Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time
Chapter 227: Sneaking To The Outpost

Chapter 227: Sneaking To The Outpost

It didn’t take long for Han Yu to regret his choice.

The path he had taken down, steep and dangerous as it was, had shifted. Lava crust had formed new ridges, and worse—he could see glowing eyes and flickering shapes dotting the slope.

Char-scaled geckos the size of small dogs slithered over the rocks with territorial jerks of their heads, tails lashing. Meanwhile, flying around them were bloated volcanic wasps—buzzing loudly, their wings beating sparks into the air.

They were clearly engaged in some brutal turf war. Every few seconds, a wasp would dive at a gecko, only to be caught midair by a flailing tail swipe. The geckos hissed. The wasps hissed louder.

Han Yu blinked, then quietly stepped back behind a boulder.

"Yeah. No," he whispered to himself. "Not interrupting the Battle of Mount Insect. I’d rather fight Li Mei on an empty stomach."

The slope was out of the question.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. That left only one path. The one he had tried to avoid from the start. The one the Mist Eye Sect had taken.

He shivered—not from the heat, but from the implications.

"I’ve already beat death once today," he murmured to himself. "I can do it again. Maybe. Probably. Let’s say definitely, for morale."

Grimacing, he turned and began retracing the vague direction the Mist Eye group had taken. He remembered the direction Elder Wei had emerged from—somewhere near the caldera’s northern curve. He circled that way slowly, careful to keep to the shadows, his scorched shoes silent on the uneven stone.

It took some searching, but eventually he found what he was looking for.

Markers.

Someone had scratched runes and sect patterns into the rocks—subtle for outsiders, but obvious for disciples. Even better, a few scent markers and qi traces lingered. Han Yu smirked.

"Bless your overconfidence," he muttered.

They probably had thought no one would be insane enough to follow them here.

And yet an idiot followed them carefully.

The tunnel sloped downward, snaking through the base of the caldera. It was narrow, unlit, and unnervingly quiet. Every few minutes, he stopped to listen, to make sure there were no patrols or disciples returning.

The tunnel walls were lined with jagged rocks and occasionally dotted with glowing embers embedded in the stone—natural, flickering guides that offered just enough light to navigate.

Han Yu moved slowly, his Spirit sense flaring out in small pulses, gentle and light, just in case anyone nearby could pick up spiritual fluctuations. He didn’t dare flare his full presence. He was hunting, or more accurately, sneaking. Anything stronger would draw attention.

It took perhaps half an hour, though it felt like far longer. Finally, he spotted the end of the tunnel—a circular exit half-covered in volcanic soot. Beyond it, dim light filtered through, tinged with faint blue arrays.

Crouching low, Han Yu crept forward and peeked out.

There it was.

The Mist Eye Sect’s outpost.

Nestled at the far end of a lava flow, just outside the rim of the caldera, the outpost was a cobbled-together set of tents, along with three small buildings surrounded by spirit-warded stones, and a rudimentary supply platform along with a watchtower. A few glowing lanterns illuminated the area, though they were currently dimmed.

Han Yu scanned the site.

Three people.

Only three.

And none of them looked particularly alert.

In fact... they were seated together around a low stone slab, drinks in hand. One of them, a scrawny young man with uneven hair, was gesturing wildly with a jug in hand, clearly in the middle of an exaggerated story. The other two, both older teens, were laughing—one thumping the table, the other wiping tears from his eyes.

Slacking off.

They weren’t even using a guard rotation.

Han Yu blinked. "Where the hell did the rest go?" he whispered.

Had Elder Wei taken them deeper into the caldera?

Was this just the night shift?

Either way, it was suspicious—and extremely convenient.

He hunkered low behind a slab of long cooled magma just outside the outpost’s boundary and listened.

"...and then! I tell you, she really did call it a ’heavenly pork dumpling’. I’m serious! Who uses pork dumplings as a metaphor for their Dao heart?!"

Laughter erupted again. Someone snorted. "That’s the Inner Sect for you, everything’s enlightenment this and dumpling that."

"Shut up, Jiao. You still eat those spirit eggs, the Senior Alchemy Elder said, were for external use only."

Han Yu, crouched in the dark, let out a slow breath as he observed them.

’Unorthodox or Orthodox, looks like the banter between disciples is still the same everywhere.’ Han Yu thought.

Slacking, drunk, and chatty. A perfect storm of stupidity.

And now... it was his opportunity.

The way was clear—at least temporarily. But he needed to be careful. He couldn’t risk alerting them now. Not when his body was still half cooked, not when his qi was low and his belly empty.

Still... with a little planning, a little luck, and just enough shamelessness, he might make it out of here alive.

Han Yu waited.

The heat was finally bearable, if still uncomfortably warm, but it was nothing compared to what he had endured earlier. Now, in the cool shadows outside the Mist Eye Sect’s outpost, it was not the heat that made his heart pound—but the danger of discovery.

He huddled behind a dark outcropping of rock, crouched in silence, watching the three disciples laugh, drink, and slack off.

He couldn’t afford to rush. These weren’t mortal guards—these were cultivators. Even if they were drinking like common mortals, one burst of qi could sober them instantly. Especially if they sensed danger.

He narrowed his eyes, extending just the faintest trickle of soul sense toward them.

Late-stage Qi Refining... Late-stage Qi Refining... Peak-stage Qi Refining...

Han Yu exhaled slowly, lips barely moving.

’Not bad, but not good enough to stop me.’

Still, caution was everything. He watched them closely for a few more minutes, waiting until their words started to slur, their laughter turned sluggish, and one of them—the youngest-looking—stumbled upright with a hand to his robe.