Chapter 9 – Eastern Hinterlands
Zhou Fan stepped beyond the distant hills of the Zhuo estate and entered the war-torn Eastern Hinterlands. The forested plains stretched ahead, gray and scarred by countless battles. Smoke coiled from distant campfires and burned villages, painting the sky with streaks of ash. In the low light he observed ruined encampments of mercenaries and ragged fighters of two feuding empires. The landscape felt both alien and familiar — a place where chaos reigned and only the strong survived.
He recalled what he had heard about this border region: it was a backwater between the Redleaf Kingdom and the Azure Emperor's domain, both third-rate empires locked in a vicious stalemate. Legions rarely clashed here in full; instead endless skirmishes, raids and ambushes consumed every inch of land. Across the muddy road lay wreckage: overturned wagons, shattered crates. Charred bodies of camels still smoldered on one roadside, hissing as the flames licked the grass. All signs told him that here, no one was safe.
Zhou Fan's dark eyes narrowed. This was the perfect hunting ground. He strode forward, each step measured, every nerve alert to danger. The chill twilight air was thick with tension. Birds circled high overhead, screaming warnings. Suddenly, a distant shout cleaved the silence. Around the bend he saw a small group of commoners caught in a violent ambush. He recognized the scene instantly: the weak were being preyed upon by armed brigands.
Bandits! Under a tattered black flag, four sullen mercenaries in heavy armor were pressing a merchant caravan to the ground. One by one they were driving villagers down, preparing to kill them — all under their leader's barking commands. Opportunity. Zhou Fan's lips curved into the faintest smile. He could not pass without indulging in some slaughter.
He tilted his head, summoning a whisper of cultivation energy through his body. Momentarily, the air around him darkened with a thin veil of qi. Without making a sound, he stepped out from behind a shattered wagon. The lead mercenary, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, spotted him at the last second and shouted, "Someone there?" as he raised his sword.
Before they could react, Zhou Fan struck. His hand blazed with cold azure qi, slamming into the bandit leader's chest. The strike tore through armor and bone; the bandit's eyes bulged as he collapsed in a spray of blood.
System: +150 EXP (Enemy Bandit Leader defeated). Current EXP: 70%.
The remaining mercs stiffened. Two of them rushed him with desperate sword slashes. Zhou Fan pivoted gracefully. He launched a volley of slender, lethal blades of wind qi from his fingertips — his movements were quicksilver. One mercenary was flung back, pierced through the eye by translucent shards of qi. The other, disarmed and unbalanced, was knocked sprawling by a gust from Zhou Fan's aura. An instant later the second merc lay motionless with a gaping wound in his chest.
System: +75 EXP each (Enemy Mercenary defeated). Current EXP: 100%.
Zhou Fan breathed evenly as the last mercenary fell. The system alert blinked faintly at the corner of his vision.
System: Level Up! Zhou Fan has reached Level 12!
Current Realm: 2nd Stage Qi Gathering
Attribute Increase: Strength +5, Agility +3, Vitality +2
New Skill Acquired: Shadowstep Decimation (consumes 5 energy)
A quiet surge of power coursed through him as he transcended to the 2nd Stage of Qi Gathering. The brief battle had served its purpose. Zhou Fan hardly glanced at the bodies of his victims. He felt a slight throb in his chest where the blood-curdling tension had been highest. Already his senses were sharper — he heard the tremble of leaves and could see farther into the dusky gloom.
Night creatures stirred as the flames died. Chickens squawked in a nearby coop, alerted by the chaos. Unfazed, Zhou Fan continued down the road with darker thoughts on his mind. Under the corpses and ashes of this land, he saw potential — endless targets to test himself against, enemies to harvest EXP from. Living or dead, the strong are a prize.
Branches snapped behind him. Somewhere in the wild gloom, the distant chatter of armed men leaked through the shadows. Without turning, Zhou Fan sensed new presence — faint auras shifting rhythmically. He paused, slipping silently between ruined stone walls.
A patrol of four young soldiers, draped in mismatched red armor of the Redleaf Kingdom, was arguing by an overturned supply cart. One soldier berated another who was slumped low; they looked wounded, spattered with mud and dirt, their weapons clattering at their feet. If Zhou Fan had approached head-on they might have spotted him.
He listened carefully: their conversation was heated and petty, but fatigue and desperation were palpable in their voices. "Stubborn rats," one muttered darkly. "They drank all the medicinal wine again. We would have been done, thanks to you, Zhou Lian."
"I said sorry!" the wounded one cried, clutching a bleeding arm. "Liu Zong, you promised the boss we'd find more oxen. How are we to lose supplies?"
Zhou Fan weighed the situation. These were ordinary soldiers caught in their own squabble — no cultivator aura to speak of. A minor target. He could kill them easily with a quick ambush. But would the experience be worth it?
He decided to strike decisively. Any hesitation might simply scare them off. More experience lay waiting if he executed with precision. In an instant he sprang from hiding like a wraith. Shadows of leaves flickered as he moved, unseen. The first soldier barely had time to flinch. Zhou Fan's new skill Shadowstep Decimation triggered — he vanished and reappeared behind the startled man. Simultaneously, a second soldier whipped around to fire his crossbow.
Time seemed to dilate for Zhou Fan as he twisted in mid-air, channeling his qi into a spiral of blistering light. A thunderous barrage erupted — bolts shattered against the earth as if hitting steel. He landed on his side, feet sliding in the sticky mud, and unleashed a powerful palm strike. The force sent the first soldier hurtling into the supply cart behind him. Wooden planks and crates exploded outward, pinning the poor man under debris. The commanding soldier flung his saber in a desperate defense, but Zhou Fan's momentum carried him through. With a flash of movement, he slashed upward from under the enemy's guard, catching him in the throat.
Blood spurted as the swordbearer choked on silence. The other soldier gasped and collapsed into the mud, crippled by internal injuries.
System: +100 EXP (Enemy Redleaf Soldier defeated). Current EXP: 30%.
Zhou Fan scanned the area calmly. The system pinged their defeat. There was no triumph in his eyes; his heart remained steady and cold. He confirmed no other threats remained.
The ragged horses near the wagon whinnied and bolted in panic. Spilled supplies — rice sacks and dried meat — tumbled across the ground. Even now, Zhou Fan could sense the distant rumble of approaching troops in the darkness.
Vaulting onto a ruined wall, he surveyed his surroundings. To his left, the remaining patrol members flinched out of sight behind cover. Ahead, smoke still flickered under a canopy of twisted trees — the remnants of a recent skirmish. Across a shallow creek spanned by moss-covered logs, two figures knelt by a small brazier. The sun was setting, no moon yet risen; distant battle cries still echoed from deeper in the Hinterlands.
Now at Level 12, Zhou Fan's confidence glowed quietly within him. The breakthrough to the second Qi Gathering stage felt like a fire stirring through his veins. He stepped over the creek without making a splash and approached the encampment.
The two figures by the brazier were wandering cultivators — likely mercenary scouts from the opposing empire. Their robes were tattered but their bearing disciplined. A lean swordsman polished his blade, oblivious to Zhou Fan's quiet approach.
Crouching low in the brush, Zhou Fan extended his senses. He picked up their qi auras clearly. One was definitely 1st Stage Qi Gathering, perhaps even approaching 2nd; the other was slightly weaker. If he attacked directly, he would engage at least one opponent on his level. Dangerous, but the experience gain would be high.
He assessed the environment carefully. Smoke from the brazier drifted unpredictably in the dusk breeze, offering cover but also risking discovery if he moved beneath it. The ground itself was treacherous — a minefield of tripwires and crude traps left by bandits after the recent fight. Suddenly his foot caught on something; he heard the faint click of a hidden trigger. He froze, training every muscle to stillness. One wrong step now and he'd spring the trap.
Using Shadowstep Decimation again, Zhou Fan vanished in a breath. He reappeared silently behind a thick tree stump well out of sight of the brazier. He clasped his hands in subtle formation, channeling his qi into a compact coil of azure light around his fist. Then, with a thunderous strike, he drove his heel into the ground above the concealed trigger.
Crackle — the trap's mechanism shattered. Zhou Fan's palm met the earth with full force, destroying the device before it could launch its lethal payload. The ground erupted in shards of wood and iron, engulfing the brazier's light in a billowing cloud of dust.
The two Azure cultivators jolted with alarm. At the sudden explosion, they jerked upright and grabbed their weapons. Zhou Fan seized the moment. He surged into action.
Qi rolled from him in invisible waves. In one fluid motion he swept aside charred debris. When the dust cleared, both warriors' eyes locked onto him. For a heartbeat the red-robed swordsman hesitated, startled. Then they attacked in unison.
Steel sang as sword and spear met Zhou Fan's aura. He moved like mercury. He evaded the spearman's lunge by sliding aside under the man's guard, then snapped his elbow into the soldier's throat. A sickening crack resounded as his fingers crushed the enemy's adamantine windpipe. The spear clattered to the ground; the soldier's body went limp instantly.
Before the swordsman could react, Zhou Fan anticipated the dash and feinted. He drove his fist into the man's knee; bone shattered with another crunch. The swordsman crumpled onto the ashes of the brazier. Quick and merciless, Zhou Fan slammed two fingers into his throat and twisted. The last cultivator gagged weakly, then fell silent, collapsing face-first into the dirt.
System: +300 EXP (Azure Empire Cultivator defeated). Kill Count: 7. Current EXP: 80%.
Zhou Fan stood among the debris of the makeshift campfire. His clothes were smeared with ash and sweat. He had killed seven adversaries in quick succession, yet his expression was unreadable. The forest fell silent for a heartbeat; nothing stirred except his own even breathing.
He allowed himself a single distant thought: This war is like a rotting corpse — decaying, but still giving off the stench of power. I will feast on what it has left.
He wiped the blood from his fingers onto the dirt, smearing it unreadably. A system prompt flickered and vanished — there was no need to linger on the kill. He sensed movement to his left: a faint rustling. Possibly scavenger beasts or late survivors drawn to the carnage.
Zhou Fan melted into the shadowed tree line. Nearby, vines and branches guarded an ancient stone ruin, half-swallowed by brambles. Insects hummed softly in the eerie calm after battle.
He felt unexpectedly alone. The thrill of combat faded, leaving behind only an empty silence. I have grown, he admitted inwardly. His cultivation felt more solid, his body stronger. The kills weighed on his soul only as a math problem — inputs and outputs. He had no attachments here, no allies, no family. War itself had become his only companion. The only constant was the system of growth driving him.
He looked down at his resting hand and flexed his fingers. The new skills and increased strength felt hot and alive, pulsing through each nerve. One day, he thought, I will be so far beyond these bloodthirsty soldiers that none can touch me. Even now, these lowly fights nourish me.
He observed the two horizons of conflict: on one side, the decimated fields and burned villages; on the other, distant smoke columns rising where more fighting brewed. Somewhere up the road, another ambush waited — another band of mercenaries preparing. The sounds of war would never end here, and neither would his hunger.
Without fanfare, Zhou Fan stepped back onto the road. The mingled cries from the battle ahead were muted now, dampened by distance. His silhouette sharpened in the last light of day as he strode north, deeper into the warring lands. Each footstep echoed into the coming night — a warning to any who might cross his path.
He would continue hunting through the chaos, cold and power-hungry. Nothing would stop him until the Eastern Hinterlands had nothing left to give. For now, he disappeared into the twilight like a predator on the prowl, ever alone and ever hungry for power.