Immortality Starts From Making Money.

"What the fuck is that!" a man suddenly screamed, his voice cracking as he pointed to the east.

Heads snapped in the direction he indicated.

A cloud of dust rose over the golden dunes, moving unnaturally fast—like a storm sprinting across the desert.

The sheer speed with which it advanced turned every spine cold. Even the scorching heat of the sun couldn't warm the creeping dread that settled over the caravan.

Leader Peng's throat turned dry as sand. His lips trembled as he stared at the billowing dust cloud approaching.

The sensation was like a cold dagger pressing against his chest. That wasn't the wind. That wasn't a mirage.

It was death.

From the other carriage, Leader Shi froze. The blood drained from his face as realization struck him like a whip.

How? How could this be?

They had followed every precaution, acted swiftly, even changed routes per the strategy. Everything had gone according to plan.

How had the Desert Scorpions still found them?

Confusion and fear rippled through the ranks like an earthquake shaking loose their sanity.

Then, a voice—raw, urgent, and loud—cut through the heavy air.

"RUN!"

Like a snapped bowstring, the tension shattered. Screams erupted. The world jolted into motion.

Whips cracked. Hooves thundered against the sand. The once-orderly caravan exploded into chaos as people urged their cloud horses into a full gallop, dust trailing behind them like fleeing ghosts.

And indeed, they were fleeing death itself.

No one cared about the ancient taboos of the Desert of the Fallen. Sacred grounds meant nothing in the face of survival.

Those with stronger, swifter horses quickly outpaced the rest, leaving behind friends, allies, and treaties.

The unity that had bound the caravan only moments ago collapsed in an instant. Fear had shattered it like brittle glass.

"Hurry!" Leader Peng shouted hoarsely, sticking his head out the carriage window, sweat pouring down his face.

"Hiya! Hiya!"

The horses neighed, driven beyond their limits. Their legs were a blur, their muscles trembling with strain as they barreled across the dunes.

But even then—no matter how fast they moved—the rumbling cloud behind them kept drawing closer.

"They're gaining!" someone cried out.

"We can't outrun them!"

The brutal truth settled like a blade at everyone's throats. They couldn't escape.

But still, they ran.

There was always hope. A gambler's hope.

The Desert Scorpions were different from the insatiable Sandbone Worms.

The Scorpions might stop if they feasted on a few unlucky caravans. Not all would die. If luck favored them, their group might be overlooked.

This fragile hope burned in every heart. Some prayed in silence. Others whispered bargains to the heavens.

Inside the carriages, the atmosphere was suffocating. People clutched each other, eyes wide, lips trembling. Warriors gritted their teeth, gripping their weapons even though they knew it would likely be useless.

Some broke down completely—crying, wailing, begging gods both known and forgotten.

The weaker cultivators, especially the Mortal Rank and early Foundation Establishment warriors, were as good as dead if caught.

They were nothing but appetizers to the beasts. The real meal began with the Core Refining warriors—and even then, only the Peak stage had a sliver of survival chance.

Then came another shout—sharp and commanding.

"Scatter!"

It came from a tall, striking woman dressed in battle armor, the leader of one of the more powerful caravans. Her cultivation aura radiated fiercely—Peak Core Refining Realm.

Without hesitation, her group veered sharply from the formation and sped off in another direction.

Gasps of disbelief and betrayal followed.

They were supposed to stick together. That had been the agreement.

But fear was a greater force than loyalty.

One by one, the caravans splintered. Wagons turned in different directions. Screams overlapped as alliances dissolved before everyone's eyes. The tight formation collapsed into chaos.

But not all descended into madness.

A few groups remained calm, moving with calculated precision even amid the hysteria. Their coordinated maneuvers showed experience—battle-hardened veterans who had survived such situations before.

Then came the screams.

"AHHH! AHHHH!"

In a flash, the tide of Desert Scorpions crashed into the rear of the disorganized caravan. Massive pincers clamped down, severing limbs. Barbed stingers struck from behind, pumping venom into terrified victims.

The air filled with the sound of agony—wails, screams, and gurgled cries of those overwhelmed.

Guards jumped from carriages, weapons drawn, facing the beast horde in desperate resistance. But they were surrounded. The battle was one-sided.

The Desert Scorpions came in thousands.

Kill one, and ten more surged forward.

"Clear the path!" Leader Peng bellowed, curled inside his carriage, trembling violently. His fists clenched his robe, his face pale.

'I can't die here. I can't die like this!' he screamed inwardly. His mind flashed with memories of past encounters—but never had he seen such an overwhelming tide.

Leader Shi, his face set in panic, was also shouting commands, but the guards were already being overrun.

Yet, further ahead—miles from the chaos—the Thousand Wealth Chamber faced an even deadlier battle.

If the rear caravans saw what lay ahead, they would despair completely.

The guards of the Thousand Wealth Chamber did not dismount. They rode in disciplined formation, casting talismans in rhythmic succession.

Boom! Boom!

Fiery explosions erupted in arcs. Desert Scorpions exploded mid-air, torn apart before even closing the distance.

Their experience in the Silent Creek Forest showed. Each talisman was aimed with deadly precision, thinning the tide.

"Lonely Spear! Clear us a path!" Mo Jian roared from his carriage.

From the roof, Elder Bai and Elder Zhao leaped into the air, their robes billowing as their powerful auras spread. Both were Golden Core Realm warriors.

Then—

A vibration pulsed beneath the sand.

"Something's moving underground," Elder Bai said grimly, his eyes narrowing.

Mo Jian's brows furrowed. "From where?"

"It's fast," Elder Bai muttered, his spiritual sense locked on the approaching threat.

No more words were needed.

The two elders shot into the sky.

Sand exploded.

A massive shadow slithered beneath the dunes.

The Sandbone Worm.

Compared to the Desert Scorpions, this was a true calamity.

Elder Zhao didn't hesitate. He drew a sword sealed in runes, its surface glowing with pale blue symbols. As he unsheathed it, the sky darkened briefly—then erupted with blinding light.

SLASH!

A blade of pure energy, condensed into searing sharpness, tore through the air toward the ground.

BOOOOOOM!

The desert floor split. A fissure erupted across the dunes, sending sand and debris spiraling into the sky. A thunderous shockwave rolled across the battlefield.

Silence followed.

For a breathless moment, all froze—even the Desert Scorpions.

All eyes turned to the fissure.

A whisper passed through the ranks of survivors:

"Did he… kill it?"

The question hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed.

No one dared to move.

No one dared to hope.

Not yet.