Wandering Swordsman |

"Not bad." Shen Mo gently placed the token on the counter, his voice as clear as a pine breeze passing through a valley. "We are the Qingfeng Team of the Martial Arts Alliance. Now that we have encountered this matter, we cannot stand idly by. Please speak freely, shopkeeper; we will take responsibility here."

Tears welled in the shopkeeper's eyes, his lips trembled for a long time, and finally he let out a long sigh, as if a huge stone that had been weighing on his heart for many years had been lifted: "I...I trust the Martial Alliance!"

He lowered his voice and spoke rapidly: "That villain is called 'Scarface Liu,' a local bandit. They're based at 'Soul-Severing Slope,' ten miles west of the city. It used to be an abandoned mine, but now it's a den of thieves. The bandit leader there, 'Iron Scorpion,' is ruthless and has over a hundred men under his command. They specialize in kidnapping, extortion, and demanding protection money... Three families have already been wiped out by them for refusing to pay taxes!"

At this point, the shopkeeper burst into tears, his voice choked with emotion.

Shen Mo's eyes turned cold, like frost and snow covering a blade.

He turned around, his gaze sweeping across the Qingfeng team like lightning, finally settling on Peng Chengxiao: "You come with me. The rest of you, stay where you are and do not leave without permission."

"Captain!" Liu Qingyi exclaimed urgently, "Why only bring him? We can all—"

"It is precisely because you are all capable that we need to leave someone to guard this place," Shen Mo interrupted her, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If anything changes here, someone needs to handle it. This is an order."

Everyone remained silent, though they were unwilling, they knew that the captain's considerations were thorough.

Shen Mo and Peng Chengxiao walked out side by side. A night wind suddenly rose, whipping up their clothes, which fluttered like battle flags.

"Captain, can we really take down that bandit's den?" Peng Chengxiao asked in a low voice as he walked briskly, his voice filled with both tension and barely suppressed excitement.

Shen Mo didn't stop, his gaze piercing the night like a hawk's: "It's not a matter of 'can or cannot,' but 'must.'"

He looked up into the distance—towards Broken Soul Slope, where dark clouds loomed overhead and the faint howls of wolves could be heard, as if the gates of hell had quietly opened.

"The evils of the martial world, if left unchecked, will grow like weeds, eventually swallowing up the good." Shen Mo's voice was deep, yet every word was as firm as iron. "Today, my first battle as captain of the Qingfeng team will be a sacrifice to that bandit's den!"

......

Broken Soul Slope - Deep within that abandoned mine, the wind howls through the collapsed tunnels, as if the earth is weeping for the dead.

The waning moon was obscured by dark clouds, leaving only a few pale rays of light that barely outlined the campsite—the wooden sheds were askew, the embers of the campfire were still warm, the wine jars were broken on the ground, and the stench of blood mingled with the stench of fish in the air.

Shen Mo and Peng Chengxiao stealthily infiltrated, their footsteps as light as falling leaves, but they suddenly stopped the moment they stepped into the center of the camp.

Dead silence.

It wasn't just ordinary quiet; it was a deathly stillness where even the chirping of insects and the sound of the wind seemed to be swallowed up by some force.

Peng Chengxiao's pupils contracted sharply, and his throat bobbed—before his eyes lay corpses lying haphazardly.

Some lay prone beside the wine jars, still clutching half a piece of meat in their hands; others lay on the beds, their knives still sheathed; and several others rushed to the doorway, seemingly trying to escape, but were pinned to the spot by some invisible force.

Their faces were bluish-purple, their eyes were wide open, their mouths were frozen in terror, and their skin was covered with spiderweb-like black patterns, as if entwined with poisonous vines.

"They...they're all dead?" Peng Chengxiao's voice trembled. His hand was already on the hilt of his knife, but he dared not pull it out—their deaths looked like a one-sided massacre.

Shen Mo did not answer.

He slowly crouched down, his fingertips lightly touching the neck of a corpse. The skin was still warm; death must have occurred no earlier than half an incense stick's time ago. He closed his eyes and concentrated, the demonic energy within his body quietly circulating, his senses spreading out like a spiderweb.

suddenly--

A faint, chilling aura crept into his senses like a venomous snake.

That aura, like rotting bones soaked in blood, or like the cold miasma of the deep sea, carried a nauseating evil and deathly stillness—it was the unique internal energy of those overseas evil cultivators!

Shen Mo's heart skipped a beat... This aura was clearly the work of evil cultivators from overseas! But these people were just a bunch of bandits, how could they have provoked evil cultivators from overseas?

Suddenly, he remembered the young man in Qiyun Inn—plain-faced, silent, with eyes like a deep, ancient well.

When their eyes met, the glint of light that flashed in the young man's eyes, now recalled, subtly resonated with this sinister aura!

That young man?!

A thought flashed through Shen Mo's mind: Scarface Liu had only been gone from the inn for half an hour, and the camp was already a river of blood.

How could the accuracy be so precise if someone hadn't been following them the whole time?

The young man, just after the villain left, got up and quietly departed...

Could it be... that he followed Scarface Liu here and then slaughtered this bandit den?

But this thought was quickly overshadowed by deeper doubts.

When did these overseas heretical cultivators begin upholding justice and acting on behalf of Heaven for the martial arts world in the Central Plains?

Shen Mo frowned, alarm bells ringing in his mind. He knew all too well that the evil cultivators overseas were unpredictable and unmoved by the concept of "justice." If they made a move, they must have something to gain!

His gaze swept across the camp: though there were many corpses, none had had their hearts and marrow removed, nor showed any signs of internal energy loss. This didn't seem like the methods commonly used by evil cultivators; rather, it resembled... a clean and efficient "cleanup."

Compared to the evil deeds committed by overseas heretics in the Central Plains, all of this is too abnormal.

Shen Mo slowly stood up. A gentle breeze blew by, bringing with it a trace of the lingering sinister internal energy in the air.

A chill crept into Shen Mo's heart. If that young man was indeed an evil cultivator from overseas, yet committed murder in the name of "chivalry," then the martial world would inevitably descend into even greater chaos—the common people would mistake the evil cultivator for a savior, while the righteous path would be questioned. And the Martial Alliance… would bear the brunt of it.

"Captain?" Peng Chengxiao called in a low voice, his tone filled with unease. "What...what do we do?"

Shen Mo pulled himself out of his thoughts, his gaze sharp as a knife, sweeping over the corpses scattered on the ground, finally looking toward the dark mountain path—the direction in which the young man's aura had disappeared.

"This is not a place to stay any longer." His voice was low. "Although the bandits have been wiped out, the real danger has only just begun."

He turned around, his robes fluttering like blades in the night wind: "You return to the inn immediately, take the rest of you and set off right away. As originally planned, start from the Beiming family in the far north and gradually head south to investigate the various sects and families. There must be no delay."

"And what about you?" Peng Chengxiao asked urgently.

Shen Mo gazed into the depths of the night, a resolute glint in his eyes: "I'm going to investigate the person who killed these bandits. I'll meet up with you after I've found out."

Peng Chengxiao stood behind Shen Mo, his robes fluttering in the night wind, but his heart felt as heavy as a boulder, making it hard to breathe.

He stared at the corpses strewn all over the ground—those bandits who had once terrorized the countryside and committed countless atrocities were now slaughtered like weeds, leaving not even a trace of their struggle.

"Captain..." he finally couldn't help but speak, his voice tinged with confusion and a hint of barely concealed excitement, "That man... wasn't he acting on behalf of Heaven? These bandits deserve to die! If he truly was ridding the people of a scourge, why are we still chasing him?"

Shen Mo did not answer immediately. He slowly turned around, his gaze like the moon reflected in a cold pool, unfathomable. The night wind brushed the stray hairs on his forehead, revealing a pair of cold and sharp eyes that seemed to pierce through the darkness and reach straight to the heart.

"To rid the people of a scourge?" he repeated softly, his tone devoid of any praise, instead carrying a chilling edge. "The martial world cannot be measured by the concepts of 'good' and 'evil'."