"That villain had better not try anything," one of the men at the campfire whispered.
"Even if he does, we still have Yin Loran. His name isn't just for show, a Warrior of the Yin Family can handle twenty villains at least."
A man with a crooked nose waved his hand dismissively. "I barely reached the First Layer, not even good enough to be a Hunter. I am just a minor person from a branch of the Yin Family, nothing worth mentioning."
With his aura hidden most of the time, he was unassuming. Others would not even know that he was a Warrior unless he revealed it.
He wanted to put his status on proud display, but who would do something so crude, especially when it was only the First Layer?
It would attract more ridicule than admiration in the hearts of those who witnessed it, having the opposite effect as the one he intended.
However, having it revealed from someone else was completely different, not crude at all. The admiration would be natural. After receiving such praise, he stood up a little bit straighter.
Surrounded by his family, who did not enjoy such compliments?
It wasn't for nothing that he had revealed his cultivation base to the other man earlier.
"A minor person from the Yin Family is still impressive," Ko Safi's mother said glowingly. "The key word is Yin. The techniques that you study from are an inheritance that the average Warrior can only look up to! And it is no shame to be beneath the elites. You are still young, after all! That drunken miscreant is nothing in front of you."
Yin Loran did not want to say anything. He was a little thrown off by the tendency of the conversation to keep reverting to the slovenly person lying down outside of the campfire. A Warrior like him and a wretch, these things were not fit for comparison.
In his eyes, even an ordinary person could handle the young drunkard. So why was the drunkard being used as a yardstick for his own cultivation base?
The outcome would be obvious if they fought. So why even mention it?
However, Yin Loran saw that the faces around the campfire were turning to him expectantly. Even his wife was pinching his side, so he was forced to agree.
"He won't try anything with me here," Yin Loran said, his voice full of assurance.
It was clear that the drunkard was no expert. He had been kicked out of every group already. Sitting alone and drinking in tattered clothes, without a hint of aura, who would suspect him of any hidden depths.
"I don't know how he managed to join the caravan in the first place."
"What a slob. I wonder if he can even use his sword."
Meanwhile, the person who they were talking about continued to drink and stare up at the sky, watching as the sun fell further over the horizon. With the fading of the light, the stars and moon were becoming more and more visible, glowing brightly.
It was a beautiful sight, ruined only by the company.
The young man looked over at the campfire.
He had stopped paying attention to what they were saying, but he could still hear their annoying voices, like flies buzzing around his head. They meant nothing to him. Their thoughts and opinions mattered even less. So why was he being forced to listen to them?
Even though they were disturbing his mood, there was no anger in his heart, only a restless need to escape.
He took a deep swing from his bottle, before standing up abruptly.
Being anywhere else was better than being here. He did not want to be around such busybodies any longer. Hearing their voices barrage his ears relentlessly was a particularly annoying form of torture.
Dozens of people were looking at him, drawn by his sudden movements. He did not concern himself with their gazes, as he turned around. He walked deeper into the forest, bottle in hand.
The voices slowly died down and it grew darker around him. On the outside, it seemed like the forest was swallowing him up, but to him, it was a peaceful feeling, like being embraced by his mother.
"It is dangerous," someone called out," you don't want to wander too far from the camp."