The wind howled like a beast in pain, clawing at the jagged cliffs surrounding the mountain cave. Inside, the air was dry but tense, lit only by the dim flicker of firelight dancing across cold, cracked stone walls.
Xuan Long sat cross-legged near the fire, his face calm and unreadable as ever. Around him, his small group moved with quiet efficiency—sorting poison vials, sharpening blades, checking spirit stone pouches. The scent of herbs and venom lingered in the air.
Mu Chen, crouched nearby, polished a small dagger with nervous hands. His eyes flicked toward the entrance every few seconds.
Then came the sound.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Footsteps on loose gravel outside.
Xuan Long's gaze sharpened. A heartbeat later, a harsh voice broke the silence.
"You worms in there! Listen up!"
Mu Chen shot to his feet and grabbed his blade, rushing toward the cave mouth.
"Wait."
Xuan Long's voice was soft but firm. Just one word—and Mu Chen froze mid-step.
The wooden door creaked as the wind blew it open. Outside stood four figures silhouetted against the fading twilight—men in tattered armor, scarred and cocky, swords resting lazily on their hips.
The leader stepped forward, his crooked yellow teeth visible even in the dim light.
"This land belongs to us—the Blood Fang Group!" he barked. "If you want to live, hand over a hundred spirit stones by sunrise. Or else…"
He left the threat hanging in the air.
Xuan Long stood up slowly and stepped outside, his robe fluttering gently in the wind. Behind him, Mu Chen and the two demi-human illusionists followed, their expressions wary but ready.
The bandits laughed at the sight.
"Look at this! A bunch of beggars playing cultivator!"
"No aura, no threat. This'll be over fast."
"Come on then, little mice—DIE!"
They lunged forward. One threw a fire talisman that ignited mid-air. Another swung his sword with deadly force.
But none of it reached Xuan Long.
The talisman's fire vanished inches from his chest. The sword dissolved into fading light.
No sound. No counterattack.
Just a cold chime in the air:
[DING — Devour Activated]
Attack Stored.
The bandits froze mid-motion, their eyes wide in confusion.
Xuan Long didn't even draw a weapon. He turned slightly, just enough to glance at Mu Chen.
"They're yours."
Mu Chen blinked. "M-me? Alone?"
Xuan Long's tone sharpened like steel. "If you hesitate in front of these weaklings… how will you face the monsters ahead?"
Mu Chen's throat tightened. But then he looked at the bandits again—three now edging backward, one already coughing from the poison mist around him—and something inside him shifted.
He nodded. "Understood… Master."
He stepped forward, slow and steady, and pulled a black vial from his belt. With one swift motion, he shattered it on the rocky ground.
A cloud of thick, dark mist erupted, swirling around them like a living creature.
"Poison? You think this—urk!"
One of the bandits, a Qi Vein 3 cultivator, clutched his throat and fell, foaming at the mouth.
"Spread out!" shouted the leader. "It's just a trick—he's just—"
Too late.
Mu Chen moved through the fog like a shadow. His blade flashed.
SLASH.
STAB.
TWIST.
One by one, the bandits fell. Choked gurgles. Screams cut short.
When the mist cleared, four corpses lay scattered on the ground. Blood soaked into the dirt.
Mu Chen stood among them, chest heaving, blade dripping crimson. His hands trembled. His legs felt like they might give out. But he remained standing.
"Master… it's done."
Xuan Long stepped beside him and nodded once. No praise. No scolding. Just calm acceptance.
The group began checking the corpses.
200 spirit stones
4 low-grade weapons
2 beast cores
1 map fragment—Blood Fang Territory
The demi-human illusionists exchanged surprised glances.
"This… this is more than we'd earn in a month from any sect," one whispered.
"And we didn't even risk the young master's life," said the other. "We didn't use even one illusion."
Mu Chen wiped his blade with a cloth, still breathing hard.
"Master... are you sure we can keep doing this?" he asked quietly. "We heard the Blood Fang leader is at Qi Vein Level 9… And they have over 200 members. Can we really handle that?"
The wind died down, leaving only the crackling of the fire behind them.
Xuan Long turned to face the group. His red eyes glowed faintly in the firelight.
"You all think like cultivators trained by sects…"
"Count levels. Count numbers. Always afraid of being weaker."
He walked toward the cave entrance and stared out into the night. The distant hills were cloaked in shadow, but his gaze saw beyond.
"But I am not a cultivator."
"I am a mirror."
His voice dropped lower—almost a whisper—but it carried weight.
"Let them throw their blades. Let them unleash their strongest techniques. I'll devour it all."
"The stronger they are… the faster they die by their own strength."
Silence.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
Then Xuan Long pointed toward the dark horizon, where the mountains stretched endlessly, mysterious and treacherous.
"You want resources?"
"You want vengeance? Status? Power?"
He turned to look at each of them, including Mu Chen.
"Then take it. With your own hands."
"And trust me…"
He stepped forward, firelight flickering behind him, casting his shadow tall and unwavering.
"I will not fall."