Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time
Chapter 68: Karmic Return

Chapter 68: Karmic Return

While Xu Qing was off interrogating the crowd in search of the traitor who had revealed his Not-so-highly classified kink, Elder Nie Jing was left to wrestle with a much more bitter pill:

Han Yu had won.

And worse—he hadn’t technically broken any rules.

"You dishonorable, uncouth, eye-spitting, sore-knuckled BRAT!" Elder Nie Jing barked, his voice climbing in pitch like an angry kettle ready to blow.

"You’re forgetting the most important part," Han Yu said with the smugness of a rooster who’d just out-crowed the sun. "The winner."

"UGH!" Elder Nie Jing groaned, practically dry-heaving the word. But alas, duty was a cruel mistress. "Han Yu... is the winner," he muttered, his pride dissolving into the wind.

Whatever punishment he had planned would have to be delayed. There were protocols. Hierarchies. Paperwork. But rest assured, revenge was already penciled into his calendar.

"Hear that?" Han Yu cupped a hand to his ear, tilting his head dramatically.

Silence.

"I said... DID YOU ALL HEAR THAT!?" he bellowed like a theater kid trying to project to the back row. "I WIN! I, HAN YU! THE FIRST OF HIS NAME! THE PRODIGY SLAYER! WINS!"

"Woo..." a tiny voice squeaked.

A little girl with pigtails and wide eyes gave a solitary clap.

"Yes! Yes! You!" Han Yu pointed like she’d just won a game show. "Looks like you’re smarter than most of the people here!"

"Han Yu wins!" the girl cheered again, louder this time, emboldened by the attention.

"WOO! HAN YU WINS!" the other children joined in, their cheers echoing as the reality of what they’d witnessed finally caught up to them.

Sure, the fight had started a little shaky—okay, downright embarrassing—but by the end? Han Yu had sent Murong Xie’s body and dental records flying through the air. That was some top-tier entertainment.

In fact, it was more exciting than if Murong Xie had won.

Murong’s victory would’ve been as predictable as sunrise. The kind of outcome you don’t even bother watching live—you just check the score later. If someone had opened a betting booth, Murong’s odds would have been so bad, betting on him might’ve cost you money.

Han Yu, though? He was the long shot. The wild card. The walking upset.

And everyone loves a good underdog story.

The cheers reverberated through the training ground as Han Yu basked in the adoration of ten-year-olds and confused disciples alike.

"Yes, yes, this is what I came here for," Han Yu said, basking in the applause like a sunbathing cat. He was so high on praise, he momentarily forgot that his knuckles were shredded, his nose was dripping, his mouth was on fire, and his ass was about to be metaphorically—if not literally—lit up.

Eventually, he shuffled off the stage, only to realize something was missing.

"Where did she go?" Han Yu looked around. "Meh. She’ll be back. Probably. Hopefully."

He wandered over to the medic station.

The medic—a startled outer court disciple—stiffened when Han Yu approached.

Technically, his rank was higher than Han Yu’s, but after seeing him turn Murong Xie into dental confetti, rank suddenly felt very negotiable.

"My hand." Han Yu extended it like a noble offering his royal wrist. "Can you do something about it?"

"Ah, yes!" the medic snapped to attention and got to work, gently cleaning the gory mess that used to be Han Yu’s knuckles.

"Ai! Ai! Ai! Ai!" Han Yu yelped like a kicked puppy. "Why does this burn more than the Scorch Gut Pepper!?"

"It won’t hurt for long," the disciple assured him. "Certainly not as much as that pepper..."

The medic couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration.

Not because Han Yu had won.

No.

Because Han Yu had voluntarily eaten the Scorch Gut Pepper.

’Junior Brother was on the toilet for three days after eating one on a dare...’ he thought, glancing at Han Yu with a strange mix of pity and awe. ’I should probably prep some milk. Or a fire extinguisher.’

Soon, Han Yu’s hand was bandaged and back in semi-functional condition.

He flexed his fingers experimentally, then turned to the medic. "So... uh... what now?"

"Now... there’s the appraisal," the medic said.

"Appraisal?" Han Yu tilted his head. "Is that, like, spiritual HR?"

"It’s the second part of the assessment. More important than the fight, actually. It tests your potential, not just your current strength."

Han Yu scratched his cheek. "That sounds... not optional."

"It’s not," the disciple said. "You should return to the Inner Court disciple who brought you in."

"I don’t know where she went," Han Yu replied honestly.

STEP. STEP. STEP.

As if summoned by bad karma, a familiar sound of approaching doom echoed from behind.

"You BRAT!" Xu Qing marched toward him, her scowl sharp enough to slice tofu.

Her mood was already foul—Han Yu’s win, the mystery pervert in the crowd, her pride dented like a dropped watermelon—and now he was standing there, grinning like a fool.

"Did you see? I won," Han Yu said, beaming.

"Did I see!? I’ll show you!" Xu Qing snarled as she grabbed his ear and twisted.

"OW!" Han Yu yelped, practically levitating from the force. ’Is she a woman or a hydraulic press?!’ not that he knew what that was, the words just appeared in his mind.

"First, you spit lava in a kid’s face, then you talk back to your superiors?!"

"But I won," Han Yu argued, dangling by his ear. "Isn’t that what matters?"

"Humph." Xu Qing finally let him go with a warning glare that could curdle milk. "Next time you pull a stunt like this, I’ll shave your head and parade you through the streets naked."

"Before you do," Han Yu said, instantly slipping into business mode, "don’t forget to charge tickets. Maybe sell tomatoes and eggs at double price. I’ll only take 50% of the profits."

"YOU—!"

Xu Qing’s eyes twitched.

She snapped.

And then she began slapping the boy silly, her hands moving faster than most sword techniques.

"AAAH—THIS COUNTS AS TRAINING, RIGHT!?" Han Yu cried as he was battered like a bongo drum.