After the battle's dust settled, Mo Fan crouched beside the Raging Bull's corpse, just about to pull out his dagger for dissection, when his ears suddenly twitched.
At the edge of [ Death Vision ], several red dots were rapidly approaching.
"Someone's coming."
Mo Fan didn't panic, didn't even turn his head. He simply issued a calm command in his mind.
"Mo Yan, wipe your sword."
The black-clothed swordsman moved at the sound. It didn't sheathe the sword, but instead pulled out a tattered cloth from its chest, methodically wiping the bull blood still dripping from the rusted blade.
The movements were slow and focused, yet emanated a heart-palpitating coldness.
Simultaneously, Summon No. 003 in the canopy silently adjusted its posture, those ghostly green soul fires through the gaps in branches firmly locking onto the direction of the sound.
Rustle...
Bushes parted as a four-person cultivator squad emerged.
They'd originally heard the commotion from the battle, thinking they could come scavenge, or simply "be the mantis stalking the cicada." The leading disciple with a scarred face even had his hand on his storage pouch, eyes greedy.
However, when they saw clearly the scene before them, their steps abruptly froze in place.
A first-rank mid-stage Raging Bull capable of wiping out an ordinary outer sect squad lay in a pool of blood, throat severed, eye pierced—clearly as dead as dead could be.
And beside the corpse, that bare-chested youth in beast hide was casually sharpening his blade.
What made their hearts race even more was the black-clothed figure standing on the other side of the corpse.
He just stood there casually, yet that rust-covered sword that looked like scrap iron emanated a suffocating aura of murderous Qi. Even from over ten meters away, they could feel the "keep away" cold emanating from that black-clothed person.
"This..."
Scarface's Adam's apple bobbed once, greedy gaze instantly transforming into wariness.
To hunt a Raging Bull with virtually no injuries, and from the scene, the battle apparently ended very quickly—this indicated that these two people before them (mainly that black-clothed person) possessed strength absolutely above their hastily assembled squad.
To provoke an unfathomable ruthless character for uncertain gains was a major taboo in the cultivation world.
"Misunderstanding, misunderstanding."
Scarface reacted quickly, fierce expression instantly retracting, replaced by an amiable smile.
He cupped his hands from a distance, performing a standard martial courtesy: "Heard commotion from this direction, thought some fellow disciples were in danger, specially came to check. Since Senior Brother is so valiant, we won't disturb you."
Having said that, he didn't even spare a glance at the spoils on the ground. Waving his hand, he led his teammates in a swift, orderly retreat, disappearing into the dense forest in the blink of an eye.
"A smart man."
Mo Fan withdrew his gaze, lips curving in an amused arc.
If this were before, if he dared guard such a large prize alone, these people would absolutely pounce like hungry wolves to tear him apart.
But now, merely a silent figure, a bloodied sword, was enough to make these old foxes retreat.
"Silent deterrence is indeed more sophisticated than fighting and killing."
Mo Fan patted Mo Yan's shoulder, in excellent spirits. "This signboard of yours is even more useful than I imagined."
Since no one was interfering, Mo Fan became less polite.
He skillfully stripped off that valuable iron bull hide, cut off the most valuable horns, and carved out several hundred pounds of spiritual energy-rich prime meat.
"Warm-up complete, continue."
Mo Fan didn't rush back. His confidence was now through the roof.
Over the next two hours, this "Mystic Realm Rocket Squad" launched a sweep through the buffer zone.
To test Mo Yan's solo combat limits, Mo Fan specifically found an agility-type Cloud-Treading Deer (first-rank mid-stage). This time, he didn't have No. 003 ambush, didn't intervene himself, but let Mo Yan fight solo.
The results were pleasantly surprising.
Equipped with a cultivator's jade bones, Mo Yan, though lacking pain sensation and fatigue, under the enhancement of that set of "Undead Sword Techniques," actually managed to keep pace with the Cloud-Treading Deer's rhythm.
Though it took a few kicks to the body (well, bones were hard, no problem), it ultimately relied on tireless entanglement and precise swordsmanship to deliver a fatal throat strike.
"Solid."
Mo Fan looked at the fallen deer corpse, making his final assessment.
"Mo Yan's comprehensive combat power now is definitely stable at late-stage Qi Condensation. Add in the characteristics of fearlessness and invulnerability, even encountering a Qi Condensation perfect stage cultivator, it can hold its own."
Combined with the elusive assassin No. 003, plus the cunning commander Mo Fan.
This squad's combat power could already "walk sideways" through the Azure Cloud Sect's outer sect.
Sunset descended.
On the mountain path leading to the sect appeared a strange combination.
A black-clothed burly man (Mo Yan) carried on his back a mountain of meat—hundreds of pounds of bull meat, an entire bull hide, plus a complete deer. That heavy load made the stone slabs beneath his feet groan, yet his back remained straight, even his breathing (if any) stayed steady.
And walking ahead, Mo Fan had his hands clasped behind his back, humming an unknown tune, as leisurely as a supervisor.
"Now this is life."
Mo Fan sighed. Previously when he was a servant, carrying a hundred pounds of spirit grain exhausted him half to death. Now with this tireless undead laborer, the bitter work of transportation had finally left him.
Along the way, they encountered many outer sect disciples also returning from mountain hunting.
Previously, as the lowly servant Lu Xiaoqi, if Mo Fan encountered these people on the road, he had to actively retreat to the roadside grass, bow and scrape to let them pass. If he moved too slowly, a whipping was inevitable.
But today.
When those outer sect disciples saw that black-clothed strongman covered in bloody Qi carrying astonishing spoils, and that beast hide-clad youth walking ahead with an indifferent expression.
Everyone's reaction was remarkably consistent.
They instinctively stopped their steps, even actively stepped aside, clearing the widest space in the center of the road.
No one scolded, no one mocked.
The gazes directed at Mo Fan contained only envy, curiosity, and a trace of awe toward the strong.
"Who's that? Which peak's fierce character?"
"Don't know, looks unfamiliar. But to kill so many Spirit Beasts, definitely not ordinary."
"Shh, stop looking, that black-clothed person's murderous Qi is too heavy, be careful not to invite trouble."
Mo Fan listened to the whispers around him, eyes straight ahead as he passed through the crowd.
That silent shift in status, that sensation of being accepted by the rules and even respected, was more addictive than direct face-slapping showboating.
He didn't stop, walking straight toward the distant marketplace.
This time, he was no longer that pauper haggling over a few Spirit Stones.
He had come with goods.
He had come for a major shopping spree.