The instant Mad Dog Kang's eyes snapped open, Shen Mo's instincts, honed by a thousand near-death experiences, screamed. There was no surprise in the bandit lord's eyes, only the triumphant, murderous glee of a trapper watching his prey step onto a pressure plate. Shen Mo didn't hesitate or question the impossibility of the situation; he reacted. He aborted the downward thrust, pouring all his Qi into a desperate, backward-flipping leap.
He was a fraction of a second too late.
"Got you, you slinking rat!" Kang roared, slamming a meaty palm flat against the furs he lay upon.
It wasn't an attack aimed at Shen Mo, but at the ground beneath him. A complex array, previously hidden and dormant under the massive bed of furs, flared to life. A wave of raw, untamed earthen Qi erupted upwards, not as a spike or a blade, but as a concussive, omnidirectional blast. The entire tent, a structure of thick hide and heavy timber, was instantly atomized. The force of the explosion slammed into Shen Mo in mid-air, feeling less like a Qi attack and more like being hit by a speeding battering ram.
The air was driven from his lungs in a pained grunt. His dark robes, enchanted as they were, tore in several places, and the shockwave rattled his bones and his Dao Foundation. He was thrown backward through the space where the tent wall had been a moment before, tumbling through the air and crashing hard into the side of a nearby hut, splintering the wood and collapsing part of its roof.
Pain flared across his back and shoulders, a deep, throbbing ache that signaled internal bruising. His mind, however, was already a vortex of cold calculation. A trap. Not just awake, but waiting. The contract details were perfect. The timing was perfect. How could he have known?
The explosion and Kang's bellowing roar acted as the most effective alarm bell imaginable. Across the camp, shouts of alarm erupted. Torches flared to life, and the sounds of dozens of bandits grabbing their weapons and charging towards the commotion filled the night. He had seconds, a minute at most, before he was completely surrounded.
Mad Dog Kang rose from the cratered remains of his bed, completely unharmed. His massive frame was covered in a faint yellow nimbus of protective Qi. He wasn't just a brute; he was a cunning one. He rolled his thick neck, a series of sickening cracks echoing in the sudden silence.
"I've been waiting for you all night," Kang growled, his voice a low rumble as he picked up his massive, serrated greatsword. "Got a message this morning from a very wealthy friend. Said a Ferryman would be paying me a visit. Even told me your fancy new name... Vermillion Ghost."
The name sent a chill down Shen Mo's spine that had nothing to do with the night air. The only people who knew that codename were inside the Ferrymen's lair. How could an outsider possibly know it? The implications were staggering. Was there a leak of an unimaginable scale? Or was the client who hired them playing a deadly double game?
"Seems the same person who paid for my head paid me even more to take yours!" Kang sneered, his eyes locking onto Shen Mo's veiled face. "I get to keep my life, keep the ores, and collect a bounty on a Ferryman's ghost. Best deal I've ever made!" He let out a booming laugh. "So let's see if I can collect!"
Shen Mo pushed himself out of the wreckage, his mind assessing the situation with brutal clarity. He was injured. His Qi was in turmoil from the blast. He was deep in enemy territory, facing a peak sixth-level opponent at full strength, with thirty more bandits converging on his position. A direct fight here was not a battle; it was a suicide.
A cold, burning rage was now mixed with his desperation. He had been set up, used as a pawn in a game he didn't understand. The questions fueled his will to live. He had to survive, not just to complete the mission, but to understand who was pulling the strings from the shadows.
With another roar, Kang charged. Shen Mo didn't meet him. Instead, he threw a low-grade explosive talisman from his pouch—a cheap mercenary's tool—towards the nearest group of charging bandits. The resulting flash and bang were weak, but they were enough to make the thugs flinch and break their stride.
In that moment of hesitation, Shen Mo turned and fled.
He didn't run towards the front gate or the cliffs he'd scaled. He sprinted deeper into the Serpent's Tooth Canyon, a direction that seemed like pure madness, like a rat running deeper into a trap.
"He's running!" Kang bellowed, his laughter booming. "The great assassin is a coward! After him! Don't let him escape!"
But Kang's own arrogance and rage wouldn't let him wait for his men. He was faster, stronger, and this was personal. He charged after Shen Mo, his heavy footfalls shaking the ground, easily outpacing his slower subordinates. He was a hound chasing a fox, so focused on the kill that he didn't realize the fox was leading him exactly where it wanted him to go.
Shen Mo ran, his breath coming in ragged bursts. The pain in his back was a constant fire, but he pushed it aside. He wasn't just running; he was navigating. His hours of observation had given him a perfect mental map of the canyon. He dodged past towering rock spires, leaped over deep fissures, and scrambled through narrow, winding passages.
Behind him, Kang was a force of nature. When a passage was too narrow, he simply smashed through it with his greatsword, sending showers of rock and debris flying. When a fissure was too wide, he made a thunderous leap, his powerful legs propelling him across. He was gaining.
Shen Mo ducked into a section of the canyon he had specifically noted, a place the locals called the "Needle's Eye." It was a long, narrow corridor with sheer, hundred-foot walls on either side, littered with loose scree and precariously balanced rock formations on the ledges above. It was a natural death trap.
He skidded to a halt at the far end, turning to face his pursuer. He was breathing heavily, allowing a hint of what looked like desperation and exhaustion to show.
Kang stormed into the Needle's Eye, his massive frame filling the passage. He slowed, a cruel, triumphant grin spreading across his face as he saw his cornered prey.
"Nowhere left to run, little ghost," he snarled, advancing slowly, savoring the moment. "I'll take my time with you."
"You talk too much," Shen Mo's voice was a cold rasp, and though he was breathing hard, his hands were perfectly steady.
Kang roared and charged, his greatsword raised for the final blow.
Shen Mo didn't dodge this time. He stood his ground until the last possible second. Then, as the greatsword began its descent, he used [Void Flash Step].
He didn't flicker away. He flickered up.
He reappeared thirty feet up, his boots finding purchase on a narrow, almost invisible ledge. Kang's sword slammed into the ground where he had been, the impact sending a tremor through the entire canyon.
From his perch, Shen Mo didn't counter-attack Kang. He drew Glimmer, and with a sharp, precise slash, he sent a [Crescent Moon Pierce] not at the bandit lord, but at the base of a massive, teetering rock spire on the ledge above Kang's head.
The spire, already unstable, had its last point of support severed. With a deep groan, the colossal pillar of rock, weighing hundreds of tons, began to topple.
Kang's eyes went wide with terror. He looked up, his arrogance instantly replaced by primal fear. He tried to run, but the narrow canyon walls and the debris from his own destructive entrance hampered his retreat. He let out a final, defiant roar, pouring every ounce of his Qi into his greatsword, raising it above his head in a desperate attempt to block the inevitable.
The rock spire crashed down with the sound of a mountain breaking. The impact was cataclysmic. Kang's protective Qi shattered like glass, and his greatsword bent and snapped under the impossible weight. The entire canyon floor was filled with a cloud of choking dust and the horrifying sound of grinding rock and snapping bone.
When the dust began to settle, the canyon floor was a mountain of new rubble. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, a tremor ran through the pile of rocks. A blood-soaked hand burst through, followed by another. With a groan of inhuman effort, Mad Dog Kang dragged himself from his own tomb.
He was a ruin of a man. His protective Qi was gone, his armor was shredded, and his body was a canvas of deep lacerations and mangled limbs. One arm hung at a useless, broken angle, and his legs were clearly shattered, dragging uselessly behind him. But he was alive, his eyes burning with a mixture of agony and pure, undiluted hatred.
Shen Mo dropped from his ledge, landing lightly on the debris a few yards away. He was exhausted, his Qi reserves dangerously low, but his strategy had worked. He had used the enemy's own rage and the environment itself as his weapons.
"You... ghost..." Kang spat, a glob of blood landing on the rocks. He tried to push himself up, but collapsed, his strength failing him. "Even... after all that... you couldn't kill me..."
Shen Mo walked forward, his steps silent on the rubble. He stood over the broken bandit lord, his veiled face unreadable. Glimmer appeared in his hand, its pale gray steel a stark contrast to the blood and dust.
"The trap was an inconvenience," Shen Mo's voice was a cold, flat whisper. "The rocks were just to hold you still."
Kang's eyes widened as he understood. He had never been the hunter. He had always been the prey.
Shen Mo raised his sword. "The debt is paid."
Glimmer descended in a silent, merciless arc, severing the bandit lord's head from his shoulders.
He could hear the shouts of the other bandits approaching the entrance to the Needle's Eye. He had no time to waste. He quickly located Kang's storage pouch, snatching it from the corpse.
He then turned and ran, not back the way he came, but towards a section of the canyon wall he had scouted earlier. Behind a curtain of withered vines, he found what he was looking for: the dark, narrow opening of a tunnel. The bandit's escape route. He crawled into the darkness, the enraged shouts of the Black Fangs echoing behind him.
He emerged minutes later on the far side of the canyon system, hidden in a tangle of rocks and thorny bushes. He was wounded, exhausted, and running on empty, but he was alive. And he was victorious. He had faced a powerful, cunning opponent in the heart of his own territory and emerged the victor. But the victory was hollow, tainted by a cold, dangerous mystery. Someone with knowledge and deep pockets was playing games with his life.