Chapter 80: Unmoving Giant

The twin purple moons cast their cold, amethyst glow over the jagged peaks of the Blackwood mountain range. Far below, a narrow mountain pass lay swallowed by thick fog, its desolate landscape bathed in an eerie violet light. The air reeked of spilled grain, crushed pine needles, and the sharp, sour stench of fear.

Garris stood at the front of the ruined caravan, his chest rising and falling heavily. His gaze flickered between the scattered cargo littering the road and the merciless faces of the mounted raiders.

The panic clouding his mind had finally begun to clear, leaving behind a truth far more terrifying than anything he had imagined.

The moment Vane ordered his men to spread out and seal off the narrow pass, Garris understood.

This was no ordinary robbery.

Garris took a shaky step forward, his boots grinding against the dirt and scattered debris. He raised a trembling hand toward the bandit leader, struggling to keep his voice steady. But when he finally spoke, disbelief and desperation broke through every word.

"We’ve surrendered everything!" he shouted. "The cargo, the horses, the winter supplies—we’ve left it all right here for you! What more do you want?!"

His eyes swept across the armed riders, searching for even the slightest hint of hesitation.

"Why are you still drawing your weapons?!"

Vane didn’t so much as flinch. He calmly turned his massive black stallion, its iron-shod hooves scraping against the stones, and looked down at the veteran caravan captain with the cold, disinterested expression of a man staring at an irritating insect.

"Because leaving witnesses is bad for business," Vane replied.

There was no anger in his voice, nor any hint of sadistic pleasure. His words carried only the casual cruelty of a man who had long ago stopped seeing murder as anything worth thinking about. Somehow, that made him far more terrifying than a man who killed in a fit of rage.

"You should have learned that basic rule of the road before you decided to surrender."

Before Garris could find the words to protest, Vane slowly raised his serrated saber. Violet moonlight glinted along its jagged edge as he pointed the weapon directly at the defenseless trade guards.

"You should have understood that before surrendering," Vane repeated, his voice hardening into a chilling command. "Kill them all. Leave no one alive."

The moment the order left his mouth, the three remaining mounted bandits sprang into action.

CLOP! CLOP! CLOP! CLOP!

The thunder of heavy hooves shattered the silence of the night. The three Qi Cultivators drove their mounts forward, charging toward the huddled trade guards with ruthless, predatory speed.

Faint traces of crystallized Mortal-Qi shimmered along their serrated sabers. As the riders tore through the fog, their deadly weapons flashed like streaks of silver lightning, heralding the slaughter that was about to begin.

The caravan descended into utter chaos.

For the past ten minutes, the guards had clung to the desperate hope that surrendering would spare their lives. Now, they finally understood the horrifying truth. The bandits had never intended to let them walk away. They had simply forced them to lower their guard, surrender their weapons, and gather together at the very spot where they would be slaughtered.

"Fall back! Form a line!" Garris screamed, desperately trying to rally his men.

But it was already too late.

Panic swept through the ranks like wildfire. Some guards stumbled backward in blind terror, tripping over heavy burlap sacks of grain and crashing into the mud. Others instinctively reached for the short blades they had only just unbuckled, fumbling desperately with their scabbards as fear numbed their hands.

Within moments, their defensive formation disintegrated into a chaotic mass of shouting, stumbling men. The discipline that had held them together throughout the journey vanished beneath the crushing weight of terror.

"Wait! Please!" Garris cried, stretching a desperate hand toward Vane.

But the mountain bandits showed no hesitation. Their horses thundered closer, iron-shod hooves tearing through the dirt as gleaming blades descended toward the helpless guards.

And then, amid the swirling fog, the desperate screams, and the thunder of charging hooves, a completely different sound emerged from the rear of the caravan.

CREAK.

A heavy, deliberate creak broke through the chaos. It came from the rear of the final carriage, where thick canvas shifted and old wooden floorboards groaned under an unexpected weight.

At first, none of the charging bandits paid it any attention. Their eyes remained fixed on the terrified guards ahead, and their horses continued thundering down the narrow path.

But one of the sub-leaders happened to glance sideways as he rode past the last carriage.

The scarred, heavyset man was a Body-Refining cultivator at the Late Stage. As his horse swept alongside the abandoned wagon, something moved in the corner of his vision.

His gaze snapped toward the carriage.

The canvas curtain covering its rear entrance began to part, moving slowly enough to draw his attention.

Then a towering, heavily muscled figure stepped into the moonlight.

Arthur.

He emerged from the pitch-black interior like a giant awakening from an age-old slumber. His massive frame filled the carriage entrance, and when he straightened to his full height, his broad shoulders seemed to dwarf the wooden structure behind him.

The eerie violet light of the twin moons fell across his chiseled, expressionless face. His dark eyes remained utterly still, as cold and impenetrable as polished obsidian.

He stood there without a word, watching the unfolding slaughter as though the chaos around him had nothing to do with him.

The passing bandit noticed him immediately.

His eyes narrowed beneath his leather helmet. For a brief moment, he eased the reins, allowing his horse to slow just enough for him to examine the enormous figure standing alone at the rear of the abandoned carriage.

Then his scarred lips curled into a cruel grin.

To him, Arthur was nothing more than another fool who had chosen the wrong place to stand.

The bandit saw no threat in Arthur. To him, the towering man was nothing more than a convenient target to warm up on.

"Well, what do we have here?" he muttered, a mocking grin spreading across his scarred face. His chest swelled with the arrogance of a trained Qi Cultivator who considered ordinary mortals little more than insects. "A big, stupid farm ox hiding in a wagon."

He tightened his grip around the hilt of his serrated saber, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

"You’ll do nicely, big man!" he shouted.

With a sharp tug on the leather reins, he wrenched his horse around, forcing the animal into a sudden, violent turn.

The stallion let out a shrill whinny as its front hooves churned through the dirt. In a heartbeat, it had pivoted toward the rear carriage, where Arthur stood motionless beneath the eerie violet moonlight.

The bandit had already decided how this would end. In his eyes, Arthur was merely a slow, defenseless giant who had foolishly remained behind while the others cowered at the front of the caravan.

Killing him would be child’s play—a satisfying little warm-up before joining his companions in slaughtering the remaining guards.

"Die, you lumbering fool!" the bandit roared.

He drove his heels into the stallion’s flanks, sending the horse surging forward at full speed. His serrated saber rose into the air, its jagged edge catching the moonlight as he charged straight toward Arthur.

The stallion’s hooves hammered against the stone path, each thunderous impact sending mud and gravel scattering beneath its feet. The rider leaned forward, gripping his serrated saber with both hands as he poured his Mortal-Qi into the steel. A pale, sinister glow spread along the jagged edge, and a faint hiss filled the air.

With murder in his eyes, he charged straight toward the rear carriage.

Ten meters.

The distance vanished in an instant.

Five meters.

The bandit raised his saber high above his head, his muscles tightening as he prepared to bring it down with enough force to cleave Arthur from shoulder to waist.

Three meters.

The icy wind swept past Arthur, catching his dark cloak and whipping the heavy fabric against his massive thighs.

Yet Arthur didn’t move.

He stood as he was, perfectly still and unmoving as the murderous charge came straight at him. His arms hung loosely at his sides, his hands relaxed and open. Not a single muscle in his face moved, not even a slow steady breath escaped his lips.

He didn’t reach for a weapon at his waist. He had none.

He didn’t lower himself into a combat stance, he didn’t even gather the golden energy of his fists into a protective aura around him

Arthur just stood there, facing the oncoming charge as if it were nothing more than a breeze disturbing his hair

Arthur just stood there, his crimson eyes locked onto the charging cultivator. He had the look of a man watching a drifting leaf fall to the ground, empty of all thought or emotion.

To the bandit, the motionless giant in front of them was just another idiot who thought he could stand against the mountain of muscle and survive. Just another fool who was about to learn the meaning of true power.

Arthur saw the oncoming charge as something far simpler, a stray insect buzzing in his vicinity that he only had to swat away.

No emotion crossed Arthur’s face as he regarded the bandit with the calm and cold look of an unblinking predator. There was no anger, no amusement or even fear in his eyes. He was a man who saw nothing in the bandit worth his time

And for the first time since stepping onto Blackwood Pass that night, the bandits would understand what it truly meant to be stared down by a mountain of muscle clad in red.

The caravan they so foolishly picked on wasn’t filled with harmless merchant’s they could rob and loot at their leisure.

It was filled with the perfect apex predator, disguised as a man.