Chapter Forty-One: The Bandit Fortress Hall

In the spacious main hall of the bandit stronghold, two cultivators engaged in lively conversation, their words weaving back and forth with great enthusiasm.

“Muxin, what brings you to my place?” asked one of the cultivators. He appeared to be in his middle years, with a scholarly air about him. Yet, a closer inspection would reveal a faint, eerie blood-red mist shrouding his entire being, making him appear quite peculiar. He was Wang Xiaoming, leader of the Black Mountain bandits.

“Haha, am I not allowed to visit? Back in Mingyu Valley, weren’t we brothers already?” The speaker, bald-headed and clad in a purple robe with a crimson sash and a gleaming white pendant at his waist, was Muxin. Had Li Mu been present, he would have immediately recognized the attire as identical to Ye Da’s from the mining tunnels—clearly marking Muxin as a disciple of the same sect.

Wang Xiaoming laughed heartily. “Enough with the pleasantries. What’s your business here? I’m now a castaway from Mingyu Valley, a notorious pariah just scraping by. I have nothing of value you might want.”

Wang Xiaoming had once been a disciple of Mingyu Valley. Later, he had stumbled upon a forbidden cultivation technique by chance, and the guilt weighed heavily on him. To test the technique, he experimented on a new recruit, but before he could begin, he was caught and expelled from the sect. Gathering a group of natives, he seized Black Mountain and began his reign of terror.

Muxin toyed with his wine cup, glancing around. “Wang, I remember your stronghold used to be bustling with people. Why is it so empty now?”

Wang Xiaoming’s voice turned harsh. “What use are so many useless wretches? Those with potential, I forced into cultivation. The rest became cultivation materials, save a handful to guard the gates.”

Muxin shuddered slightly, clearly unnerved, but forced a smile. “Wang, you truly are capable.”

“No more nonsense. Speak your business. I have no time to waste with you,” Wang Xiaoming growled, his eyes glinting with menace.

Muxin hurriedly produced a jade vessel, opening the lid. “This treasure, a brass hammer, in exchange for something from your stronghold—what do you think?”

Wang Xiaoming’s eyes flickered as he examined the inch-long brass hammer, recognizing it as a valuable mid-grade treasure. “What is it you want?”

A smile played on Muxin’s lips. “The item from the depths of the valley.”

“What item?” Wang Xiaoming’s expression shifted, as if a layer of dust had settled on his face. “How did you come to know of it?”

“Haha, no need for questions,” Muxin replied slyly. “You’ve guarded Black Mountain all these years for that thing, haven’t you? And there’s more than one, so letting me have one won’t hurt. I know your stronghold lacks treasures, and this hammer was forged by Senior Qian from the sect—use it as you will.”

“If you know of it, why don’t you get it yourself?” Wang Xiaoming fixed him with a piercing stare.

Muxin trembled slightly. “Wang, you jest. With the formations you’ve set, how could I dare enter?”

“Those two fools—I’ll deal with them soon enough,” Wang Xiaoming muttered, resigned. He took the brass hammer. “It’ll take a few days. Come back then.”

“Very well, I’ll stay at the stronghold for a few days and trouble you for hospitality,” Muxin replied, pleased with the successful exchange.

Feasting and drinking continued within the stronghold, while Li Mu and his companion were nearing the mountain peak above.

Looking up, the summit seemed close, and their pace slowed. They knew that with hundreds of bandits below, they couldn’t simply stroll about.

“There must be a protective formation here,” Li Mu pointed out.

Li Mie, ever cautious, drew out a jade slip and probed the area. “It’s a simple defensive formation with a weak point. We can slip through there.”

Li Mu nodded, and the two skirted the stronghold, entering discreetly through the formation’s weak spot. Inside, the place was eerily empty, not a soul in sight. Though puzzled, they both felt relieved.

Li Mie located the formation’s weak point and dismantled the talisman, further easing their nerves.

“Their vigilance is pitiful, barely a trace of fighting spirit,” Li Mie shook his head in disappointment. “Compared to Deyang City, with its interlocking formations, this is nothing.”

Li Mu laughed. “You’re expecting bandits to train like sect disciples? Still, we should be careful.”

Circling the stronghold, they encountered a handful of common bandits incapable of cultivation and dispatched them without hesitation.

At last, only the immense main hall remained, from which the sounds of drinking drifted out.

“This is the place. Wait outside,” Li Mu instructed Li Mie. Inside would be Wang Xiaoming, whose strength was formidable—Li Mu dared not let Li Mie join him.

Li Mie shook his head. “Brother Li, my vengeance is at hand.”

“I know,” Li Mu replied sternly. “But wait outside. Only then will you have your chance for revenge. Otherwise, you’ll just be rushing to your death.”

Li Mie stared at the hall, his expression twisting with pain. After a moment, he finally nodded. “Alright, I’ll wait outside for my chance.”

“Good.” Li Mu stepped forward.

“I’ll set up a formation outside the door, just in case. Call me when you return,” Li Mie murmured, rummaging through his storage pouch.

“Good thinking. That’s real progress,” Li Mu thought approvingly, appreciating Li Mie’s quick wit and composure in a tense moment.

With a light push, Li Mu opened the hall doors and stepped inside.

The hall was vast, spanning several dozen meters. The two cultivators were still drinking as he entered.

Startled by his sudden entrance, both straightened in shock. Wang Xiaoming was the first to shout, “Who goes there?”

Li Mu strode forward, scrutinizing the two. He was briefly taken aback—Wang Xiaoming’s blood mist was obvious, but why was a sect disciple in purple robes here, mingling with the leader of these mountain bandits?

The situation had changed, rendering his earlier plans useless.

“Which sect are you from? Why are you consorting with a heretic?” Li Mu demanded.

Muxin was also stunned. He had come here in secret to exchange with a heretic, knowing full well that dealings between cultivators and heretics were strictly forbidden. If the other sects learned of this, Mingyu Valley would never shield him; at best, he’d be expelled.

Now, with another cultivator suddenly appearing to confront Wang Xiaoming, Muxin found himself on the spot, unsure what to do.

Should he help Wang Xiaoming kill Li Mu? He didn’t know Li Mu’s strength or whether he had reinforcements—failure would be disastrous. But if he aided Li Mu in killing Wang Xiaoming, the exchange would be for naught, and Wang Xiaoming was ruthless enough to make him hesitate.

“I—I know nothing and want no part in this,” Muxin stammered, retreating several steps and waving his hands in denial.

Wang Xiaoming grunted, “Fine, you just watch. Once I’ve dealt with this one, I’ll deal with you.”

Seeing how the situation had shifted, Li Mu felt a strange calm. Unafraid, he advanced, his gaze locked onto Wang Xiaoming like a blazing torch.