Chapter 350: A Conjecture That Chills the Soul

After briefly explaining the situation to the volunteer coordinator, Jie Ming left the sun-drenched beach without a word, his face an expressionless mask.

The result of his probe was now conclusive.

That “Viola” was, with extremely high probability, the real person.

Jie Ming had absolute confidence in his judgment.

He didn’t consider himself a deviant capable of fabricating Viola’s unique mindset—one that fed upon the pain of others for pleasure—out of thin air.

Among the more than two million fallen wizards, someone like Senior Viola, who had fused her vile tastes into the very core of her soul and acted upon them without restraint, was an absolute rarity, practically impossible to replicate.

From the sheer uniqueness and perfection of her behavioral logic alone, the likelihood that this Viola was the genuine article was overwhelming.

The truly decisive proof, however, came from that final punch.

Jie Ming had long since confirmed that although their transcendent powers were sealed, they still inhabited their original bodies.

After living in this world for an extended time, the body would memorize new habits and conditioned reflexes (such as operating holographic interfaces).

Yet the combat instincts forged through thousands of life-and-death battles had not been completely erased.

He could still execute exquisite close-quarters techniques; that alone proved it.

The punch he had thrown—its speed, angle, and explosive force—had far surpassed the reaction limits of any ordinary human.

And Viola’s near-instinctive, lightning-fast evasion was something no ordinary office worker or community volunteer could ever possess.

It was battle awareness carved into the marrow, a brand left by walking the edge of life and death countless times.

“Confirmed. At the very least, Senior Viola is real. Which means the other familiar ‘faces’ I’ve seen are almost certainly real as well.”

The next question immediately followed: “What now?”

Jie Ming walked along the road home, brows slightly furrowed.

His ultimate goal remained unchanged: to uncover the truth of this plane and find a way to escape.

But that goal was far too vast; it required steady, step-by-step progress.

He needed a more concrete, actionable interim objective.

“Find the ‘flaws’ in this world… and discover the purpose of whoever trapped us here.” Jie Ming set his course in silence.

A system this enormous, this intricate, capable of imprisoning millions of powerful beings, could not possibly be flawless, nor could it exist without reason.

Putting the plan into practice meant he would have to continue his frenzied studying and observation for a very long time to come.

…

…

Time flowed on, and in the blink of an eye another year had passed.

Jie Ming sat in a refined little restaurant famed for its “molecular cuisine,” quietly savoring an exquisitely presented appetizer with layered, complex flavors.

His movements were graceful, his gaze calm and unassuming as it swept the surroundings.

His attention, however, lingered especially on the figure in the open kitchen—the head chef, wholly absorbed in his craft.

A burly middle-aged man with a meticulously groomed beard, eyes sharp as blades, demanding absolute perfection in every step of the process. From time to time he would shoot an oppressive glare at an assistant over the slightest mistake.

He was something of a local celebrity in the culinary world, known as the “Tyrant of Taste” for his relentless pursuit of perfection in ingredients and seasoning.

Jie Ming had seen that face clearly in pre-war intelligence footage: one of the three supreme commanders of the First Expeditionary Force, the seventh-rank combat wizard infamous for his ferocity and mastery of large-scale legion warfare—“Blood Butcher” Baal!

And now, this being who could once decide the fate of entire planes with a wave of his hand was here, obsessively adjusting flame intensity, balancing sauces, and pouring his soul into creating art on the tongue.

Jie Ming was long past feeling surprised by such sights.

Just yesterday he had “happened” to run into a gentle, patient elementary school teacher.

After a period of careful observation and discreet probing, he was essentially certain that she had once been a grandmaster-level wizard of potion studies, a true titan of scholarship.

The fluid mastery she displayed while guiding children through the simplest chemical experiments, the instinctive precision in measurements and reaction timing—it was not something an ordinary elementary teacher could ever possess.

Muscle memory and professional habit could not be hidden.

Yet as his observations deepened over the past year, an even more disturbing question gradually replaced the faint comfort he had initially felt at finding “kindred spirits.”

The number of fallen wizards in this world seemed to far exceed his original estimates!

At first he had only paid attention to those “familiar faces” he had glimpsed in expeditionary-force records or footage.

But as time passed and his scope of observation widened, he began relying on experience to pick out individuals who felt faintly familiar even if he couldn’t place them exactly.

They held all sorts of ordinary jobs, yet in unguarded moments they would betray traces of the “expert” or “powerhouse” they had once been.

Based on his rough calculations, the density of “real” people he could identify in this city alone already far surpassed what two million fallen wizards could account for.

Even if he included every contracted creature that might have been dragged in with them, the numbers still felt absurdly inflated.

Jie Ming idly nudged the artistic arrangement of food on his plate with a fork, his gaze growing heavier.

“So… either some other unfortunate civilization invaded this place long before us and fell here as well?”

“Or… among all these ‘real’ people I’m seeing, a huge number are actually this plane’s native inhabitants?”

If it was the latter—what did that imply?

It would mean this plane was not merely a “trap.” It might already possess an enormous population and a complex societal structure of its own.

And they—the wizards—had simply been “inserted” into that society, either replacing certain original inhabitants or slotted in as new additions.

The worst possibility: the number of true natives was overwhelmingly greater.

The mere thought sent a chill through Jie Ming.

If even seemingly ordinary neighbors, passersby on the street, or shop clerks could be native inhabitants, then the reality and complexity of this world far exceeded anything he had first imagined.

He would not only be facing an unknown mastermind behind the curtain—he would be lost inside a colossal societal labyrinth.

At this thought he set down his utensils, paid the bill, and left.

Stepping out of the restaurant, warm sunlight spilled across bustling streets filled with rivers of people—a scene of thriving peace.

Jie Ming stood at the curb and gazed at this vivid, immense world.

For the first time he felt with absolute clarity that what he faced might not merely be a cage built to contain them.

It might be a gigantic living organism—one that was functioning normally, possessing its own will and laws.

And the two million wizards were nothing more than tiny specks of dust that had accidentally trespassed inside its body…

…slowly being digested, or assimilated.