Fragrant Crispy Bat Wings

Two days later, at dawn.

Without hesitation, he strode into the small town before him.

The guards at the gate gave him no trouble, simply letting him pass. Yet as they watched the snow-white horse, its mane like flowing silk, they swallowed hard, their eyes brimming with envy.

This mortal town lay on the fringe of the Azure Mountain Sect’s influence. The one stationed here could barely be considered a disciple of the sect, with some cultivation that sufficed to deter the local bandits from causing trouble.

Qin Chuan did not reveal his identity. He found an inn, not to stay, but to leave his horse in safekeeping.

He intended to purge the Butcher’s Stronghold, and bringing his steed along would be unwise—should it be injured, it would be a shame.

Handing the reins to the inn’s servant, he gave a few instructions and then walked eastward, leaving the town.

Two hours’ journey to the east lay the destination of his mission.

Spiritual energy coursed smoothly through his meridians, without the slightest obstruction. His recovery these past days had been good, though his shoulder still tingled faintly.

The closer he drew to the Butcher’s Stronghold, the fewer travelers he encountered.

Halfway there, Qin Chuan suddenly halted, slapped his storage pouch, and drew out a yellowed sheepskin map. Its lines were sparse and roughly drawn.

After orienting himself, he confirmed his location.

“I should be there,” he murmured.

This mountain stronghold, numbering only a hundred, had devoured nearly ten thousand lives in the past decade. Even among those who had entered the world of cultivation, many had heard of the bandit chief known as Ten-Thousand-Faces.

It was said that the chief, Ten-Thousand-Faces, possessed the strength of a thousand men and wantonly slaughtered within his domain.

Qin Chuan had no intention of slaughtering every soul in the stronghold. The sect’s orders were clear: execute the dozen ringleaders on the spot.

As for the rest, whether they lived or died was left to fate. If they survived and found peace elsewhere, all the better. If not, then their fate was sealed.

“Hm?”

Qin Chuan planned to infiltrate the stronghold and assassinate the ringleaders, so he advanced slowly and with utmost stealth.

Just then, strange noises echoed through the valley, reaching his ears.

“Is someone calling for help?”

After a moment’s inner struggle, he sighed and set off in the direction of the sound.

“Stone-Winged Bats?”

He was surprised to see that the dense, seething black cloud overhead was, in fact, a swarm of stone-winged bats.

Below, two men, their bodies covered in bloody bite marks, were running for their lives.

Upon seeing Qin Chuan, they looked as if they had found their savior. With a twist, they changed direction and charged toward him.

“Brother, spare us and we will surely repay the favor in the future!”

Qin Chuan’s expression remained cold, but the list of those who must die today grew by two.

The wings of ten-year-old stone-winged bats were prized ingredients for alchemy. In this swarm of a hundred or more, at least ten pairs of wings would be suitable for use.

Yet these bats craved the blood of beasts and humans alike.

If surrounded, mere mortals would almost certainly be drained to husks.

These two, unaware that Qin Chuan was no ordinary man, intended to use him as bait to distract the bats. Such treachery of the human heart! Heh.

One was fat, the other thin; they had hoped to loot the cave, only to unwittingly rouse the bats. Despairing, they spotted Qin Chuan—as he stood there, seemingly stunned, they rejoiced inwardly, believing fortune had delivered them a fool.

They dared not pause, hurrying toward him.

But the supposed fool suddenly pressed his palms together, stamped his foot, and dropped into a horse stance.

Spiritual energy surged within him, flowing into his hands. His eyes suddenly blazed, as if lit by raging fire.

“Fiery Serpent Art!”

Six streaks of flame shot forth, scorching black trails across the ground, racing ahead.

The flames merged, coalescing into a winged serpent of fire, its scales unfolding as it lunged with gaping jaws at the looming black cloud.

Stone-winged bats aged ten years or more, but less than a hundred, were equivalent to first-stage spirit beasts.

Among this swarm, only about ten would be of such age—merely ten first-stage beasts.

They clustered together, fixated on the two men below. By the time they noticed the fire serpent, it was too late; they could only screech before being consumed by swirling flames.

With a series of thuds, charred, smoking bodies rained to the ground. A lucky few, perhaps a dozen, flapped their wings in a desperate retreat, vanishing from sight in an instant.

“Sigh—when I return, I must train more in spellcraft...”

Apart from Qin Chuan, few would use the Fiery Serpent Art in combat.

Were it not for his superb control and the spell’s malleability, allowing him to combine multiple streams of fire and boost its power, it would be of little use in battle.

The two men, seeing the fire serpent roaring toward them, went numb with terror, instinctively squeezing their eyes shut and bracing for death.

After the howling wind came a crackling barrage, mingled with piercing shrieks.

One of them looked up to see blazing bats crashing down all around, their corpses still smoking. In the space of a single breath, the black cloud had been shredded by the fire serpent—only a few survivors escaped with shrill cries.

Now, the two realized that Qin Chuan was no ordinary man, and their earlier ruse had meant nothing to him.

Flight was futile; instead, their legs gave out and they sank to their knees.

“Spare us, Immortal Master!”

They pressed their foreheads to the ground, kowtowing again and again—ten times in all. When they finally lifted their heads, breathless, their foreheads were bruised and bleeding.

Qin Chuan, whom they now addressed as "Immortal Master," felt a sudden stirring within.

“Are you men of Ten-Thousand-Faces?”

“Reporting to Immortal Master, we are! We serve under Yu Ce, the Gale Wolf, in the stronghold.”

“Lord Yu is highly favored by the chief!”

Desperate to avoid another fiery serpent, they wasted no time in dropping the chief’s name.

“My master, the Supreme Daoist, has recently sought a disciple and sent me here. Yet, after searching the Azure Mountains, I have found no one suitable.”

“A few days ago, I heard that Ten-Thousand-Faces of the Butcher’s Stronghold is exceptionally gifted, possessing the strength of a thousand men despite his youth.”

“Such talent is rare indeed.”

The two men were both frightened and delighted—delighted their lives were spared, but fearful all the same.

The slightly plumper of the two, who had earlier spoken fluently, now stammered, “Reporting to Immortal Master...”

Noticing his hesitation, Qin Chuan grew impatient. “Speak freely.”

Qin Chuan, of course, knew no Supreme Daoist, nor was he here to recruit disciples. He simply wanted these men to lead him into the stronghold, preferably straight to Ten-Thousand-Faces, whom he could then kill with a single blow.

Far easier than sneaking in alone.

“Reporting to Immortal Master, the other day I happened to see the chief meeting someone who could also summon such a fire serpent...”

Oh? He had not expected such an answer. It seemed Ten-Thousand-Faces was not as simple as he appeared.