Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time-Chapter 760: Successful Scouting

By the seventh gate, Chitterfang's presence in Han Yu's mind felt sharper, clearer. The connection between them thrummed faintly, as if stretched taut over distance but unbroken.

'Seventh gate… cold hurts paws… but still okay.'

Han Yu swallowed slowly.

"Seventh gate."

That was deep. Deep enough that most disciples would never set foot there in their entire lives. Beyond this point lay the true inner sanctum of the Second Kidney Peak, where elders resided and the Peak Head's domain began.

Han Yu let his fishing line sit idle for a moment, gaze unfocused as if staring into the distance. The other fisherman nearby paid him no mind.

"Careful now," Han Yu sent gently. "If it feels wrong, stop."

A pause.

Then, Chitterfang's mental voice came again, tinged with uncertainty.

'Ground hard. Very hard. Can't dig. Like metal.'

Han Yu exhaled through his nose.

That confirmed it.

The upper structures of the peak were built not upon soil or stone, but upon foundations of Eternal Spirit Ice. The material was infamous. Harder than steel, infused with frost Qi, resistant to erosion and tunneling. It was used precisely to prevent underground intrusion.

Which meant Chitterfang's advantage had just vanished.

Han Yu considered his options rapidly, mind racing. Pulling Chitterfang back now would keep him safe, but would cost Han Yu precious information. Forcing him forward underground was impossible.

There was only one alternative.

"Go up," Han Yu instructed, steady and clear. "Surface level. Stay in shadows. Hug walls. No open paths."

The reply came after a moment, laced with nervousness.

'Surface scary. Wind cold. Smells strong.'

"I know," Han Yu replied. "Move only when safe. If you see people, freeze. You are small. You are nothing."

That last part was not an insult. It was strategy.

To the mighty cultivators of the Kidney Peak, a rat was nothing. Less than nothing. A thing beneath notice.

Under that assumption, Chitterfang had a chance.

Han Yu returned his full attention to the fishing rod as the rat began to climb. The mental impressions shifted. The feel of soil gave way to stone, then to the biting sting of open air. Frost Qi surged stronger, prickling even through the mental link.

Chitterfang moved.

Slowly. Carefully.

Han Yu caught another fish, deposited it into the bucket, then deliberately spilled a bit of water over the side of the bridge, rinsing blood traces away. He adjusted his stance again, appearing relaxed, unhurried.

Inside, his focus was razor sharp.

Every step Chitterfang took now was risk layered upon risk.

If the rat succeeded, Han Yu would gain something invaluable: proximity to the Peak Head, or at least knowledge of how close one could get.

If he failed…

Han Yu's jaw tightened imperceptibly.

Then Chitterfang's presence steadied again, sending a cautious update.

'On stone now. Big walls. Cold wind. No people yet.'

Han Yu let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Good," he sent back. "Keep going. I'm here."

The Blood River roared softly beneath the bridge, beasts circling endlessly in its depths, unaware that above them, a far quieter hunt was underway.

Chitterfang crept forward, every instinct in his small, altered body screaming at him to be careful.

The cold up here was different.

Lower on the peak, the frost had been sharp and biting, something that numbed paws and stiffened joints.

Here, beyond the eighth gate, the cold felt… deliberate. It pressed inward, not merely against flesh, but against instinct, against the will to move. Even Chitterfang, who had endured far worse under Han Yu's flame aura and the river's grasp, felt an unease crawling under his fur.

As he squeezed through a narrow gap between two stone steps and emerged fully onto the surface, he froze.

Footsteps.

Voices.

A group was approaching along the cleared path, their silhouettes tall and steady against the faint glow of spirit lamps. Chitterfang darted forward without hesitation, diving into the nearest patch of shrubbery, a low, frost-hardened bush whose leaves were dark and leathery.

He pressed himself flat against the frozen soil beneath it, barely daring to breathe.

The group passed within a few meters.

Two inner disciples walked at the front, their robes thick and layered, frost-resistant sigils faintly glowing along the hems. Behind them followed four slaves, heads bowed, backs bent under the weight of heavy boxes sealed with talismans. Their steps were careful, measured, and silent.

None of them looked at the bush.

Why would they?

This was the upper echelon of the Second Kidney Peak. Nothing insignificant survived here for long. Anything that crawled or flew this high was either an owned beast, a construct, or something important enough to be announced in advance. A random bush was just a bush. A shadow was just a shadow.

The group passed, their presence fading into the distance.

Only when the last footstep disappeared did Chitterfang move again.

He waited several breaths longer, just in case, then wriggled out of the bush and resumed his advance, sticking close to the edges of the path where the light was weakest. Han Yu felt the tension in his small companion through their bond, a tight, coiled fear mixed with stubborn determination.

"Good," Han Yu murmured inwardly. "You did well. Keep going."

The scenery changed as Chitterfang advanced further.

Beyond the eighth gate lay the true upper precincts of the Kidney Peak.

Tall red pavilions rose from the frost like solemn sentinels, their lacquered pillars etched with intricate frost patterns and ancient formation lines. Snow lay thick on their curved roofs, layered so deep it softened the harsh geometry of the buildings. Yet the paths between them remained pristine, bare stone untouched by frost.

Every time a snowflake drifted down onto the path, it hissed faintly and vanished, melting into nothing as if consumed by invisible fire. Han Yu recognized the effect instantly. Continuous low-grade formations, tuned to repel snow and ice buildup, maintained at all hours.

Spirit lamps lined the paths, one every few meters. Their light was soft, bluish-white, steady and unwavering. It did not flicker like mundane flame. It did not cast harsh shadows. Instead, it illuminated just enough to see, just enough to expose.