The icy winds of the Bone Fang Mountains howled like the whispers of the dead—sharp, mournful, and unrelenting. They clawed at the rocky cliffs and twisted through the trees like vengeful spirits.
Inside a hidden stone shelter carved into the side of a steep ravine, Xuan Long stood motionless, his arms crossed in the dimness. The flicker of firelight cast a long shadow behind him. His crimson eyes were closed, but he was not resting.
He was listening.
To the wind.
To the faint shift of footsteps.
To the auras growing sharper with every day.
Before him stood his three subordinates—Mu Chen, and the two demi-human illusionists. Their postures were firmer now. Their breathing, steady. Their presence, no longer wavering.
Xuan Long opened his eyes slowly, like a blade leaving its sheath.
"From this point forward," he said quietly, "if any intruder below Qi Vein Level 5 approaches our shelter... kill them."
He paused.
"But if someone Level 5 or higher comes—do not engage. Do not test them. Return immediately."
Mu Chen nodded. "Understood. Strike fast and disappear."
"We will act like shadows," added the elder demi-human. "Kill, vanish, and leave no trace."
Xuan Long gave the faintest nod.
"And bring back everything they carry. Spirit stones. Pills. Maps. Everything."
The Hunt Begins
For the next seven days, the wind carried a new scent through the Bone Fang Mountains:
Blood.
The mountains became a silent battlefield. One where the hunters were never seen, only their victims.
Mu Chen moved like a phantom through shadowed valleys and narrow mountain paths. His blades, now coated in bone-melting poison, needed only the smallest scratch to ensure death.
Scouts wandered too close? Their throats were slit before they could scream.
Campfires appeared in the distance? Snuffed out by a dark mist and silent strikes.
The demi-humans used illusions like nets, casting phantoms of safety to lure their prey. Some bandits walked willingly into false caves that led off cliffs. Others were drawn into ambushes they couldn't even perceive until it was too late.
Bandits at Qi Vein 3 and 4 fell one after another.
Quick. Quiet. Merciless.
Each day, the three returned to the cave, not only alive—but stronger.
They brought back:
Dozens of spirit stones
Beast cores from mutated creatures
Low-grade weapons
Qi recovery pills
Territory maps
Even crude cultivation scrolls written in bloodstained ink
At night, they trained under Xuan Long's watchful eye.
Mu Chen honed his killing techniques, combining dagger strikes with footwork that left no sound.
The illusionists practiced casting shared phantoms—illusions that could fool multiple enemies at once.
They sparred, experimented, and refined their skills.
By the seventh night, all three had broken through:
Mu Chen → Qi Vein Level 6
Illusionist #1 → Qi Vein Level 6
Illusionist #2 → Qi Vein Level 5
Xuan Long stood in the cave's entrance, arms crossed, silent as always.
Finally, he spoke.
"Not bad," he said, voice calm as the mountain night.
"You were weak before. But now…"
He looked at each of them.
"…you're usable."
The three exchanged brief smiles—proud, but respectful.
For the first time in their lives, they weren't just surviving.
They were winning.
Meanwhile… at Blood Fang Camp
Laughter echoed around the Blood Fang encampment, where flames rose from massive bonfires. Bandits roasted wild beasts, drank cheap wine, and played dice with bones carved from their victims.
But the celebration ended when a figure stumbled into the camp.
A scout—his armor torn, face pale, blood soaking his side. He collapsed before the main fire, gasping.
"L-Leader… our patrols… they're being hunted."
Bandits fell silent.
"What do you mean?" one growled.
The scout looked up, eyes wide with fear.
"They don't come back. We send five—find five corpses. Some poisoned. Some crushed. Some with faces twisted by illusions. They don't scream. They don't speak. They just die."
Inside the largest tent, carved from beast hide and bone, the Blood Fang Leader sat on a throne of skulls. His bare chest was covered in red tattoos—each one earned through conquest. His eyes burned with fury as he stood.
CRACK!
His fist slammed onto the stone table, splintering it in half.
"WHO is doing this?!" he roared, voice like thunder.
"Which bastard clan dares to challenge me in my mountains?!"
An elder bandit knelt, shaking.
"We believe… it's a rogue group. Small. Maybe three… but coordinated. Deadly. They don't leave a trace."
The leader's teeth bared.
"A rogue group?"
He stepped forward, picking up a massive cleaver and pointing it at the campfire.
"Then I'll crush them like the rats they are."
He turned to the side, eyes locking onto two warriors standing nearby—both tall, armored in scaled leather, weapons sharp and stained from past campaigns.
Jiang Wei and Gan Mu.
His most trusted lieutenants—both at Qi Vein Level 8.
"Take twenty elites," the Blood Fang Leader ordered, voice low and dangerous.
"Track them down. Burn their den to the ground. I want ashes where they stood."
"And bring me their heads," he snarled.
"Especially the leader's."
Jiang Wei bowed with a grin. "Consider it done, Blood Lord."
Gan Mu nodded. "We'll bring back their corpses… and their secrets."
As the war party began preparations—sharpening weapons, packing poison resistance pills, consulting territory maps—the Blood Fang Leader sat back on his skull-throne, his glare fixed on the northern mountains.
"You dared to kill my people…"
He reached down, pulling a jagged pendant from beneath his cloak—a charm made of human teeth.
"…Let's see how long you last."