Chapter Forty-Six: The Roe Deer Demon

Bang!

A deafening roar erupted. The knight felt as if he’d been struck by a battering ram, his whole body suddenly weightless, then crashing heavily to the ground. For a moment, he couldn’t even attempt to get up.

He had no idea that this blow was delivered by Hu San, channeling his full inner energy. Even in a fair fight, it was uncertain whether he could withstand such a punch, let alone when he was caught completely off guard and drugged with a heavy dose of knockout powder.

The fist landed squarely on the knight’s temple, driving into his skull and penetrating nearly an inch. The shock was so great that both his eyes bulged out from the impact.

Had his inner energy not been profound, this blow would have rattled his brains out. Even so, he was gravely injured and utterly incapable of moving.

“Who... who are you?” he rasped, his voice shrill and desperate. Through the agony, he managed to suppress the surging effects of the knockout drug within him.

“I’m just a bandit from Wolfheart Stronghold. Didn’t you know that already?” Hu San replied, not allowing the knight any more words. He stepped forward, gripped the knight’s head, and with a sudden twist, a sharp crack rang out. The knight’s head was turned from facing forward to backward.

The knight’s hands feebly scrabbled, his legs kicked for a moment, then gradually fell silent.

This warrior, who was once stronger even than the White Bear, met his end so swiftly in Hu San’s hands. It must be said that scheming and cunning are sometimes a form of power.

Hu San stood up and surveyed the surroundings. He found that a few in the group could barely stand, though none could walk more than a few steps.

“So there were hidden martial artists among them. Truly worthy of the Big Bend Caravan,” Hu San mused. He strode up and, bare-handed, snapped the necks of each martial artist who possessed a first or second tier of inner energy.

Afterward, a chill crept into his heart. This was just a squad of the caravan, yet there were eight martial artists among them.

The strongest was, of course, the leader knight at the pinnacle of the third tier. Besides him, there were four at the second tier, capable of moving even under the effects of heavy knockout powder, and three at the first tier, barely able to act.

If he had confronted them openly, he wouldn’t even have hoped to kill them; escaping with his life would have been a stroke of luck.

Only now did he gain a true estimate of the Big Bend Caravan’s strength. These outsiders weren’t merely not weak—they were absurdly powerful, no wonder they dared to trade through the Qilian Mountains.

Thinking back, the merchant caravan sheltered by Black Bear Stronghold in Wolf Fang Mountain, which they had previously ambushed, must have been a subsidiary of a subsidiary. There hadn’t been a single martial artist among them. It seemed the Wolf Fang bandits had been quite fortunate; perhaps the stronghold had already scouted them before the robbery.

Hu San’s mind raced, and he resolved that henceforth, he’d be doubly cautious when dealing with merchant caravans.

He then checked the other guards, finding none pretending to sleep. Only then did he feel at ease; should any escape, it would spell disaster for him.

“No, I must get out of here fast!”

After some thought, Hu San hoisted Zhao Feng and Lin Hu, tossing them into the nearby stream. The remaining bandits followed suit, dragging their comrades to the water.

The knockout powder’s effect quickly dissolved in the icy stream, and before long, all one hundred bandits were fully awake.

“Each of you, break a neck—some of you have done this before, some are first-timers, but after today, we’ll truly be brothers,” Hu San ordered.

Those who followed him to Wolfname Village understood his meaning. The rest, though uncertain, knew that once they snapped those necks, they were committed to Hu San’s cause, with no turning back.

But did they have a choice now?

No.

With Hu San and Zhao Feng overseeing, more than a hundred elite guards were killed in their sleep.

Their bodies were loaded onto wagons, and Hu San ordered the bandits to drive to the steep cliff where they’d previously ambushed the messenger of the second stronghold master.

First, they threw the merchant bodies off the cliff; only then did Hu San turn to inspect the caravan’s cargo.

Six wagons were loaded with hides, a specialty of Qilian Mountain. Two wagons held herbs and ginseng, treasures worth a fortune outside the region.

But these were too conspicuous. Hu San dared not take much, only pocketing five ginseng roots thick as a child’s arm, leaving the rest untouched.

Beyond these eight wagons, one held gold and silver, amounting to several thousand taels—likely the caravan’s remaining funds or bribes for their journey.

Hu San ordered this wealth divided into one hundred shares, one for each member of the band, as their reward.

The last wagon held only a massive carcass—a deer nearly six or seven meters long, its hide gleaming with an unnatural sheen.

Judging from the marks on its body, it hadn’t been dead long; its flesh was still fresh.

“Good heavens, such a huge deer—could it be a spirit beast?” someone exclaimed.

Each bandit, now richer by dozens of taels, was exhilarated. They crowded around, pointing at the monstrous deer.

“If it’s not a spirit, it’s a demon. I wonder if its flesh will improve my cultivation?” Hu San, more excited than if he’d found a mountain of gold, gazed at the beast.

He’d thought the five ginseng roots were the greatest prize, but this was a treasure beyond compare.

Legends of monsters abound in Qilian Mountain. Hu San had never seen one, but he knew the stories: monsters absorb the essence of sun and moon, and their flesh is unmatched in nourishment.

Had there not been so many people present, Hu San would have leapt forward for a bite. His situation was perilous, and his hunger for strength was beyond words.

After the band had satisfied their curiosity, Hu San dispersed them, instructing, “Enough, kill the horses and push the wagons into the abyss. Though valuable, the goods are not ours to use; to avoid leaving traces, we must destroy them.”

The bandits were reluctant but knew Hu San spoke the truth. With heavy hearts, they slaughtered the fine horses and sent the ten wagons and cargo tumbling into the depths.

All traces were erased. Thus, an entire squad of the Big Bend Caravan vanished from the world.

“Brothers, I won’t say more about the power of the Big Bend Caravan. If word gets out, we’ll all be doomed. Don’t spend the silver for a while—wait until the heat has died down. Understood?”

Hu San’s final instructions were met with assent.

He summoned Zhao Feng and Lin Hu to lead the band back to the mountain, while he shouldered the giant deer and ascended alone to the peak. He could not wait another moment.

“Impossible, it’s so tough! How was this deer killed?”

On the mountaintop, Hu San stared at his blade, which had bounced off the deer’s hide, and couldn’t help but exclaim.

He’d swung with full strength at its neck, but the blade met only the hide, halted by immense resistance, and slid off, powerless.

Hu San didn’t know: a monster’s true value lies in its beast core. Those without a core are prized for their flesh, but for great powers, the hide is most important.

A monster’s cultivation is concentrated in its body, making its hide the finest armor, light and simple, unlike the cumbersome iron suits.

The Big Bend Caravan’s cargo, even combined, was worth less than this monster deer. That’s why they avoided stopping at Wolfheart Stronghold—to keep trouble at bay. Yet fate had other plans; not only did they lose the beast, they were swallowed whole.

Unwilling to give up, Hu San tossed the blade aside and drew his black sword, carefully slicing at the deer’s neck. This time, it went smoothly.

Ordinarily, the black sword seemed little sharper than the blade, but against a monster, the difference was vast.

Where the blade had failed, the black sword cut through the hide as if through tofu.

Now, Hu San was all the more certain that Cotton Candy had been a cultivator—though how he died at Hu San’s hands remained a mystery.

The black sword revealed a deep wound at the deer’s neck, exposing bone. Brilliant red, crystalline blood flowed out.

Hu San paused, then pressed his mouth to the wound and drank greedily.

The blood tasted foul at first, but once swallowed, it became a torrent of heat, as though Hu San were submerged in boiling magma.

“This—this is incredible!”

Delighted by the surging warmth, Hu San focused his mind: half to temper his body, half to enhance his inner energy.

But the hot flow was too fast; his inner energy couldn’t keep up. Nearly seventy to eighty percent was absorbed by his body, only twenty to thirty percent converted to inner energy.

As night fell and dawn rose, Hu San drank for two whole hours, emptying the deer’s corpse.

His body now brimmed with heat, surpassing what he could temper or convert.

He felt his blood pounding, his veins ready to burst.

As time passed, the sensation grew more intense. Even with his formidable physique, he felt on the verge of exploding, pain wracking every fiber of his being.

If an outsider had seen him, they’d have witnessed thick smoke pouring from his pores, veins bulging, capillaries bursting, forming an eerie red layer over his skin.

Had he been less robust, he’d have been blown to pieces.

Even so, Hu San now felt as if he were being flayed alive. The agony was so overwhelming he wanted to leap off the cliff and end it all.

Desperate to avoid bursting apart, Hu San abandoned converting inner energy, focusing solely on fortifying his body.