Chapter 400: Chapter 349: A Chilling Hypothesis

After briefly explaining the situation to the organizer of the volunteer activity, Jeming left the sunlit beach with a blank expression.

The results of the probe were already settled.

That "Viola," there was a high probability she was real.

Jeming had great confidence in his judgment.

He considered himself not a pervert, incapable of imagining out of thin air Viola’s unique "pleasure" mindset that fed on the pain of others.

Among the over two million fallen wizards, oddities like Senior Sister Viola, who integrate their atrocious tastes into their souls and put them into practice, were as rare as unicorns, hard to replicate.

Therefore, solely from the "uniqueness" and "completeness" of behavioral logic, the likelihood of Viola being herself was extremely high.

And more conclusive evidence came from that final punch.

Jeming had confirmed long ago that although extraordinary powers were suppressed, they were still using their own bodies.

Living in this world for a long time, the body would remember new habits and reflexes (like operating light screens).

But likewise, the battle instincts honed over countless times were not completely obliterated.

This can be seen from his ability to still perform exquisite combat techniques.

The punch he threw, in speed, angle, and explosiveness, far exceeded the reaction limits of an ordinary person.

And Viola’s nearly instinctive agile dodge was not something an average office worker or community volunteer could possess.

It was combat awareness etched into her bones, a mark left by surviving countless trials and tribulations.

"It’s confirmed, at least Senior Sister Viola is ’real.’ Then, it’s highly likely those other familiar ’faces’ are the same."

The question that followed: "What to do next?"

Jeming walked on the way back, his brows slightly furrowed.

The ultimate goal, of course, was to explore the truth of this plane and find a way out.

But that goal was too grand, requiring a step-by-step, grounded approach.

He needed a more specific, practical, staged goal.

"To find the ’loopholes’ of this world and... the ’purpose’ of the mastermind behind trapping us here." Jeming set his direction in his heart.

A system so vast, intricate, and capable of trapping millions of powerful beings could not possibly be flawless, nor could it be without reason.

Implementing it specifically meant he needed to continue the kind of frantic learning and observation he had been doing for a long time to come.

...

...

Time flew, and in the blink of an eye, another year passed.

Jeming sat in a tastefully decorated small restaurant famed for its "molecular cuisine."

He was bowing his head, savoring a beautifully crafted, richly textured appetizer.

His movements were graceful, his eyes unobtrusively observing his surroundings.

His gaze especially focused on the chef engrossed in cooking behind the open kitchen.

He was a burly middle-aged man with well-groomed facial hair, his sharp eyes demanding perfection in every process, occasionally casting an oppressive glance at a minor mistake by his assistant.

Within the local gastronomic circle, he was somewhat famous, renowned as a "Tyrant of Taste," acclaimed for his extreme pursuit of ingredients and seasoning.

Jeming had clearly seen this face in pre-war intelligence footage— one of the three supreme commanders of the first expeditionary army, noted for his ferocity and skill at large-scale legion warfare, the Seventh Level Combat Wizard, "Blood Butcher" Baal!

Yet now, this once powerful existence capable of deciding the life and death of a plane with a wave of a hand, was obsessed with controlling the heat, mixing sauces, indulging in creating art at the tip of the tongue here.

Jeming was no longer surprised by this.

Just like the gentle and patient elementary school teacher he had "encountered" yesterday.

With some time of observation and indirect probing, he could essentially confirm that the other party was originally a knowledgeable wizard, almost at master level in the field of Magic Potion.

When that teacher led the students in performing the simplest chemical experiments, the flow-like equipment operations and the nearly instinctive precise control over dosage and reaction timing were not traits an ordinary elementary school teacher could possess.

Muscle memory and professional habits were not something that could be concealed.

However, with continued in-depth observation this past year, a more unsettling question gradually emerged in Jeming’s mind, replacing the initial bit of comfort in finding "kindred spirits."

The number of "fallers" in this world seemed far greater than he had estimated!

Initially, he only paid attention to those "familiar faces" he had a chance encounter with, or which were left in images in expeditionary army intelligence.

But over time and with an expanded observation range, he began to discern, based on experience, from the vast sea of people, those individuals who were slightly more familiar.

They might engage in various ordinary professions, yet in certain unintentional moments, they would reveal traces that belonged to "powerful individuals" or "experts."

According to his rough estimates and judgments, just in this city, the density of "real people" he could find already far exceeded the range covered by the figure of two million!

Even counting all the wizards fallen here and possibly involved Contracted Creatures, this quantity seemed somewhat exaggerated.

Jeming gently stirred the food on the plate, a work of art, with his fork, yet his gaze became increasingly heavy.

"So... is there still some unknown, earlier ill-fated civilization invading here, also fallen in this plane?"

"Or are these ’real people’ among them actually mixed with a large number of this plane’s own... ’indigenous people’?"

If the latter, what does that mean?

It would mean that this plane is not a purely "trap," but might inherently have a vast population and complex societal structure?

And these wizards of theirs were merely "implanted" into this society, replacing certain original roles, or playing new roles?

Or even in the worst case, the number of real people in this world was overwhelmingly large.

The possibility of this guess sent a chill through Jeming.

If even seemingly ordinary neighbors, passersby on the streets, and shop clerks might be hiding "indigenous people," then the reality and complexity of this world would far exceed his initial imagination.

He not only had to face unknown masterminds but might also be in a giant social labyrinth.

Thinking about it, he put down the cutlery, paid the bill, and left.

Stepping out of the restaurant, the street was bathed in sunlight, bustling with people, appearing prosperous and peaceful.

Jeming stood at the street corner, looking at this vibrant and vast world.

For the first time, he felt so clearly that what he was up against might not just be a cage that trapped them.

It could well be a... huge living entity, functioning normally, with its own will and rules.

And they, these two million wizards, were but tiny specks of dust, accidentally entering its body, slowly being "digested" or "assimilated" by it.