Feng Zhiming had reached the Divine Demon Hall and greeted the second elder with a respectful bow, his mind already racing with thoughts of leaving the sect for good. However, the elder was not one to take chances and had prepared yet another test for him.

“Retrieve the artifact stolen by the northern plain bandits. Do not leave any witnesses, and do not make a commotion,” the second elder ordered.

Feng Zhiming repeated the mission description to the two disciples accompanying him as they flew across the Rocky Mountains surrounding the sect. One was a woman slightly taller than him, standing around six foot one, and the other was a male disciple with a particularly long nose. Both were at the Quasi stage of the Ethereal Core, just like Feng Zhiming.

Feng Zhiming wasn’t one to waste time analyzing every detail about a person unless necessary, but in this case, their distinct traits made them easy to remember.

“What’s the strength of the bandit leader and his camp?” the male disciple asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Feng Zhiming sighed deeply. After a brief analysis of the mission, he concluded it would be exceedingly boring, but he knew how to make it more interesting.

“First of all, come and shake my hand,” Feng Zhiming said unexpectedly.

The two disciples exchanged puzzled glances but assumed this was some sort of team-building exercise. They each shook his hand, and in line with Feng Zhiming’s expectations, they were both natives of this world.

Feng Zhiming had remembered rule number nine from the Assembly of Absolution: shaking hands without killing intent would reveal whether the person was a participant in the game. Even if one of them had turned out to be a participant, he was prepared to kill them both to maintain secrecy.

“The leader is at the Actualized stage of the Ethereal Core,” Feng Zhiming explained, “and he has a group of thirteen cultivators working under him, ranging from Qi Condensation to Condensed Ethereal Core.”

“What if we pretend to be villagers and get kidnapped?” suggested the male disciple.

“We could act like loose cultivators looking for work,” the tall woman added.

Feng Zhiming shook his head. “Our strength, complexion, appearance, and mannerisms will not allow us to pass as villagers. As loose cultivators, we’d be rejected. If they have an artifact, they’ll be cautious about letting anyone into their encampment.”

Loose cultivators were unaffiliated individuals in this world, unclaimed by any factions, and often viewed with suspicion.

Feng Zhiming considered the idea of posing as a villager but dismissed it, doubting his fellow disciples' abilities to pull it off. Expectedly, his blunt rejection of their ideas didn’t sit well with the two.

“Who are you to make these arbitrary decisions?” the tall woman snapped, her voice tinged with irritation.

“Indeed, we are all at the same level, yet you think you can order us around?” the male disciple added, his tone just as resentful.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Feng Zhiming stopped flying and turned to face them, a smirk playing on his lips. He hadn’t been contradicted since arriving in this world, and he had almost forgotten how to deal with fools.

“I could kill them both,” he thought, “but would that really accomplish anything?”

Instead, he devised a different plan. “Very well,” he said, bowing slightly to them. “If you believe your plan is better, I’ll let you two try first.”

The male disciple with the long nose grinned smugly. “I’ll show you the difference between common bandits and disciples of one of the three great demonic sects,” he declared as he and the tall woman flew off together.

Feng Zhiming watched them go, shaking his head. Despite the constant threat to his life, he found the environment of this world stifling and dull. But now, he saw an opportunity to stretch his legs and have a little fun.

He slowed his pace, deciding to take the scenic route by walking toward the bandit encampment. As he crossed the Rocky Mountains and entered a dense forest, he found himself appreciating the natural beauty around him.

“The more I look at this world, the more it feels alive,” he thought, watching water slide off a leaf and admiring a small pond nestled in the woods. There was a certain satisfaction in observing nature’s quiet simplicity.

As he wandered, he came across a large group of mortals making their way through the forest. Curious, Feng Zhiming decided to confront them.

The village chief, who led the group, immediately bowed deeply, followed by the rest of the group—around one hundred people in total. “We have seen the immortal,” the village chief said, his head still lowered. Although he led a group of mortals at the Body Refining stage, the chief himself was at the Qi Condensation level.

Mortals in this world held an almost religious reverence for cultivators, and Feng Zhiming knew he could easily wipe out the entire group with a mere flick of his wrist.

“What are you doing walking through this forest?” Feng Zhiming asked, his curiosity piqued.

“We are from a village on the border of the wildlands, great immortal,” the village chief replied, still bowing. “We had to emigrate because the bloodshed has become too great recently.”

The wildlands, according to Feng Zhiming’s inherited memories, was a lawless zone where the orthodoxy and unorthodox sects frequently clashed. With no clear authority, it was a dangerous place to live.

“What’s causing this bloodshed?” Feng Zhiming inquired.

“Partly due to the announcement from the Celestial Haven Sect, but there have also been disturbing stories,” the chief answered, his voice trembling slightly.

“Disturbing stories?”

“They say a demon was born in the wildlands, one so violent that it consumes entire villages in a single night, leaving only lifeless husks behind.”

A demon? Now this was interesting. Feng Zhiming felt a thrill of excitement. He had made the right choice by talking to this man.

“And the orthodox sects haven’t done anything about it?”

“They tried, great immortal. The Celestial Haven Sect sent seven disciples to deal with the demon.”

“And?”

“They were all reduced to lifeless husks. One of them returned, but he was already driven mad.”

Feng Zhiming’s heart raced. He was tempted to abandon his current mission and head straight for the wildlands to investigate. But he restrained himself. “Not yet,” he thought. “I have unfinished business here.”

“Is there anything else?” he asked the chief.

“I don’t know if this rumor is true, but the insane disciple claimed the demon made them kill each other before it turned them to husks. With such an evil creature around, we couldn’t stay.”

Feng Zhiming nodded, letting the group continue on their way. But then he called out to them, an idea forming in his mind. “Wait.”

The group stopped, waiting for his instructions.

“Set up camp here for the night,” Feng Zhiming ordered. “Going any further will attract beasts. And hold on to this for me.”

He tossed a strange, round object to the village chief and then continued on his way toward the bandit camp.

“Thank you, great immortal, for your wisdom,” the group replied in unison, their voices filled with reverence.

The village chief looked at the object Feng Zhiming had given him, unsure of what it was. But the mortals obeyed his words, unaware that they might have just committed themselves to an early death.

Feng Zhiming walked away, a small smile on his lips. The bandit camp was close, and the mission would soon be completed. But his thoughts were already on the wildlands, and the mysterious demon that awaited him there