The American kill line? I, a demon hunter, don't eat beef.

Los Angeles, October, 17°C

A stench like that of a highly decomposed corpse wafted into Zhou Feng's nostrils, jolting him awake from his slumber.

"Cough cough cough, why does it stink so bad! Whose septic tank exploded?"

Zhou Feng opened his eyes cursing, but the scene that came into view made him freeze instantly.

He was lying on a sturdy cardboard box; the warm room was gone, and the soft bed was gone too.

Instead, he wore two tattered shirts covered in mud and unidentified grime.

And a bottle of cloudy beverage, and a few pieces of bread that had been gnawed down to half and were a little moldy.

Looking down, I saw my own feet, which looked like they hadn't been washed for three months and were covered in a layer of black grime.

Is this me?

Zhou Feng remained silent for a long time. Wasn't he sleeping on a soft bed?

Suddenly, a flood of memories overwhelmed him, making him dizzy.

After a long while, Zhou Feng finally understood everything before him.

I've traveled through time.

Furthermore, the original owner was himself from a parallel world.

This world's "Zhou Feng" believed the rumor that washing dishes in Chinatown for ten months could buy an entire villa.

I obtained a B2 tourist visa under the guise of tourism.

After his visa expired, he decided not to return to China and instead found a job at a fast food restaurant in Chinatown as an undocumented immigrant. However, as he worked there, he discovered that the overseas bosses were all incredibly corrupt.

They had a lot of work but little pay, and their wages were often deducted. They took advantage of the fact that he was an unregistered resident and wouldn't dare to call the police.

One night, on his way home from get off work, Zhou Feng stumbled upon a gang fight and was accidentally caught in the crossfire.

Although the police arrived quickly and he narrowly escaped with his life, his true identity was still exposed.

Because Zhou Feng refused to reveal his nationality, the American police, preferring to avoid trouble, simply dumped him in Skid Row, a notorious slum in Los Angeles, leaving him to fend for himself.

……

After reviewing the memories, Zhou Feng was so angry that his brow twitched.

It's hard to believe that in 2025, anyone would still believe in the dream of America being a land of gold.

What exactly is the point?

Is the wealthy man obsessed with your health, treating you like a blood bank and a specimen at all times?

Or is it the "advanced" medical system and exorbitant medical costs of the United States?

Or perhaps a blonde, blue-eyed Western woman?

Cough cough, this is a good idea.

In short, I wouldn't even be a dog, let alone a human.

Zhou Feng rubbed his temples in despair. He didn't know how he was going to survive this kind of situation.

Just then, a mechanical voice rang out.

[Ding! Host detected to have been stranded in an unfamiliar world. The "Witcher" system has been bound!]

[In this dark age where vampires, werewolves, slimes, witches, and other monsters roam, respected witchers, please save the people living in dire straits!]

……

Zhou Feng remained silent.

Zhou Feng sneered

Without a system, you can call me a homeless person, and I won't argue with you.

But now that I'm bound to the system, please call me Lord Wild King!

But Zhou Feng soon discovered another key point.

The Witcher, Dark Ages?

Am I not in America? According to the original owner's memories, there shouldn't be any supernatural abilities here, right?

Zhou Feng tried calling out to the system: "System, you've got the wrong place, haven't you?"

[Back to host, detection shows that the current plane meets the following characteristics: alien invasion of imperial territory (illegal immigration), warlordism (state governments seeking independence), exorbitant imperial taxes, homeless and starving people (vagrants), corrupt and incompetent imperial government, tyranny (partisan warfare), witches poisoning the people, treating human life as worthless (drug overrun), 99% match, judgment correct]

Zhou Feng looked at him strangely; it didn't seem wrong at all.

"Well, in a place like Skid Row, having a system is better than not having one. At least it can ensure that I don't become a Gundam."

Zhou Feng silently recited the system's name, and a blue light screen immediately appeared before his eyes.

[Name: Zhou Feng]

[Wealth Points: 3 Gold Coins (1 point = 1 US Dollar)]

[Strength: 0.5 (The constitution of a normal adult male in the Empire is 1)]

[Speed: 0.6]

[Spirit: 1.1]

[Health Points: 15% (Oh no! You're about to die, buddy!)]

[Item: None]

[Skill: None]

[System Shop: Not Open]

After checking his attributes, Zhou Feng was quite dissatisfied with his strength. Why was it only 0.5?

If I were to encounter some black man who were robbing me, what difference would there be between my skinny body and a 1.6-meter-tall white-stockinged loli?

Glug~

Just then, Zhou Feng's stomach growled, and he realized that his body hadn't eaten for a long time.

An overwhelming sense of hunger compelled him to rise from the cardboard and head towards the address of the "food bank" he remembered.

What is a food bank?

It is a charity whose main business is to receive food donations from local restaurants, supermarkets and food manufacturers—mostly food that is nearing its expiration date, has damaged packaging, or is in excess stock. After repackaging, sorting and inspecting the food, it is then distributed to people in need.

As for the taste, it certainly won't be very good.

However, it is one of the few food sources available to homeless people in the United States.

Zhou Feng walked down the street, observing this legendary Los Angeles slum.

He used to think that online descriptions of the American underclass were somewhat exaggerated.

After all, he grew up in a peaceful and prosperous society.

In his mind, how poor could a person be? Surely they wouldn't starve to death?

Only now does Zhou Feng finally understand that the videos on the internet are still too conservative.

The nearby streets were littered with carelessly discarded garbage, mixed with black sewage, and emitting a foul stench.

Along the way, one could see drug addicts everywhere, dressed in tattered clothes, with blank expressions, hunched over and motionless, clearly having taken an overdose of stimulants.

The brick wall was covered with colorful spray paint graffiti.

The homeless, wrapped in thin blankets and huddled in colorful tents in dirty corners, presented a desolate and dilapidated scene.

Is this what's called the world's beacon?

Zhou Feng sighed, carefully bypassed the drug addicts blocking his way, and strode towards today's food bank.

……

After Zhou Feng left, two Black men, one tall and one short, emerged from the corner, dressed in thin clothing with jeans hanging on their knees.

The shorter Black man spoke first.

"Fuck! Wasn't this Asian guy supposed to be on the verge of death? How come he's running and jumping again after just one nap? How are we going to explain this to the morgue staff?"

The other Black man stared at the direction Zhou Feng had left with hostile eyes.

"This is a rare Asian man in the market, he must be worth a lot of money. We can't let him go easily, follow him!"

……