Chapter 399 - 396: Annihilating the Black Crow Thieves
Chapter 399: Chapter 396: Annihilating the Black Crow Thieves
THUD—!
With the dull thud of impact, the bushy-bearded man was sent flying sideways as if struck by a giant hammer.
He crashed through three bowl-thick trees and tumbled across the ground seven or eight times before finally coming to a stop.
Blood sprayed from his mouth. The Broken Saber in his left hand had long since flown from his grasp. He collapsed to the ground, every bone in his body feeling as if it had come apart.
He struggled to get up, only to be met with a piercing pain in his right leg—the bone had snapped in the earlier collision.
Lifting his head, he saw the figure in the green robe standing about ten feet away, watching him quietly.
Those eyes were as calm as still water.
But it was this very calmness that filled the bushy-bearded man’s heart with an unprecedented terror.
He looked at the young face, at the dark-green longsword, and finally understood—
today, there was no escape.
The battle in the mountain hollow was nearing its end.
Over thirty common bandits stood no chance against the siege of a dozen elite Qingxuan Sect disciples.
Amid flashes of blades and swords, one bandit fell after another.
Some tried to flee, but they were run down and finished with a single sword strike after just a few steps.
Some knelt and begged for mercy, but the only answer they received was a cold blade.
Their fallen Sect brothers and the slaughtered servant disciples were still waiting for justice.
No one would show mercy.
In less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the final bandit’s scream was cut short.
Corpses lay strewn about the mountain hollow.
Blood soaked the once-hidden camp, and the heavy stench of iron filled the air.
The dozen or so Qingxuan Sect disciples sheathed their weapons, their gazes falling upon the edge of the hollow.
There, Fang Han stood quietly, the blood-soaked, bushy-bearded man collapsed at his feet.
The group quickly gathered around, their eyes fixed on the man, glinting with cold killing intent.
"Senior Brother Fang, is this the leader of the Black Crow Thieves?"
a disciple asked in a low voice.
Fang Han nodded slightly.
He glanced down at the barely breathing man on the ground, then looked up at the crowd that had gathered.
His gaze swept through the disciples, finally landing on a lean young man with sharp features.
His name was Shen Qing. Though not ranked high on the grand lists, he had a knack for interrogation and was somewhat well-known within the Sect.
"Shen Qing."
Fang Han spoke.
"Senior Brother Fang."
Shen Qing stepped forward and clasped his hands in response.
"I’m leaving this man to you. Interrogate him."
Fang Han’s voice was calm, betraying no emotion.
"They attacked the North Mountain herb fields and slaughtered our Qingxuan Sect’s Steward Disciples—I want to know why they dared to do it, and if anyone was pulling the strings."
Shen Qing was momentarily stunned, but then he nodded.
"Yes."
He walked over to the bushy-bearded man and crouched down, his gaze landing on the blood-smeared face.
The man was breathing heavily, flecks of blood at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes still held a glimmer of defiance and ferocity.
"Pah!"
He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the ground, his voice hoarse.
"If you’re going to kill me, then kill me. What’s with all the damn chatter?"
Shen Qing said nothing. He simply took out a small leather pouch from his robes, opened it, and revealed a row of silver needles of varying lengths and thicknesses.
His movements were slow and steady.
The row of needles glinted with a faint, cold light in the sun.
The bushy-bearded man’s expression flickered.
But he still clenched his teeth, glaring viciously at Shen Qing.
"No one ordered you to do this?"
Shen Qing asked. His voice was calm, as if he were inquiring about something utterly mundane.
"No!"
the bushy-bearded man gritted out.
"I’ve been in this business for over a decade! I rob who I want, when I want. I don’t need anyone’s orders!"
Shen Qing nodded slightly and asked no more questions.
He took out the thinnest silver needle and gently inserted it into an inconspicuous acupoint on the man’s shoulder blade.
The man’s body shuddered violently.
His face instantly flushed red, veins bulged on his forehead, and beads of sweat rolled down his skin.
But he clenched his jaw, refusing to make a sound.
Shen Qing didn’t stop.
A second needle, a third, a fourth...
With every needle that was placed, the bushy-bearded man’s body convulsed violently.
His complexion turned from red to deathly pale, then from pale to ashen gray. He bit his lip until it bled, yet still he did not speak.
The surrounding disciples watched in silence. No one spoke.
The only sounds in the air were the man’s ragged breathing and the occasional suppressed grunt forced from his throat.
One incense stick’s time passed.
Then another.
Fine beads of sweat gradually formed on Shen Qing’s brow.
But his hands remained as steady as a rock.
The bushy-bearded man’s gaze had begun to lose focus.
His body twitched uncontrollably and foam frothed at his lips, but that last trace of defiance and ferocity had not yet vanished completely.
"No one... ordered us..."
he repeated intermittently, his voice barely audible.
"We... did it... ourselves..."
Shen Qing stopped and looked at Fang Han, shaking his head slightly.
Fang Han’s brow furrowed.
’To endure this level of torture without changing his story... either there really is no one behind this, or his master has such a hold on him that he would rather die than confess.’
He was just about to tell Shen Qing to continue.
Suddenly—
the bushy-bearded man’s expression changed abruptly.
His unfocused pupils suddenly constricted for an instant before dilating in a bizarre way.
His body convulsed violently, and a muffled gurgle escaped his throat.
In the next moment, his life force faded away like a receding tide.
Shen Qing’s face fell. He quickly reached out to check the man’s pulse at his neck.
A moment later, he looked up, his expression grim.
"Senior Brother Fang, he... he’s dead."
The surrounding disciples were all stunned.
’Dead?’
’How could he just die so suddenly?’
Shen Qing examined the man’s corpse. After a moment, his expression grew even darker.
"It wasn’t poison. It must have been some kind of suicide Secret Technique."
He looked up at Fang Han, his eyes filled with self-reproach.
"Senior Brother Fang, I was careless. I didn’t expect him to have a method like this."
"It’s not your fault."
Fang Han shook his head, offering comfort.
"A suicide Secret Technique like that is impossible to guard against. Even I wouldn’t have been able to stop it in time."
Shen Qing fell silent.
The other disciples were silent as well.
Such a bizarre Secret Technique was indeed impossible to guard against.
"Senior Brother Fang, what’s our next move?"
a disciple asked quietly.
Fang Han looked up, his gaze sweeping over the corpses littering the hollow before settling on the pile of herb bundles.
"Take inventory of the stolen herbs and search these bandits for their valuables."
His voice was calm and steady.
"The herbs belong to the Sect and must be brought back. As for the valuables, we’ll split them amongst ourselves."
"Yes."
The dozen or so disciples replied in unison and quickly dispersed.
Some went to count the herb bundles, while others began searching the bandits’ corpses.
Fang Han remained where he stood, his gaze fixed on the now-cold body of the bushy-bearded man.
’He endured that level of torture, refused to change his story, and ultimately chose to kill himself with a Secret Technique.’
’Was there really someone behind this?’
’If so, who could it be?’
’The lead’s gone cold!’
Fang Han averted his gaze, forcing himself to stop thinking about the dead end.
A suicide Secret Technique like that was impossible to guard against. Even if he had conducted the interrogation himself, he might not have been able to stop it.
Now that the lead was cold, there was no point in dwelling on it.
"Senior Brother Fang, the herbs have been tallied."
A disciple hurried over and reported with a bow.
"The amount roughly matches what was stolen from the herb fields. We also found some valuables in the bandits’ den—silver notes, gold, Elixirs, and Weapons. All told, it’s worth about ten million taels."
"Take the herbs and valuables. Prepare to head back."
Fang Han nodded slightly.
These bandits had three Late-Fourth Grade Martial Artists among them, putting their strength on par with some Middle Grade families.
He wasn’t surprised that they had accumulated a fortune of ten million taels.
"Yes."
The disciples acknowledged the order, quickly packing up the herb bundles and valuables, dividing the load among themselves.
As for the thirty-odd bandit corpses, they were left in the hollow, exposed to the elements.
"Let’s go."
Fang Han took the lead, walking out of the hollow.
The others followed close behind.
This time, they didn’t cut through the forest but took the mountain path directly.
On their way here, they had to conceal their movements to avoid potential Tracking, but with the mission complete, there was no longer a need for such caution.
Though the mountain path was rugged, it was countless times easier to traverse than the forest.
Their pace was much faster than before.
A few hours later, the view ahead opened up.
A massive boundary stone stood quietly beside the main road.
Engraved on the stone were two words—
"Qingyang County."
Fang Han’s steps faltered for a moment.
He looked at the boundary stone, and the weight that had been hanging in his heart finally lifted.
Donglu County.
That was a place where he had offended several powerful groups.
Back at the Cuihua City auction, after winning the bid for the Howling Moon Spirit Deer Antlers, he had been ambushed twice, killing dozens of people, many of whom were elites from local factions.
Those factions had suffered heavy losses and surely hated him to the bone.
If they had discovered him in Donglu County, the consequences would have been unimaginable.
Fortunately, though they had encountered a few travelers along the way, everything had been peaceful, and no one had recognized him.
"We’re finally back."
a disciple behind him murmured with a sigh of relief.
The others didn’t speak, but the slight relaxation in their shoulders clearly conveyed the same sentiment.
Within Donglu County’s borders, they had all felt a constant, unspoken unease.
After all, it was someone else’s territory. Without the Sect’s backing or support, the outcome of an encounter with a powerful enemy would be unpredictable.
Now that their feet were on Qingyang County soil, that unease finally dissipated.
Fang Han nodded slightly and stepped past the boundary stone.
The others followed suit.
The main road in Qingyang County was still the same winding dirt path, flanked by rolling hills. A few villages could be seen in the distance, smoke curling up from their chimneys.
Everything was just as they remembered it.
The group’s pace slowed down involuntarily.
The tension that had kept them on edge for days could finally ease a little.
However, just in that moment of relaxation, Fang Han’s steps came to a sudden halt.
He lifted his gaze and looked down the road.
There, several dozen yards away, a figure stood silently in the middle of the road with his hands clasped behind his back.
The man wore a black robe with a dark silver pattern, its collar and cuffs embroidered with the Netherworld Pavilion’s signature dark flame motif in silver thread.
He had a slender build and a handsome face, yet his brow held a sinister air that belied his age.
His pair of narrow eyes were fixed on Fang Han from afar.
His gaze was as calm as still water.
Yet as cold as frost.
Fang Han’s pupils constricted slightly.
You Xin.
This was none other than You Xin, the True Inheritor of the Netherworld Pavilion, ranked sixth on the Celestial Pride List!