God Level Farmer In Another World

Chapter 167: The Man Behind Mr. King

A C-rank patrol officer immediately walked up to Mr. King and whispered a few words into his ear.

Mr. King's eyes ignited with rage as he fixed his furious gaze on Alexander.

The atmosphere grew heavy, exerting immense pressure on James.

James clenched his fists nervously, lowering his head as he followed behind Alexander.

Alexander strolled casually to Mark's side, as if unaffected by the oppressive tension. "Lend me your satellite phone," he said.

The suffocating atmosphere was entirely ignored by Alexander.

To him, the hostility between the two parties was nothing more than the meaningless posturing of ants.

Director Carl silently marveled, "This kid is impressive—so composed!"

Mark glanced at his father and said, "Dad, this is my classmate."

Alexander finally reacted, bowing respectfully to Director Carl, "Hello, Uncle."

It didn't matter to Alexander whether Director Carl was the Chief of the Security Division or a beggar; as Mark's father, he deserved genuine respect.

Mark was Alexander's close brother, and respecting his brother's father was non-negotiable.

Director Carl gave Alexander an astonished look.

Mark had mentioned Alexander before—he was ranked first in the province in spiritual talent, with the seventh level of innate spiritual energy! Unfortunately, his innate ability was agricultural.

For him to have killed Jonathan King and his bodyguards, Alexander must have awakened a new ability—at least a C-rank talent.

The seventh level of a C-rank… quite remarkable. In White Mountain City, that was top-tier.

Such a young talent, so polite and steady—Director Carl found himself liking Alexander more with each passing moment.

He nodded with a smile. "Good, good, so you're young Alexander? Mark often talks about you. Excellent! Remarkable! A young man with great promise!"

Mark, clearly pleased, chimed in, "Of course! My buddy Alexander's got the seventh level of innate spiritual energy—he's bound to surpass you in the future."

Director Carl, annoyed, glared at his son. "Enough!"

Mr. King couldn't hold it in any longer. He roared, "What are you all doing?! Do you not want to live?

Director Carl, the murderer is right here—what more do you have to say?"

Director Carl was fiercely protective of his own. After Alexander called him "Uncle," there was no way he'd let Mr. King take Alexander away.

He stepped forward, his tone icy. "Mr. King, there's something I don't understand.

Alexander only recently arrived in White Mountain City from the North Sea.

He has no grudges with Jonathan King.

If Jonathan King hadn't acted against Alexander first, I don't believe Alexander would have provoked him."

Mr. King didn't care for reason. Just as he was about to erupt, he suddenly paused.

A single word echoed in his mind: "North Sea."

That individual had warned him never to provoke anyone from the North Sea.

If he encountered a master from there, he was to bow his head and endure; otherwise, no one could save him.

The flames of anger in Mr. King's heart were instantly extinguished. He stared at Alexander, his mind racing.

He couldn't afford to defy that person's warning—it would spell disaster for his entire family!

All his resentment condensed into unwilling acceptance. "Fine! I understand.

I'll conduct further investigations."

Mr. King gritted his teeth. After speaking, he turned and left without looking back.

The patrol officers exchanged glances, relief evident in their eyes.

No one wanted to clash with their chief.

Hurriedly, they followed Mr. King out of the Security Division.

Director Carl squinted, watching Mr. King's retreating figure.

From what he knew of Mr. King, this was not a man who cared about reasoning.

His peripheral vision caught a glimpse of Alexander.

Could the hatred of a murdered son be dismissed so easily?

With his years as chief, Director Carl was adept at reading micro-expressions.

He keenly noticed Mr. King's attitude shift the moment "North Sea" was mentioned.

North Sea?

What had happened there?

"Mark, lend me the satellite phone," Alexander said again.

"Oh, oh."

Mark snapped out of his thoughts, walked to his father's bedside, and retrieved the satellite phone.

Alexander inspected it carefully.

The satellite phone looked much like an old-fashioned handset.

The weak signal in this area had already rendered normal communication impossible.

Only the satellite phone could maintain communication.

Alexander said, "Thanks."

He waved goodbye to Director Carl and Mark before heading downstairs.

However, instead of returning to his room, Alexander walked out of the Security Division.

Night fell over White Mountain City.

A figure flew swiftly through the air.

The cold wind whipped against a black trench coat, causing its wearer's hair to sway in rhythm.

Alexander wore a Crying Ghost King mask, following closely behind Mr. King's convoy.

From Jonathan King's memories, Alexander had learned that the short and stocky middle-aged man was Mr. King.

Alexander intended to track Mr. King and uncover the true mastermind behind White Mountain City.

He could have killed Mr. King directly at the Security Division and searched his soul.

But Alexander valued his close brother, Mark, and refrained from acting rashly.

After all, if Mr. King, a deputy director, were to die in the Security Division, it would negatively affect both White Mountain City's stability and the Carl family.

Furthermore, Alexander had recently used soul-searching, and the splitting pain in his head had yet to fade entirely.

He wasn't sure what might happen if he forced himself to use it again.

In the sky, Alexander used the satellite phone to call Rosie.

"Hello," came Rosie's soft, sweet voice on the other end.

"Check how many hunters have left the Four Seas City in the past few months," Alexander instructed.

Rosie immediately perked up. "President? Where are you?"

Alexander continued, "Then check how many of those hunters have lost their tracking signals.

Among those who have lost their signals, find out who is hoarding large quantities of extraordinary plants."

Rosie, understanding the urgency, didn't dare delay. Her fingers danced quickly across the keyboard as she began working overtime. "Anything else, President?"

Alexander thought for a moment. "No. I'll call you tomorrow."

Rosie replied eagerly, "Understood, sir!"

Alexander ended the call and continued flying until he reached a villa.

The villa's lights glowed brightly, standing out amidst the darkness of White Mountain City.

The villa's main hall had been converted into a mourning hall.

Jonathan King's body lay in the center, surrounded by white drapes.

A group of women of various ages knelt before the mourning hall, keeping vigil for Jonathan King.

These women showed no grief on their faces, only numbness.

They were Mr. King's women.

Mr. King, his face grim, walked into the hall and gazed at his son's body, overcome with sorrow.

Tears streamed down his aged face.

In just two hours, Mr. King seemed to have aged ten years.

A woman in her thirties, one of Mr. King's longest-serving companions, stood up from her kneeling position and approached him.

"Master King, a guest has arrived upstairs," she informed him.

"A guest?"

Mr. King immediately realized who it was. He wiped away his tears, straightened his clothes, and headed to the second floor.

Entering the master bedroom, he saw a figure sitting by the bed, clad in a black robe.

The robe completely concealed the figure's body, and a hood obscured their face, though a mask could faintly be seen underneath.

In the corner of the room, a terrified young girl clung to the blanket, her back pressed tightly against the wall.

Her hair was disheveled, her body bare, and her face flushed with a noticeable redness.

She was Mr. King's newest wife.

The scene made it clear what the black-robed man had just done to the girl.

"Dear, he... he..."

Seeing Mr. King arrive, the girl burst into tears as if she'd found her savior.

Mr. King's face instantly darkened with killing intent. He pulled a pistol from his waist and approached the bed.

The girl glared hatefully at the man who had assaulted her, waiting for her husband to avenge her.

The black-robed man, however, watched Mr. King with amused interest.

Mr. King pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

A bullet pierced the girl's forehead, and her body collapsed onto the bed.

Mr. King patted the dust off his pants and knelt before the black-robed man.

"Master, what brings you here so late? What are your orders?"

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