Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time
Chapter 225: Determination Clad In Delusion

Chapter 225: Determination Clad In Delusion

The final talisman’s glow, however, was growing dimmer by the second.

Enough, Han Yu decided with a heavy heart. It was too dangerous to push further. His body was battered, his protective talismans nearly spent, and the fiery wilderness behind him offered no mercy for the weary.

He clenched his teeth, forced his legs to move, and turned to flee toward the caldera’s edge—the relative safety that awaited beyond the molten nightmare.

But the caldera was a beast of its own, relentless in its fury.

Just as Han Yu reached what he hoped would be a safer distance, the talisman’s protective barrier shattered with a sharp crack that echoed in his ears like a gunshot. The shield that had been guarding him from the inferno’s full wrath vanished in an instant.

Suddenly, the heat hit him like a physical blow—a blazing, crushing wave that seared through his skin and muscles.

The fine hairs on his arms ignited and curled away in smoke before his very eyes. His skin prickled unbearably, as if his nerves had become exposed, raw and aflame. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before—sharp, relentless, and all-consuming.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse right there, consumed by the molten rage of the caldera. But then, through the agony, a shard of clarity pierced his mind—a memory, vivid and sharp: Li Mei, cool and focused, as she tested a new pill. The image steadied him.

’This is just another pill test,’ Han Yu told himself, clutching to the illusion like a lifeline in the storm. ’I’m fine. I’ll be fine later.’

With a renewed, if fragile, determination masked in pure delusion, he pushed his battered body forward. Every step was agony—each footfall felt like slamming onto burning coals.

The soles of his shoes melted beneath him, the rubber bubbling and smoking until only the scorched inner soles remained. Even those were charred and fragile, barely protecting his blistered heels.

His face was flushed deep red, skin blistering and peeling under the merciless heat. Tears welled in his eyes, streaming down his cheeks in rivers of pain—yet before they could fall, they evaporated in the scorching air, turning instantly into steam.

His eyebrows, half singed away, left him with a wild, feral look as sweat and smoke mingled on his burning skin. The air around him shimmered with heat, every breath a searing trial as if inhaling molten fire.

But still, Han Yu ran.

He dodged patches of molten rock and leapt over fissures that hissed and steamed beneath his feet. Every muscle screamed in protest, but he refused to give in.

The terrain finally began to ease as he neared the outer rim of the caldera. The intense heat softened to a brutal warmth, the sulfurous air less suffocating. Exhausted beyond measure, Han Yu stumbled and collapsed onto a bed of jagged stones.

Pain lanced through his entire body—every inch of skin burned raw, every nerve alight with fire. His breaths came in ragged gasps, lungs burning with each inhale.

He lay there, the world spinning slowly around him, as waves of exhaustion crashed over his body.

But despite the searing pain, despite the overwhelming fatigue, a flicker of triumph warmed his chest.

He had survived.

And in his hand—clutched tightly in an oilskin paper pouch—were the glowing ashes of the Fireborn beasts he had slain. Proof that he had accomplished what many deemed impossible: to hunt and gather the essence of these elemental creatures born from flame.

His body was battered, scarred, and nearly broken—but his spirit burned brighter than ever.

Han Yu closed his eyes, letting the cruel wind from the caldera’s edge wash over him, mingling with the sulfur and ash. The agony of his burns would heal in time. The knowledge he had gained, the power he had harvested—it was worth every blister, every singed hair, every tear evaporated in the scorching air.

He was no ordinary cultivator. A soul cultivator, armed with the tools to harness the very essence of life and death. And though the Fireborn beasts were fierce, cunning, and elemental incarnate, he had found their weakness. He had pierced their souls.

For now, rest was what he needed most. But tomorrow, the fight would continue. The mission wasn’t over. The altar waited below, the Mist Eye sect was closing in, and the mysteries of the caldera were far from solved.

Han Yu’s body ached, but his resolve was unbreakable.

He was ready for whatever fire came next, but for now, he dragged his feet against the coarse volcanic stone, his balance wavering as he staggered forward.

Each breath was labored, every step a negotiation between willpower and pain. The heat had dulled slightly now—he’d made it past the worst—but it was still like walking through the breath of a furnace.

His skin throbbed, his vision swam, and his robes stuck to his body in patches, half-burned and half-melted. He was alive... barely.

He spotted a darkened alcove in the jagged caldera wall ahead, a sliver of rock shadow where the radiating heat softened to something tolerable. Not comfortable—just survivable. He trudged toward it like a dying man seeing a wellspring in the desert, dragging one foot after another.

"Just... a little further..." he muttered, voice rasping like gravel across sandpaper.

When he finally reached it, he all but collapsed—knees hitting the stone with a muffled thud, hands catching himself as he nearly fell face-first into the dirt.

Every inch of his body protested. His qi, his vital energy—it was trying to repair the damage, struggling valiantly, but the wounds were too fresh, too deep. He could feel the energy burning through his meridians in uneven waves, drawn to every blister, every scorched nerve.

"Alright... alright... I’m not dead. So that’s something," he muttered between heaving breaths.

With great effort, he reached into the folds of his robe—what was left of it—and retrieved a small pill pouch. It was wrapped in waxed paper and tied with string, slightly charred at the edges.

Inside were three small pills—round, distinct, and blessedly intact.