Chen Mo woke from a brief, shallow sleep, chewed on a strip of dried jerky, and let his breathing sink into the rhythm of the mountains.

  He was back to being a hunter.

  The forest around him felt familiar again, every sound layered and meaningful. The sigh of wind brushing pine needles. The scrape of stone disturbed by small beasts. Even the distant echo of voices carried weight now. His senses, honed by weeks of grinding cultivation, stretched outward like invisible threads.

  Not long after dawn, silhouettes emerged along a narrow mountain path.

  Three figures.

  Chen Mo narrowed his eyes.

  Faint laughter drifted over, mixed with crude curses. Bandits. One carried a bow slung carelessly over his shoulder, the other two wore swords at their waists, their posture loose, unguarded. They looked like men sent out on chores rather than warriors expecting trouble.

  Chen Mo did not hesitate.

  His body dissolved into motion.

  The Threaded Movement erupted beneath his feet, his figure blurring as he left his hiding spot. The distance vanished in a heartbeat.

  Before any of them sensed danger, Chen Mo was already behind the last man.

  A single punch landed.

  There was no resistance.

  The bandit’s skull burst apart, blood and fragments spraying like a crushed melon. The body crumpled without even a scream.

  Chen Mo was already moving.

  The second bandit had just begun to turn, confusion twisting his face, when a flash of steel crossed his neck. The head slid free, eyes still wide, the body collapsing a moment later as if confused by its own death.

  Only the archer remained.

  He froze.

  His mind lagged behind reality, unable to process how two living men had vanished in the span of a breath. His mouth opened, perhaps to shout, perhaps to beg.

  A hand clamped around his throat.

  The world tilted as his feet left the ground. Chen Mo lifted him effortlessly, fingers sinking into flesh like iron hooks. The bandit’s bow slipped from his grasp and fell into the dirt.

  The man’s eyes bulged, terror flooding them as he met Chen Mo’s gaze.

  Cold. Calm. Unmoved.

  The hunter had found his prey.

  The bandit’s chest heaved as panic and instinct wrestled inside him. Terror still ruled, yet desperation lent him a scrap of courage.

  “My lord… please spare me,” he stammered. “I’m just a lowly nobody. Please, spare this one.”

  Chen Mo’s grip did not loosen.

  “Cut the nonsense,” he said calmly. His voice was flat, almost bored. “I’ll ask you a few questions. Answer correctly and you live.”

  His gaze flicked to the two corpses on the ground, blood soaking into the dirt.

  “If you lie…”

  The bandit swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple grinding against Chen Mo’s fingers. “Yes, yes, my lord! I’ll speak the truth, I swear!”

  “How many people are in your stronghold?”

  “Eh… about twenty right now, my lord.”

  Chen Mo’s eyes sharpened. “Right now.”

  The bandit’s pupils shrank. “The others… about fifty more. The chief sent them yesterday to collect supplies from the villages.”

  Chen Mo nodded slightly. “Martial artists. How many, and at what level?”

  The bandit answered in a rush, words tumbling over one another. “The chief is mid-stage Skin Refining! His deputy is early-stage, he only broke through last month, my lord! The rest are ordinary fighters, no cultivation!”

  Chen Mo fell silent.

  In that brief pause, calculations ran cold and fast through his mind. Wait until night and risk suspicion if these three never returned? Or strike now, while the strong were absent and the remaining force crippled?

  The answer settled instantly.

  Better to move before the scent of blood reached the den.

  His fingers tightened.

  There was a dull crack.

  The bandit’s body went limp, eyes still frozen in pleading disbelief as life fled him. Chen Mo released his grip, letting the corpse fall to the ground like discarded baggage.

  He did not look at it again.

  Working swiftly, he gathered the three bodies and dragged them back to the small cave, tossing them inside without ceremony. Dirt and leaves were pulled over the entrance, concealing the evidence just well enough.

  Then Chen Mo straightened.

  His gaze lifted toward the mountain path leading deeper into the northern ridge, where crude walls and wooden palisades marked the bandit stronghold.

  Golden light flickered faintly across his skin as his muscles coiled.

  This was no longer hunting.

  This was extermination.

  With a burst of Threaded Movement, Chen Mo surged forward, a silent shadow racing toward the heart of the bandits’ lair.

  Chen Mo slipped toward the outer wall and flowed up its rough surface, fingers finding purchase as if the stone itself welcomed him. From the top, he surveyed the stronghold.

  It was smaller than he had expected. Crude wooden walls enclosed clustered living quarters, smoke still rising lazily from cookfires. On the far side stood a separate, better-kept courtyard, its layout unmistakable.

  The leader’s yard.

  Chen Mo did not hesitate.

  He dropped down, his body melting into shadow. Some bandits were still asleep, others half-awake, shuffling through menial chores with weapons slung carelessly at their sides. None sensed death approaching.

  Chen Mo moved.

  A flicker here, a whisper there. Throats were crushed, spines snapped, hearts shattered by overwhelming force. Blood soaked into the dirt, turning the living quarters into a silent slaughterhouse. There were no screams, no alarms. Ordinary men were no more than withered grass before a true martial artist.

  Within moments, the outer area fell deathly still.

  Chen Mo turned toward the inner courtyard.

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  The instant he vaulted over the wall, a door burst open.

  A burly man stepped out, shock flashing across his face at the sight of a stranger standing in his domain. The next heartbeat, his expression twisted into rage as realization struck.

  “Dare to intrude into my house?!”

  He roared, lunging forward. His muscles swelled, skin flashing into a dense copper sheen as his palm shot out, carrying the full force of a mid-stage Skin Refining expert.

  Chen Mo met it head-on.

  His fist drove forward without hesitation.

  The air between them detonated. A violent shockwave rippled outward, dust and debris exploding in all directions. The bandit leader’s face contorted as unbearable pain tore through his arm. Bones shattered with a sickening crack, and his body was hurled backward like a rag doll with severed strings.

  He smashed into the courtyard wall, stone cracking on impact. His arm hung at an impossible angle, blood pouring freely as he slid down amid the rubble.

  Chen Mo was already gone.

  In the next instant, he reappeared before the bandit leader, his movement ghostlike. Before the man could even draw breath, a second punch descended.

  It struck his temple.

  The sound was dull and final.

  The bandit leader’s skull caved in, his body collapsing lifeless among the shattered stones.

  Silence reclaimed the stronghold.

  Chen Mo stood amid the ruins, expression calm, eyes cold, as blood slowly pooled around his feet.

  Chen Mo turned toward a side room, his voice calm yet carrying a chill that seeped into the walls.

  “Come out. I know you’re watching. Cooperate, and you will live.”

  The door creaked open.

  A young man, no more than twenty-five, stepped out hesitantly. He had been awakened by the commotion and was about to rush outside when he saw it. The leader’s corpse lay twisted among the debris, skull crushed, blood staining the stones.

  His heart plunged.

  They had finally provoked a calamity they could not survive.

  The young man walked forward carefully, then dropped to his knees and bowed deeply.

  “This humble one greets Senior. I am willing to cooperate fully. Please spare my life.”

  Chen Mo studied him with indifferent eyes, weighing his usefulness.

  “Take me to the stronghold’s treasury. Bring any manuals you possess.”

  “Yes. Yes, my lord. This way, please.”

  The young man led him into the leader’s quarters. From within, he retrieved a large bow, presenting it with trembling hands.

  “This is where the leader kept everything.”

  He pushed open a concealed compartment.

  Inside were stacks of silver notes, neatly bundled, worth at least two thousand taels, along with scattered coins and jewelry. Chen Mo barely spared them a glance.

  “Manuals?”

  The young man hurriedly produced a thin booklet.

  “This is the martial art we cultivated, my lord.”

  Chen Mo skimmed through it in seconds. His expression darkened.

  “Only the Skin Refining chapter?”

  Disappointment washed over him. Even the pile of silver suddenly felt tasteless.

  “I swear it, my lord,” the young man said hastily. “This is the only manual we had. The leader obtained it by chance many years ago.”

  Chen Mo clenched his fist. For a moment, killing intent surged, sharp and heavy. He was just about to end the man’s life when his gaze caught a small sealed box tucked into the corner.

  He paused.

  “What is that?”

  “Oh, that?” The young man swallowed. “It’s a map the leader obtained somehow.”

  Chen Mo’s interest stirred. He motioned with his chin.

  “Show me.”

  The map was old, its edges frayed, ink faded with age. It depicted the surrounding mountain ranges, marked with strange symbols and cryptic notes.

  “What is it for?” Chen Mo asked.

  “The leader made us search the mountains for years according to these markings,” the young man replied. “Recently… we finally found the spot.”

  “And?”

  “It’s a very steep cliff. Many of our brothers died trying to reach it.”

  Chen Mo’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “That dangerous?”

  “Yes. For ordinary people, it’s impossible. The leader was preparing to go himself in a few days.”

  Chen Mo’s heart stirred.

  A fated encounter?

  He quickly calmed himself. The marked location was not far. Half a day’s travel at most. Whether fortune or death lay there, he could see it with his own eyes.

  He rolled the map and tucked it away.

  “Thank you,” Chen Mo said calmly. “You were a great help.”

  Relief flooded the young man’s face. He was about to speak, gratitude trembling on his lips.

  Then a fist flashed.

  His head exploded like rotten fruit, and his body collapsed lifelessly onto the floor.

  Chen Mo did not bother cleaning up. He turned away from the blood-soaked room, stepped out of the ruined stronghold, and vanished into the mountains.

  His destination lay ahead.

  On the way, Chen Mo moved through the mountains like drifting smoke, yet his mind was far from calm.

  With the wealth plundered from the bandits, money was no longer a concern. Two thousand taels was enough to last him a long time, and the Skin Refining booklet could still be sold later if needed. Even flawed meat had its buyers.

  What mattered now was the map.

  “I hope this thing gives me a proper surprise,” he thought.

  After several hours of searching and cross-checking the markings, Chen Mo finally slowed his steps. The terrain before him matched the map perfectly.

  He had arrived.

  At the edge of a precipitous cliff, hidden behind dense trees and tangled bushes, the ground abruptly vanished into emptiness. The drop below was sheer and merciless. Loose gravel slid away with the slightest pressure, falling soundlessly into the abyss.

  One wrong step forward, and even a man would be reduced to a corpse before he ever reached the bottom.

  Chen Mo stood at the brink, eyes sharp and steady, studying every inch of the terrain.

  This was no place meant for ordinary people.