The bandit leader, Louba Tian, raised an eyebrow at Feng Zhiming’s mention of a god other than the Heavenly Demon. He was puzzled, as the Heavenly Divine Demon Sect was known to worship the Heavenly Demon.
“You do not pray to the Heavenly Demon?” Louba Tian asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
Feng Zhiming, still in the midst of his performance, slowly finished his chant and then replied, “Since the Heavenly Demon never answered my prayers, he’s a false god. The god I pray to is real.”
Louba Tian scoffed, pouring himself another drink. “Hah, if I had a spirit stone for every time I heard that phrase, I’d be a Dao Lord by now,” he replied, taking a long gulp.
Feng Zhiming nodded, seemingly unperturbed by the leader’s disbelief. “I understand your skepticism. I was skeptical too, but today he has guided me here, and for that, I am grateful.”
Louba Tian looked at him as if he were dealing with a madman. To him, the idea that almost being killed and ending up in a bandit camp could be seen as a blessing was beyond lunacy. “I, Louba Tian, have never seen such a blinded fool,” he muttered as he rubbed his temples, already growing tired of the conversation.
“Aren’t you curious about why my god brought me here?” Feng Zhiming called out, his voice carrying an eerie calmness that made Louba Tian stop in his tracks.
The bandit leader, though bored, found himself mildly intrigued. There was no harm in indulging the ravings of a lunatic, he reasoned. “Speak,” he commanded.
Feng Zhiming’s eyes gleamed as he began, “My god tells me that tonight, you so-called brothers will turn against each other.”
Louba Tian’s fists clenched involuntarily, his instincts screaming that something was wrong.
“And your vice-captain, Eli, will be the first to betray you... But you will not die by his hands,” Feng Zhiming added, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.
In a flash, Louba Tian leaped into the pit, grabbing Feng Zhiming by the collar and lifting him off the ground with ease. “You think I won’t kill you just because you’re worth some money? Don’t overstep your bounds,” he growled, tossing Feng Zhiming back onto the ground before storming off to his tent.
Feng Zhiming sat back in a lotus position, unshaken by the rough treatment. As he closed his eyes, a silent chuckle escaped his lips. Louba Tian was freakishly strong for his realm, but that only added to Feng Zhiming’s confidence in his plan.
“Who will it be, the king, the jester, or the hanged woman?” he mused silently, letting his mind wander.
…
Back at the mortal camp, the massacre had been swift and brutal. The bandits, skilled in the art of killing, had cut down the defenseless villagers like wheat before a scythe. They now sifted through the spoils, searching for anything of value.
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“Vice-captain Eli, look what I found,” one of the bandits called out, holding up a beast core that emanated a strange, powerful aura.
Eli, the vice-captain, walked over to examine the core. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before—possibly a fifth-grade core or even higher. As he held the core, a sinister idea formed in his mind, spurred on by a sudden, dark voice whispering in his thoughts.
“It’s my chance to become the new chief,” the voice whispered.
Eli hesitated for only a moment before his greed took over. Without warning, he raised his sword and cleanly decapitated the Qi Condensation-level bandit who had brought him the core.
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Eli muttered to himself, wiping the blood from his blade.
…
Back at the bandit camp, Louba Tian was in a surprisingly good mood, anticipating the spoils his men would bring back. However, as the bandits began to hand over their loot, it quickly became apparent that there wasn’t much of value—mostly food and drink, the meager belongings of poor villagers.
“Another thing, Chief,” Eli said, trying to sound as regretful as possible. “The little pipsqueak we picked up earlier—he died.”
Louba Tian’s brow furrowed in disappointment. “The kid at the Qi Condensation stage?” he asked.
“Yeah, he insisted on fighting the lone cultivator on his own and demanded I don’t help. In the end, he was decapitated,” Eli replied smoothly, his voice dripping with feigned sorrow.
Louba Tian sighed heavily, feeling the weight of frustration settle on him. Not only had they gained nothing from this encounter, but he had also lost a potential recruit. His anger flared, and he directed it at the only target available—Feng Zhiming. “Useless hostage bastard, you told me they had something valuable!” he shouted.
Upon hearing Louba Tian’s outburst, Eli’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Feng Zhiming with murderous intent. “This kid knows about the core. I have to silence him,” Eli thought.
But before Eli could act, Louba Tian interrupted his thoughts. “Forget it. Head to bed for the night and enjoy the women,” he ordered, waving off the issue. But as he turned to leave, he glanced back at Feng Zhiming, who was still muttering his prayers.
“Lunatic,” Louba Tian muttered, shaking his head as he retired to his tent.
Night fell, and soon the camp was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the campfire. Most of the bandits had gone to sleep, leaving only a couple of guards awake. Louba Tian, however, was restless. His dreams, which usually featured him as a powerful Dao Lord, were interrupted by a sudden and horrifying vision.
In his dream, the skies turned blood-red, the seas inverted, and the world descended into chaos. Amid the destruction, a figure appeared before him. “Eli wh—” Louba Tian began, but before he could finish, the figure—Eli—stabbed him straight through the heart with a saber.
Louba Tian awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding. The dream had felt too real, too vivid. Unable to sleep, he left his tent to sit by the campfire, hoping a drink would calm his nerves. As he approached the fire, he noticed something that made his blood run cold—Eli was in the pit, holding Feng Zhiming by the neck.
“STOP!” Louba Tian bellowed, his voice echoing through the quiet night.
Eli immediately dropped Feng Zhiming, who fell to the ground with a slight smirk still on his face. The two men’s eyes met, and for a moment, it was as if they both understood something unspoken, some dark secret that passed between them.
“Sorry, Chief,” Eli stammered, jumping out of the pit and kneeling before Louba Tian. “He was hurling insults about you and the camp.”
Louba Tian narrowed his eyes, his suspicions growing. “Don’t say anything else for now. Go down to the river and catch me a few fish, I’m hungry,” he ordered, his voice low and dangerous. He could feel his intuition sharpening, as if some unseen force was guiding his thoughts, amplifying his suspicions.
Eli hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave, but he had no choice. He bowed quickly and left, disappearing into the darkness.
Louba Tian turned his gaze back to Feng Zhiming, who was calmly cleaning his neck as if nothing had happened. “How’s your heart?” Feng Zhiming asked in a smug tone, his voice dripping with insinuation.