The die had probably rolled again.

If one were to visualize the flow of source energy, it was like a massive wave about to come crashing down, only to turn into the dribble of a little boy having a piss, or maybe a broken faucet, dripping slowly. Then, out of nowhere, another massive wave.

That was the way Dice worked.

Han Qingyu stood there, staring at Plague Chicken, fighting with everything he had not to burst into laughter. He felt like he was losing his mind a little. Watching the flickering blue glow of Wen Jifei’s maneuvering device was like watching a die tumbling endlessly through the air.

“Don’t just stand there. I’m serious. I heard something crack inside my forearm. Did you hear it?” Wen Jifei asked lowly. 

His right arm didn’t look broken, at least not visibly so, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fractured. 

Han Qingyu shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“That’s good, at least.” Wen Jifei looked annoyed with himself. “If I’d known, I would’ve walked away all cool and collected after that first hit. My reputation would’ve been… well, the debate about who between us is stronger would’ve been an eternal mystery of the Ninth Army...