Chapter 529: 483 The Visitor

The night has deepened.

The night on the wasteland is exceptionally cold; were it not for the lack of sufficient water vapor, the vast desert would be covered in a layer of white frost.

In such a bitterly cold place, signs of life are increasingly scarce, and the desert is in a state of deathly silence, with only the occasional shifting of gravel making a soft rustling sound, though it is unclear whether it is the wind or a movement made by some visitor from beneath the earth.

The camp in the distance has quieted down, as if the bustle from just a moment ago has dissipated, but the bonfire has not been extinguished; the firelight flickers on and off, clearly visible in the vast desert.

When camping in the Great Wasteland, the flame must not be extinguished for even a moment; only where there is fire is there life.

Rustle, rustle, rustle—

The sound of friction against the ground.

Two young servants in green robes walk through the desert, one of them holding the foot of a corpse—the only foot the body has—dragging it along the ground.

"Alright, just throw it here."

Upon reaching a large rock, one handsome servant says, "For this kind of filthy thing, where isn't it fine to throw it? If you ask me, there was no need to specifically bring it out; if we had just shoved it somewhere, would it have started to stink in one night? We leave, and he stays behind, that's all."

"I suppose they didn't want to stay in the same camp as this thing for the night. Wouldn't it be an eyesore to see it when waking up in the morning?" the other servant, who is Weise, answers earnestly. "This kind of thing is not only unworthy of staying in the camp, it is not even worthy of being placed in an Art Tool space; leaving the corpse in the wilderness is already being too kind to him."

The handsome servant looks up at the other's plain, almost wooden face and says, "Even you have such overt hatred? That is rare."

Weise bows his head slightly and says, "Apologies."

The handsome servant laughs, "Apologies for what? If one suffers a skin-deep pain, are they not allowed to cry out in hurt? It is my fault for speaking while standing and not feeling the pain. He considers things more thoroughly than I do. For instance, he insists that whenever we move in the desert, we must be together and not act alone. I even thought he was making a mountain out of a molehill; is there anyone we should fear with our abilities? Now it seems there really are quite a few dangers hidden in the wasteland."

As he speaks, he slowly turns around, facing the rock behind him, and says, "Stop hiding, come out."

Weise remains calm, though it is unclear whether he had sensed it long ago or if his face is just expressionless.

After a brief silence, a person slowly walks out from behind the rock; before her features are even clear, one sees her gray hair that almost blends into the night.

Immediately after, aided by the faint Micro Light from the lantern held by the handsome servant, she reveals her true appearance.

This is a woman of seventeen or eighteen, petite in stature with regular features; her facial features are actually quite dignified, much like those quiet and elegant young ladies of noble families, but there is an irrepressible wildness between her brows, seemingly hiding a sharpness sufficient to kill.

She reveals a smile, her voice delicate, and says, "This young woman..."

Before she can continue, the handsome servant interrupts her directly, pointing at the corpse at his feet and saying, "You should recognize what this is. Seeing this person, you should know that he has long since sold your secrets clean; don't even think about trying to fool us or playing any tricks of disguise and infiltration. If you want to make a move, just try it."

He stands straight, seemingly not adopting a stance to attack, but in reality, he has long since gathered his Momentum, adjusting his Spirit and body to their peak, ready to strike at any moment.

Beside him, Weise watches her silently, occupying a position to the side and forming a pincer formation with his companion.

Both sides fall into silence; silence is confrontation.

They are judging each other's strength.

Weise is unable to judge the gray-haired woman's strength, only sensing through his well-trained danger perception that her strength is above his own.

Nine times out of ten, she is a Sword Guest!

But she absolutely cannot be a Sword Hero.

If he had never seen a Sword Hero, he might not have dared to make a judgment, but these days he follows a Sword Hero daily, and having become a Sword Student himself, he already has the foundation to judge certain levels of strength; therefore, he can conclude—the other party is not a Sword Hero.

Then there is no problem.

A Sword Guest is certainly formidable, but not formidable enough.

Who is short of a Sword Guest anyway?

Weise had already sent a distress signal to the camp just now; in fact, even if he hadn't sent a signal, he believes the camp is also watching this side. Since no one has come forward yet, it is mostly to let the other party relax their guard and see what their purpose is.

If she is still here to kill, then there is no need for courtesy.

The gray-haired woman is silent for a moment, then says, "Who is in charge of your camp? I would like to meet them."

The handsome servant says, "You want to enter our camp?"

The gray-haired woman smiles slightly, like a leopard revealing its canines, and says, "If you don't dare, then I won't go in; just have the strongest person come out and talk to me. The strongest person should have some weight to their words, right?"

The handsome servant raises an eyebrow and lets out a laugh.

Are you getting ahead of yourself?

A Sword Guest, and you speak so arrogantly? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a Sword Immortal descended to earth.

He is not a person with an easygoing temperament, and just as he is about to retort, he hears someone say, "Since an honored guest has visited, we naturally welcome you. The camp gates shall be opened for the guest; please enter."

This voice rings out in everyone's ears simultaneously, as clear as if someone were speaking face-to-face, yet there is no one around; the speaker is waiting in the camp, and only the voice has been transmitted.

This ability to transmit sound is not difficult to say, but it is not simple either. In fact, a Knight-Errant with profound strength can also do it, but it depends on who the listener is. The more powerful the opponent and the more guarded they are, the less likely a successful transmission.

Especially for a Sword Guest, whose Inspiration is high and Mental Power is strong; they would protect themselves in every aspect, so how could they easily accept any sound transmission? The abilities of a sword are ever-changing; what if they were caught by a trick hidden in the sound?

To be able to ignore all defenses and have a voice ring out directly in the ear, it is either a special ability, or... the strength is a cut above the opponent!

The gray-haired woman falls silent instantly; now the pressure is on her.

The camp dares to let her in; does she dare to go in?

The firelight of the distant camp is like the eyes of a beast in a dark jungle; once close, what might greet her is the bloody maw of a predator.

She is silent for a moment, then smiles, "Since you invite me, I will not be polite. You two, please lead the way."

Seeing her so composed, the handsome servant thinks more highly of her and says, "Follow me."

The three enter the camp, where the bonfire is still burning incessantly. A young boy is adding firewood to it, showing no reaction when he sees people entering.

The gray-haired woman, however, takes a few extra looks at the boy.

The three go directly into the most luxurious large tent at the very center.

Upon entering the tent, the eyes brighten; the tent is brightly lit, with dozens of smokeless honey candles lit on the four walls, and a gorgeously styled Art Tool crystal lamp hanging from the top.

That crystal lamp is sparkling and brilliant, not to mention that it is a boutique item that cannot be bought on the market; just those candles, which are bright, burn for a long time without smoke, and have a faint fragrance, cost dozens of taels each on the market.

A single candle is enough for an ordinary family to live comfortably for a year!

But the fragrance of the candles is almost impossible to smell, because there is another incense burner in the tent, burning a strange fragrance blended from ambergris, agarwood, musk, and other spices worth their weight in gold. The carpet on the ground is woven from wool unique to the northern lands, and its style is vastly different from the silky, draping Jiangzhou silk around it, yet they coexist quite harmoniously. Just as the furniture made of the hardest sandalwood paired with the softest purple sable fur cushions is also quite harmonious.

Inside the tent, everything laid out, hung, placed, and set is a rare object in the world; "luxurious" is not enough to describe it, as if it were a world like a fairyland.

In this square inch of fairyland, a young man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight, wearing a comfortable and light robe, is half-lying on a soft couch, while a beautiful woman is pounding his legs.

On the other side, a white-haired person is sitting sideways on a grand armchair, sizing up the gray-haired woman.

The gray-haired woman caught sight of that head of white hair, and her gaze jolted, but immediately after, she saw the face clearly, and the light in her eyes vanished, as if a pile of dead ashes had almost reignited just a moment ago.

At most, only vigilance remained: this person was very strong!

Of course, the YoungMaster at the very top was also very strong, and she could not see through him either; yet, even though both were unfathomable, she still felt the white-haired person was stronger. This was the intuition of a Sword Guest.

However... white hair equals a powerhouse, isn't that a matter of course?

The gray-haired woman said slowly, "This humble one, Chi Mingjing, greets the two seniors."

Judging by their appearance, not to mention the white-haired person, even that YoungMaster was ten years her senior, so calling them seniors was quite normal.

That YoungMaster nodded, a perfunctory greeting, and said, "You really are surnamed Chi? You killed that fat man surnamed Baorenwu, and now you come looking for us—have you become addicted to killing and can't stop?"

The gray-haired woman Chi Mingjing did not mind at all and said, "I am not a person who craves slaughter; I originally had no intention of killing him, and at first, I was merely hitching a ride. But I did not expect him to be my irreconcilable enemy, and a base beast at that, so killing him was not excessive."

She was indeed blunt, and that YoungMaster said, "Then what is the meaning of you coming to find us? Wanting to hitch another ride? You walked in so brazenly; it doesn't look like someone hitching a ride, but rather like a highwayman hijacking a carriage."

Chi Mingjing said, "I am indeed here to hitch a ride. You are also going to Wangliang Mountain to attend the Deep Shadow Society, right? I will be direct: I want to join you and go to Wangliang Mountain together."

That YoungMaster laughed and said, "You want to join? On what grounds would you join? Is our team something you can join just because you want to? You have a criminal record; you killed everyone in Baorenwu's team, who knows if you won't repeat your old tricks? You say it was for a personal vendetta, but how do we know you aren't just saying what people want to hear? Perhaps you hate slave traders? If that's the case, we are those too; perhaps we are also a thorn in your side. Letting you join is no different than inviting a wolf into the house."

Chi Mingjing said, "Inviting a wolf into the house? Is a mere woman like me a wolf in your eyes? There are at least two people here who can kill me, and none of the others are weaklings. Perhaps there are even more powerful people outside. With my strength, entering this camp, it should be me walking into a tiger's den, shouldn't it?"

She swept a glance over the few people present, lingering on the beautiful woman pounding her legs, and said, "Besides, regarding hatred, even if I truly hated slave traders, what does that have to do with you? You are not slave traders."