Dream Delivery System: My Delivery Jobs Keep Changing History – CH145

Chapter 145

After a night of publicity, players who frequented the Cube World forum already knew about the attack on the Supporter.

The assassin was extremely cunning and ruthless. She disguised herself as a minor girl from C-Nation, lowering the Supporter’s guard, and stabbed his heart when he responded.

She used a high-level assassination item with two special effects—likely to ensure the killing of the Supporter, who was a healer.

“How did they know the Supporter would appear? Are there items that can now lock onto the Supporter?” someone questioned.

“Yes, a ninth-tier item. The success rate is very high, though not 100%,” confirmed a top European player.

The forum erupted: “Such a high-level item just to kill the Supporter? Crazy! Cults? Doomsday faction?”

“Looks like the Doomsday faction. Absolutely insane.”

Even though a few players said the Supporter was out of life-threatening danger when they left, they remained worried. They furiously cursed the assassin on the forum. Since the assassin was Federation East Asian, players from both nations were indirectly involved.

Federation players didn’t care—they were harsher on their own government—but East Asian players couldn’t accept it. They underwent monthly training and indoctrination; militaristic ideology was ingrained.

Mr. Tao watched the online disputes coldly—no matter how intense the arguing, it didn’t scratch the enemy.

Still, given Jiang Jitang’s personality, he wouldn’t accept such a loss quietly. Would he have a countermeasure? Would coordination with the organization be needed?

First, he needed to contact them. By now, he should be awake.

Mr. Tao feigned nonchalance, pondering how to contact the “Eastern District Chief.”

By this time, Jiang Jitang had long been awake. Before departing for the task world, he had handled some online business—mostly just glancing through, as his subordinates were competent.

Sister Xia also vented about minor annoyances, like their website being reported over thirty times for similar reasons—accused of nationalism, promoting hatred between Xia and East Asia.

“Oh, propaganda about hatred? Come on, during the war, our Southern Jiang Province was their biological weapons test ground. They released plague and cholera, countless died. My hometown was among the worst hit. Every household draped black cloth, every home posted white banners. Even now, many relatives still have hereditary skin issues.”

Sister Xia mocked bitterly: “If war breaks out with East Asia now, I’d volunteer first, even putting half my assets into bombs to crush those bastards.”

“By then, we’d probably just be screwing bolts in drone factories or mechanical wolf factories,” Jiang Jitang sighed. Warfare had become mostly automated; even top marksmen couldn’t reach the frontline.

“Wait, CS players now have a chance?”

Sister Xia perked up: “I just got my drone pilot license—study and exam cost over ten thousand. I’ll register for remote drone operation.”

Jiang Jitang: …tempted, wants one too.

“Anyway, the reports are baseless. But they keep switching IPs and accounts like guerrilla warfare; our block speed isn’t fast enough. What to do?”

“Just block them. We’re lawful merchants, and after the West District incident, players are sensitive. Blocking causes no loss,” Jiang Jitang reassured her.

“Still, you’re ten years younger than me, Jiang, yet you comfort me. I know these are trivial matters. And the more they slander, doesn’t that show we’re doing well?”

Sister Xia felt a little ashamed; despite her age, her emotional control wasn’t as good as a recent graduate.

Unbeknownst to her, Jiang Jitang, calm and kind, immediately had the system pull the list of complainers.

“Blacklist all of them. Every single one.”

No matter if they were players, everyone on the list was blocked from Dream-Fulfillment Food House, rendering all products—past, present, future, even magical beast dolls—useless to them.

He also publicly posted on the website in bold: “If our content makes some netizens uncomfortable, call the police!”

Sister Xia was stunned upon seeing the update.

Officially, unrelated to the government; speaking firmly, freely, as a private small company, lawful. Don’t like it? Call the cops.

Jiang Jitang then counted the task items he needed and chose to start the task.

The next moment, he appeared in a brilliantly lit stone chamber. Two girls holding colorful feathered fans and lamps stared blankly at him.

A short distance to his left, a wide, beautiful bluestone bed held a fully naked young man kneeling face-down. Behind him was a large bearded man holding a gun, ready to charge—his black, fat, hair-covered buttocks fully exposed.

“…Hiss.” Mace, Mace!

“Who?!” The bearded man nearly shriveled in fear.

Sparks from the taser sent the young man and the two attendants sprawling. Lamp oil spilled and ignited, burning down to the hanging linen sheets.

The old chief was shocked and angry, but the intruder efficiently broke his arms and held a dagger to his neck.

Jiang Jitang wished the system had teleported him closer to the chief for a swift capture, but he didn’t want to face such a shocking scene immediately. He roughly draped a cloth over the wrinkled body and held the dagger to the neck.

“Out.”

He led the hostage to the door, kicking it open, startling the guards.

Seeing the old chief hostage, the guards instinctively lifted spears. Jiang Jitang shifted his hand, leaving a cut on the chief’s neck with dark red blood flowing.

“Stop!”

The guards froze, eyes serious.

The old chief remained calm; his voice neither trembled nor rose. He couldn’t see the intruder, nor judge his intentions. Since the intruder didn’t kill immediately, he presumed his life would be spared.

Relieved, the chief subtly nodded; as long as he was safe, other matters could wait.

“Brave warrior, why have you taken me?”

A slave-master monarch, self-referentially saying “I” as “gu,” to differentiate himself. Jiang Jitang didn’t follow this; he looked up at the gray sky instead.

He told the system to transport him to the time the small fishing boat delivered ingredients—the outer moat’s railing should be opened now.

He hadn’t expected the chief, strong even at dawn, still holding lamps in battle. The sudden sight startled him—he thought it was some black pig-demon, fat, hairy.

“Release the warrior ‘Lan,’ held in the water prison. Bring him here.” Jiang Jitang held the dagger steady at the cut, “I’ll count to a hundred. If Lan doesn’t appear, I’ll cut off one of your chief’s ears.”

The guards froze. As Jiang Jitang prepared to spill blood, one soldier nervously asked: “Which one?”

“Oh?” Jiang Jitang glanced at the chief, “Quite old, and indulgent? Such love for plunder?”

The chief didn’t immediately understand. A few days ago, other tribes had offered tributes. He kept some soldiers—some for looks, some for strength. For management, they were in the water prison.

“Whichever it is, bring them all.”

The guards looked to the chief. He nodded slightly, and they ran off, recalling Jiang Jitang’s warning—one hundred counts, otherwise an ear.

Another guard asked if they should attack from behind; the chief signaled: Do nothing.

Why did the chief obey? Because Jiang Jitang’s use of the taser was miraculous. In a world believing in beast gods and mystic forces, even the chief dared not act rashly.

Soon, other tribe members learned their chief was threatened. They gathered; an older, still authoritative female warrior stepped forward. She said the detained soldiers had been released and asked what else Jiang Jitang needed.

The others called her Queen. She was likely the chief’s sister and wife, co-ruler of the tribe.

Jiang Jitang had the system plan a route—he needed to reach the riverbank, the point closest to the exit.

He led the chief toward the riverbank: “Have the soldiers follow me. You’ll know what I intend.”

An assassin unwilling to reveal her purpose is like a turtle with a hard shell—no weak points. The Queen, holding a gem-studded scepter, gestured for her soldiers to follow.

Although indifferent to her brother and husband, the tribe still needed him.

The sky was gray at dawn, the sun unseen. Jiang Jitang held the chief, back to the river, facing the gathered people.

Some were unlucky soldiers recently released from the water prison. They had come happily for the gathering but were forcibly detained.

Truly forced—either knocked unconscious or drugged, awakening in the dungeon. Being low-ranking, they didn’t dare question the small tribes, taking gifts and leaving silently.

“Bring them here.” Jiang Jitang had his wishers among the crowd, but he didn’t show it. He summoned the soldiers.

The Queen nodded: “Release them.”

Guards let go; the soldiers, feeble from days in the cold dungeon with little water, staggered forward.

“Bring some clothes.” The Lion Tribe, for some reason, had left all prisoners naked, male and female.

They were well-built, but that didn’t excuse no clothes. Pieces of cloth were tossed out; magically, they became clothing in different styles.

Dressed, the soldiers gathered around Jiang Jitang, eyes wary of the Queen and her warriors.

“Archers, be careful,” someone warned.

From tall buildings, archers aimed at him; the best could shoot over the chief and kill Jiang Jitang, but waited for the Queen’s command.

The soldiers didn’t know Jiang Jitang’s identity or purpose, but understood: if they didn’t escape now, they’d never leave.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, healing them while deliberately casting the most visually striking magic formation.

The Queen’s eyes widened; she saw the prisoners’ wounds heal rapidly, no scars left.

She was shocked; others were more stunned. Some weaker-willed knelt, murmuring “miracle.” An elder wept: “The king is cruel; heaven’s punishment falls on us, our country is doomed.”

His words caused many to waver.

For years, the chief had plundered beautiful men and women, even intercepting visiting soldiers, indulging in luxury. The wealth came from the common people. Complaints had long existed but were suppressed.

But today, suppression was impossible.

Jiang Jitang waved—speedboats appeared: “Get on.”

The soldiers, like waking from a dream, leaped onto the strange, mystical boat. Jiang Jitang carried the chief to the helm.

“Wait!” The Queen reacted, “Who are you? Where are you from?”

Jiang Jitang ignored her, tossed the chief in a perfect arc: “Here’s your property. Hold on tight, we’re leaving!”

With a roar, the white boat shot forward like an arrow, bypassing the checkpoint in an instant, racing toward freedom and tomorrow.

Half the crowd ran to greet the flying chief; the rest waited for the Queen’s orders.

The Queen watched the boat disappear, turning back slowly; against the light, her expression was unclear.

“The king indulges without measure, abandoned by the gods—what shall we do?”

Silence. An elder spoke first: “Queen, ascend the throne and unite the lands.”

“Queen, ascend! Unite the lands!”

The voice rang out. Those near the old chief exchanged glances, unsure how to react. The already battered chief felt something block his chest, eyes rolled back, and he fainted.