremor of doubt crept into his mind.

Beasts are born with instincts—feral, primal, and honed for survival. And Yang Zheng's instincts screamed that something about Chen Feng was dangerous, though he stood there with a calm, almost indifferent expression. And then there was the catwoman beside him—silent but radiating an unsettling aura. Most would shrink away from Yang Zheng's menacing presence, but she remained utterly still, her gaze unwavering, with an edge of defiance that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Negotiation.

Yang Zheng had never been one for talk when force would suffice. His path had been paved with the blood of both monsters and men, each kill reinforcing his status. If Chen Feng had been just another weak figure, Yang Zheng would've broken him like Wei Xun and claimed the spoils without a second thought, taking the catgirl as a prize for his troubles.

But something about Chen Feng gave him pause.

Here, standing before him, was an equal. Yang Zheng could sense it, and it gnawed at his pride. This should have been a time for diplomacy—two powerhouses unwilling to risk mutual destruction over a petty dispute. Yang Zheng calculated quickly; they could share the supplies, avoid bloodshed, and part ways without unnecessary conflict. No one would want to make an enemy of someone like him over a few provisions.

Yet Chen Feng shattered that illusion in an instant.

There was no hesitation in him, no diplomacy, no negotiation. One moment, they were exchanging words, and in the next, a storm had been unleashed. Chen Feng moved to kill, with an intensity that was not just aggressive—it was absolute.

This man wasn't following the script.

In an instant, the calm shattered, and the fight for survival began. And in that moment, Yang Zheng realized: this was no ordinary foe—this was madness incarnate.

Reckless!

Completely reckless!

While others saw only Yang Zheng's surface strength, Chen Feng saw the true danger lurking beneath. Yang Zheng's arrogance, greed, and unrestrained lust should have led to his downfall in the brutal, unforgiving apocalyptic world. Yet, against all odds, he had fought his way to power, thriving when he should have been crushed. The Thunder Prison Warband he commanded had risen to become one of the three dominant factions in J City, boasting over a thousand members and hundreds of Professionals.

A child of destiny.

It was as if fate itself favored him. Despite his trail of enemies, Yang Zheng had amassed power and wealth, living in indulgence while others perished. He thrived where many failed, his rise marked by cruelty and opportunism.

Chen Feng and Yang Zheng were never meant to meet. Their paths ran on different tracks. But Yang Zheng had made the fatal mistake of provoking him.

The factory was Chen Feng's stronghold, and its people were the lifeblood of his power. If he allowed someone to humiliate them without swift retaliation, their loyalty would waver, and their faith in him would shatter. Defeat once, then again, and soon everything would crumble.

They had already suffered under Wang Yong. If Yang Zheng humiliated them again, the people might obey Chen Feng outwardly, but their trust would be lost. They would follow him, but their hearts would stray, and they would never fully submit to his command.

In this unstable world, where survival was won through violence and fear, Chen Feng had no room for mercy. Strength was the only language people understood. His power needed to be absolute and unquestioned, or it would collapse from within.

There could be no hesitation.

No mercy.

He had to kill him.

Yang Zheng's body would be the sacrifice, and his Hundred Beasts strength would serve as a banner of Chen Feng's triumph.

"You strike at my foundation? You dare threaten everything I've built, just to satisfy your pride? Then I'll kill you here, and use your blood to cement my rule."

Chen Feng's eyes narrowed, cold and sharp like the blade of an executioner. His intent was clear—Yang Zheng would die today, and with his death, Chen Feng's rule would become unshakeable.

Without hesitation, he gave the command.

Fura leaped into action. For her people, for the future Chen Feng had promised, she would give everything. The chance for her tribe's survival was before her, and she would not let anyone destroy that hope.

Her body tensed, coiling with raw power, her spine bending as she prepared to strike. She became a weapon, her entire being sharpened to a single point of focus.

As she bent, her bones cracked like the tightening string of a bow. Fura bared her fangs, the power within her surging to its peak, ready to explode in a single, deadly strike.

Bang!

In an instant, Fura shot forward with such explosive force that the ground beneath her feet sank three inches deep.

One punch!

It was really just one punch!

Her delicate fists, soft and unassuming, seemed harmless—like they could do no damage. To any bystander, it was as though an ant were trying to topple a tree—laughably futile. Some onlookers even turned away, unwilling to witness what they believed would be the inevitable moment when Yang Zheng crushed this fragile-looking girl's arm with ease.

Everyone was convinced that Fura had hopelessly overestimated her strength.

Everyone except Yang Zheng.

His face was unusually grim, his typical confidence replaced with an unsettling seriousness. In front of him wasn't a young, frail girl, but a living flame, radiating a terrifying energy. The sheer force behind her punch weighed heavily in the air, tightening his breath.

Fast!

Too fast!

That was his second thought.

Fura's body had coiled like a bow, and as she released her power, her speed defied reason. In the blink of an eye, her soft fists were racing toward Yang Zheng's head.

In that split second, Yang Zheng's pupils shrank to mere slits. There was no time to think. With a roar, he crossed his arms and raised them in front of his chest, bracing for impact.

Bang!

The small, seemingly feeble fist crashed into his arms with an unimaginable force. Caught off guard, Yang Zheng felt the impact shatter his defenses, driving the blow deep into his bones.

His face flushed bright red, and a series of sharp cracks echoed from his arms as the bones were compressed under the brutal power of Fura's punch.

"Ah...!"

Yang Zheng howled in pain, staggering back three steps before he managed to stop himself. His eyes blazed with murderous rage as he glared at Fura, shaking his injured arm, still numb from the blow.

Fura stood a distance away, meeting his murderous gaze with cold, emotionless eyes.

Yang Zheng couldn't dwell on her speed. He needed to act, and fast. Taking a step forward, he clenched his fists, and a savage aura erupted from his body, spilling out like a flood, washing over the battlefield.

"Hundred Beasts Roar!"

An indescribable force surged from Yang Zheng, instantly enveloping the entire area, as if a hundred wild beasts had been unleashed...