Chapter Twenty-Two: Slay One with Every Ten Steps

Dustless and Yunhua continued along the mountain path. Not long after, a caravan appeared behind them. With the prospect of more company, Dustless suggested they travel with the group. The caravan manager, seeing the two as clearly a father and daughter and not likely to be troublemakers, accepted Dustless’s payment for joining and simply said, “Stay close.” Surprisingly amiable, which caught Dustless off guard.

Yunhua’s appearance was particularly charming, and even more so with her rare white fox, whose antics and cuteness quickly won over the caravan. Dustless soon became familiar with the caravan members. It turned out the caravan wasn’t made up solely of merchants from one association; many small traders and travelers, seeing the caravan’s size and its armed guards, chose to join for safety. The mountain road was not peaceful, and numbers brought security.

The caravan moved slowly along the path. Dustless led his donkey, chatting with the small traders beside him as they walked. Suddenly, Dustless felt a pang of alarm and halted. His spiritual sense swept over a ten-mile radius, and his face turned grim. The small trader next to him noticed Dustless’s abrupt stop and was about to ask, but then saw the change in his expression.

…The mountain road was littered with corpses, blood pooling everywhere, wounded groaning in agony. Passing bandits silenced these groans with swift blades. Some thieves rifled through the dead for valuables, others hauled away loot, checked for survivors, or pushed bodies off the cliffs. There were those standing atop the peaks, watching the roads below for signs of activity. The operation was orderly, yet chillingly cruel. On a nearby ridge, a man clearly the leader watched the carnage with smug satisfaction.

Mountain banditry usually sought wealth, rarely resorting to such indiscriminate slaughter. But these bandits were clearly accustomed to such brutality.

“There are bandits ahead, killing people,” Dustless said in a low voice. Those nearby stopped immediately, their faces turning pale as death. No one questioned how Dustless could know; clearly, this was not the first such incident on this route.

Word spread quickly, and the caravan halted. The chief guard and caravan leader, faces dark, approached Dustless and asked, “Brother, how did you know there are bandits ahead?”

Dustless couldn’t claim clairvoyance, so he offered an excuse: “I have an exceptionally keen nose. I smelled blood carried on the wind.”

The chief guard said nothing, but the caravan leader was clearly skeptical. Erring on the side of caution, he sent a few clever guards ahead to scout, and the caravan pressed on. Dustless could not stop them, so he followed, waiting to see what would happen.

Less than five miles further, the scouts returned hurriedly with news, and the caravan erupted in agitation—the front was clearly unsafe.

The small trader beside Dustless was in tears. Dustless asked, “Since you know it’s dangerous, why take this road?” The trader replied helplessly, “Do you think I want to? This business is life-or-death. We travel north and south for slim profits, but the main roads are full of checkpoints. If we don’t take this mountain route, we’ll lose money for sure!”

Dustless had nothing to say. Some trades are worth risking one’s life, but nobody does business for a loss. Nobles and wealthy merchants evade taxes and enjoy privileges, while small traders, except for gambling their lives on this mountain road, have little choice.

The commotion grew as evidence of bandits appeared in the woods flanking the road—it was clear the caravan was surrounded.

Most travelers carried something for self-defense, and some were even trained fighters. After all, a journey of a thousand miles required some protection. Realizing their predicament, many merchants drew their weapons, ready to fight for their lives. The caravan leader and chief guard, however, urged everyone to remain calm, sending someone ahead to negotiate with the bandits. Out on the road, profit was the goal; better to avoid bloodshed if possible. Yet Dustless sensed things wouldn’t be so simple.

Soon, the negotiator returned with news: the bandits demanded twenty percent of the caravan’s goods and all weapons.

The terms sparked outrage—some balked at losing so much merchandise, others were uneasy about surrendering weapons.

But the chief guard quickly ordered everyone to hand over the goods and weapons. Anyone refusing would lose the caravan’s protection.

Dustless grew more suspicious, though he had no proof of foul play. Reluctantly, the merchants complied, surrendering their goods and arms, hoping the bandits would honor their word and let them go.

The bandit leader, seeing the caravan’s compliance, was delighted. After hastily counting the goods and weapons, he suddenly burst out laughing and shouted, “Attack!” At his command, the bandits drew their weapons. Chaos erupted within the caravan, and the guards and leaders revealed their true allegiance, joining the bandits.

Clearly, it had all been a trap.

Dustless patted Yunhua’s hand to comfort her, “Don’t be afraid. When traveling, such dangers are inevitable. Remember, you must never show mercy.”

Yunhua handled it better than Dustless expected, nodding, “With Master here, I fear nothing.” She picked up the fox and asked, “Fox, are you afraid?”

Dustless smiled, seeing the bandits about to strike. He drew his peachwood sword from the magic pouch, pointed the tip upright, and with ghostlike speed charged forward, shouting, “Deserve to die!” His voice and sword arrived together, and he ran the foremost bandit through.

The bandits were stunned, hesitating for a moment. Dustless showed no mercy; this gang was beyond mere thievery, killing as easily as harvesting grass—fallen wholly into evil.

The peachwood sword gleamed coldly, thunder faintly rumbling. With each step, Dustless struck, and each strike claimed a life. In moments, the vanguard of bandits lay dead. The caravan fell silent. The remaining bandits, shocked by Dustless’s supernatural skill, looked to their leader in fear.

“Who are you?” the bandit leader, shaken and uncertain, tried to probe Dustless’s background.

Dustless pointed his sword sideways and sneered, “Killers pay with their lives, debtors repay their debts. What use is your question?” Without another word, he flashed forward and stabbed the leader through the throat before he could react. The leader, stunned, clutched his bleeding throat, eyes wide as if trying to speak, but fell forward, dying as so many innocent victims had before him, resentful and unwilling, sinking into the dust.

The bandits, seeing Dustless’s ghostly prowess and their leader dead, were terrified, their courage shattered. They scattered in panic, fleeing wildly across the hills. Dustless did not pursue; the bandits would return to their lair soon enough—saving him the trouble of hunting them down.

With the bandits routed, the caravan was safe. Dustless returned, sword in hand; the merchants, barely recovered from their brush with death, could only stare at him in awe. Dustless ignored them, went to Yunhua, took the donkey, and prepared to leave. The merchants, coming to their senses, knelt and bowed, thanking him for saving their lives. Dustless led his donkey through the kneeling crowd, walking slowly yet vanishing in moments at the end of the mountain road. The merchants hadn’t even risen to ask his name before he was gone. A heated debate erupted—had they encountered a hero or an immortal? The argument raged on…

Dustless and Yunhua followed the bandits’ escape route from afar, strolling leisurely, even exchanging stories along the way. The bandits, meanwhile, fled for their lives, running several miles before regathering in small groups to support each other as they left the mountain road, heading back to their hideout.