Chapter 27: The Demon Scout Squad (Bonus Chapter 5/10 for Alliance Leader Lan Ruoruo)

In the end, only fifteen people followed Wei Cheng as he charged out. There had originally been at least thirty, but after a few jumped down from the city wall and saw that the other teams remained unmoved, fear crept in. This wasn’t a solo mission—if those three demon vanguard scout squads supported each other, the consequences would be dire.

This was no joking matter.

It seemed wiser to wait. The rewards might be tempting, but one must survive to enjoy them.

Their moment of hesitation spread quickly; soon others faltered as well. The truth was, their numbers were too few, while the other teams looked on with detached amusement. Why should we let you take the glory? Why should we clear the way for you?

Did they take us for fools, like that so-called “Big Fool Wei”?

Let’s rise or fall together.

In the blink of an eye, Wei Cheng had already run nearly five miles ahead, while seven or eight people turned back.

Gradually, more returned, their expressions uncertain, for Wei Cheng dashed forward without ever glancing back to wait for his companions. What kind of captain was this? What kind of leader? They felt their loyalty and ambition had been misplaced.

With no organization or discipline, what could they possibly achieve?

The returning group climbed back onto the city wall, schadenfreude written across their faces as they exchanged cold, mocking smiles.

They had already risked facing the combined assault of three demon vanguard scout squads; now, with only fifteen remaining, it was like throwing meat to the wolves—there would be no return.

“I’m afraid our fool’s brigade will be famous after this,” someone sneered. “Look at the other teams—all so calm. In critical moments, one must remain composed. That young Wei is still too green.”

“My friends, I believe we must prepare for a siege. If the demons have scouts, their main force can’t be far behind. Our team is doomed before it even begins. Let’s take Wei’s failure as a warning,” Guo Jiangshan declared with bitter regret, and many nodded in agreement.

Still, some placed their hopes in stronger groups—like Jade-Faced Little Tyson from P City, leader of Team Ding, the strongest in District Ding. If they would march, the others would follow. In other words, it’s safer under a big tree’s shade.

Little Wei, it’s not that we don’t support you, but you have to follow the strong!

Little did they know, at that very moment, Jade-Faced Little Tyson was coughing up blood.

He was indeed a cultivator of the Purple Haze at the sixty-year level, formidable in explosive power. Yet, confronted with that strange sonic barrier, he lasted only three seconds before his energy channels were torn apart, and even his nearly complete Purple Haze visualization was shattered. With injuries so severe, he would be useless for the rest of the day.

“What happened? Jiang Rui, damn it, you’re a sixty-year Mountain Mover too, just like that Wei, yet he could protect his team and you couldn’t protect me? What kind of tank are you?”

Jade-Faced Little Tyson, for all his wits, couldn’t help but envy Wei Cheng for leading fifteen men out to battle, an envy that bordered on madness.

More than one person realized something was amiss.

But what was it? Even the other Mountain Movers at the sixty-year level were baffled. Why?

“Could it be... he’s not a sixty-year Mountain Mover, but a seventy-year one?” someone mused, and instantly everyone fell silent, burdened by the thought.

Alas, among the five thousand trial-takers, there were only three to five seventy-year Mountain Movers.

What curse had they brought upon themselves?

Their hearts sank.

Ten minutes later, Wei Cheng stopped about fifty miles from Floating Cloud City.

He never intended to fight alone. This was, again, a test for his companions. Beyond loyalty and determination, he sought the courage of pioneers—men and women willing to wager everything when facing both opportunity and peril.

Who is not afraid of death?

But if one wishes to change fate, to accomplish something, one must be prepared to die. Otherwise, why not choose a quiet life from the start?

Did they think this was a game? That choices could be made and unmade at will, as if the world would always coddle them?

A few minutes later, a group including Cheng An, Yu Liang, and Wang Wei came panting up behind him.

Not bad—anyone who could keep up had at least thirty years’ inner strength. At this point, their potential for further growth no longer mattered.

“Boss, there’s a twenty-year cultivator lagging about ten miles behind. He pleaded with us to wait for him, no matter what,” Wang Wei reported.

“That’s fine; we’re in no hurry,” Wei Cheng replied. In truth, their pace was already swift—a Mountain Mover with thirty years’ cultivation could reach speeds of sixty miles per hour. Even the twenty-year cultivator, though weaker, would be extraordinary by ordinary human standards.

“Wei, with so few of us, can we win? Not that I’m afraid,” asked Zhao Fangsheng, a stocky, fierce-looking man in his thirties.

“The fewer we are, the richer the reward,” Wei Cheng answered. The group immediately understood. In fact, that was why they’d chosen to follow—each had reached a bottleneck in cultivation. Without risking their lives, what hope did they have?

Soon, the straggling twenty-year Mountain Mover caught up, collapsing to the ground too exhausted for words.

Yet Wei Cheng waited patiently, giving him another ten minutes before they set off again.

This time, Wei Cheng slowed his pace. At any moment, they might encounter a demon scout squad—they certainly wouldn’t be waiting quietly in place.

In fact, with only their team attacking from the north wall, it was even possible the demon scouts would combine forces against them.

In this, the concerns of the others were not groundless. They simply overlooked the boldness that comes with true skill.

Wei Cheng was indeed a seventy-year Mountain Mover—but not an ordinary one.

After another dozen miles, Wei Cheng suddenly felt a powerful sensation of being watched. He could even sense the location and rough number of the observers.

Without warning, he shouted, gathering his Mountain Moving energy into his right hand, which formed a miniature golden bell shield, like a gauntlet.

He stepped forward and struck the ground with a mighty punch. The force was so great that the earth caved in, leaving a large crater.

From this pit, he dragged up a tree root as thick as a barrel, resembling a giant python, covered in scales and terrifying to behold—yet it had been smashed to a pulp by Wei Cheng’s fist.

A furious roar echoed from afar. Suddenly, dozens of shadows leaped into view: the demon scout squad, having failed to ambush, launched an all-out attack.

These demons were of various grotesque forms, roughly falling into three types.

The leader was a five-meter-tall demon with enormous antlers, skull-bells hanging from its horns, two bristling, segmented legs, and a tail several meters long.

It wielded two strange weapons: a white bone staff adorned with three black human heads—grimacing and wailing as if still alive—and a two-meter-tall jar from which black flames licked.

The antlered demon was clearly the chief—there was only one.

Next were three round, purple-skinned demons resembling potatoes, each about a meter tall with a dozen stubby tentacles. They ran swiftly; aside from their odd cuteness, their abilities were not immediately apparent.

The third type, and most numerous, were nearly forty gray wolf demons, larger than ordinary wolves, swift as the wind, each shrouded in an eerie yellow glow.

Lastly was the burrowing wood demon—the very creature Wei Cheng had just destroyed.

Now, the antlered demon charged head-on, the three purple-skinned demons following but not yet attacking, while the wolf demons howled and bounded, encircling the group with well-coordinated tactics.