Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time-Chapter 582: Another Familiar Name Among The Slaves
At first he won most of his battles.
His training and refined control over his Qi gave him an advantage over many at his realm. Plus his Soul Cultivation at the Adept Stage basically made him as strong as a Peak Core Condensation Realm expert. But he rarely used it openly.
His wins earned him some Eight Emotions energy. Competitors felt frustration, envy, or irritation, and those emotions flowed into him. But compared to past gains, it was little.
The real discovery came by accident.
One day he fought an Inner Court disciple who had challenged him and was defeated so thoroughly that his arm broke. He lay on the ground dazed, his bones throbbing with pain, when he felt a huge wave of Eight Emotions energy pour into him. It was far greater than the emotions from several victories combined.
He realized then that the chaos he created in the Twin Leaf Peak Sect had taught him something important.
Even in the blood sect, spectacle mattered more than outcome. Emotion mattered more than winning. If he made the fights dramatic, if he triggered strong reactions, if he pushed the atmosphere of the matches, he would gain more.
From then on he adjusted his methods. Where winning earned more emotion he won. Where losing would stir up greater reactions he lost. His opponents became wary of him, thinking Ju Fan simply loved battle too much. They never thought of anything deeper.
Xuan Qing stayed quiet in the cave during these months, always following his instructions exactly. Her existence was a constant reminder of what he needed to achieve.
Save them all. Break the Doll Seal. Escape this place.
Han Yu’s path was long, brutal, and uncertain but he would soldier on as long as he had a breath left in him.
Days passed steadily as Han Yu grew used to his routine.
He walked the familiar path toward the Slave District with the same cold mask he had worn for the last two years. By now the guards barely glanced at him before allowing him through. He had become a regular presence, one of the many outer court disciples who came every week in search of bargains, attendants, bed slaves, laborers, or whatever twisted desires they had.
The difference was that Han Yu never bought anyone after Xuan Qing.
Every week he simply looked, scanned the lists, checked the prices, and left. To the clerk behind the counter, he was just another indecisive miser who wanted slaves but lacked the courage to spend merit points. The clerk had even joked once that Ju Fan was probably too picky.
Han Yu ignored the jokes. He had far greater concerns.
Every week he scoured the formation screens with narrowed eyes, searching for familiar names, familiar faces, familiar robes, familiar traces of spirit signatures. He found none.
He did see other things.
He saw disciples of righteous sects, one by one, being sold. Some went cheaply because they were crippled. Others went for higher prices because they were young, attractive, and terrified.
He saw a girl from the Crimson Cloud Sect who looked barely sixteen being dragged by a cruel looking inner court disciple who bought her to use as a servant, or worse. He saw a young man from the Nine Fists Martial Sect who had been bought by one of the senior disciples and was forced to kneel outside the man’s cave, serving as a living stool.
Every week the sight weighed on Han Yu’s heart, but he forced himself to look away. If he wanted to save even a few of his own friends, he had to stay focused. Merit points were too precious. His time was too limited. His own safety was too precarious.
Half the time he wondered if his restraint made him heartless. Then he remembered Senior Sister Xuan Qing’s lifeless eyes and reminded himself of the truth. He was not heartless. He was simply choosing battles he could win.
One week he saw an inner court disciple of the Jade Mirror Temple being bought by a junior elder known for his vile habits.
Han Yu clenched his teeth but still walked away. A week later he stumbled upon her corpse lying discarded by the side of a narrow stone walkway. Her body was twisted, bruised, and soaked in dried blood. Her face was frozen in a mask of terror.
That sight haunted him for days.
It also hardened his resolve. He could not save everyone, but he would save the ones he could reach.
Today he came as usual, ready to scan through names that would likely mean nothing to him.
He stood before the formation screens, watching lines of glowing information shift as bids rose and fell. The stale metallic scent of the slave hall lingered in the air, mixed with the cold spiritual aura of the countless suppression formations.
Then he froze.
A name glowed on the list.
’Meng Jueyan.’ His breath caught.
His heart thudded. At first he thought he was imagining things, but the name remained. The photo beside it displayed a woman chained against a wooden frame, wearing the standard slave robe.
Han Yu leaned closer. ’Is this even her?’
His frown deepened.
The woman in the photo did not look like Meng Jueyan. The Meng Jueyan he knew had a sharp face, proud eyes, and a cold smile. Her confidence had always bordered on arrogance. She had stood tall even during moments of danger back in the tomb.
The woman in the picture looked nothing like that.
Her face was covered in scars, deep and jagged. Her left eye was missing. Her lips were torn and uneven, as if they had been bitten through repeatedly. Her nose was bent crookedly, clearly the result of a break that had healed without medical attention. Even her posture looked off, stiff and resigned.
Han Yu stared at the picture for a long moment. His stomach twisted. He wanted to deny it, but the information panel left no room for doubt.
