Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time

The moonlight over the Southern Marshes was pale and watery, filtering down through a gauzy veil of mist. A week had passed since the beast tide and it had been relatively 'safe' for everyone in this period other than the occasional beast attacks.

Though none were as big as the tide before.

The camp's perimeter glowed faintly with the blue shimmer of the elders' protective barriers, casting eerie reflections on the stagnant pools and half-submerged roots that surrounded them. The faint hum of formation qi harmonized with the constant drone of insects beyond the wards, an unending chorus that no one could escape, even in their sleep.

Han Yu sat cross-legged on an overturned root at the edge of the inner firelight, a simple wooden bowl in his hands.

The stew inside was thick, heavy with whatever meat and marsh-safe greens the logistics division had scraped together for the night. It wasn't bad, but he found his thoughts wandering more toward his own concerns than the flavor.

He listened idly to the chatter around the campfire — disciples laughing in low voices, others recounting the battle earlier that week, a few even boasting about how they'd felled a beast with a single strike. Most of it was exaggerated, of course, but morale was higher than it could have been. No one had died, and that counted for a lot out here.

For Han Yu, however, there was a quiet knot of dissatisfaction tugging at him. Days had passed, and he still hadn't found a suitable location to anchor his Undying Life Charm.

He'd been keeping an eye out whenever they moved, scanning for any secluded but stable area where he could place it without drawing suspicion — somewhere the charm could remain undisturbed along with the resources, its presence masked by the surrounding atmosphere and ambient qi.

The Southern Marshes had plenty of strange terrain: mud-slick hollows, half-sunken islets, gnarled trees tangled in their own roots. But every time he spotted a potential site, the same problem arose — it was either too close to the path the expedition was taking, too unstable due to the swamp's shifting energy currents, or within range of the marsh's predatory beasts.

It wasn't just about finding any anchor point. The charm was a lifeline, a safeguard against the worst outcome, and placing it poorly could mean losing it entirely if beasts, weather, or some wandering disciple stumbled upon it.

Normally, Chitterfang would have been invaluable in this sort of situation. The little rodent spirit was swift, stealthy, and capable of scouting ahead without attracting attention. But here in the marshes, even Chitterfang's talents were limited.

The beasts here weren't just dangerous to humans — they hunted anything that moved. Chitterfang had barely ventured a hundred paces beyond camp on the first day before returning in a flurry of squeaks, having barely escaped a lunging, eel-like predator that had been lurking in the water's surface film.

Since then, Han Yu hadn't risked sending him out at all.

He let out a quiet sigh and spooned another mouthful of stew into his mouth, chewing slowly. The barriers the elders had set were stricter than any formation he'd encountered during a sect mission — nobody got in or out without permission, especially after the earlier beast tide.

It made sense for safety, but it also meant his window for moving independently was shrinking with every step they took toward their destination.

If he couldn't find an anchor point before they reached the expedition's target, he'd be in an awkward position. The whole point of placing the charm far ahead of time was to ensure that, in case of a fatal encounter, he wouldn't revive right in the middle of danger.

If he set it too close to the tomb site or — Heaven forbid — inside the place, then revival might mean waking up surrounded by enemies or traps.

His eyes drifted to the glowing edge of the barrier, where the mist swirled against the qi light like restless ghosts. "Hopefully," he thought, "it won't matter. Hopefully, I won't need to use it." But experience told him that hope alone wasn't worth much in the Southern Marshes.

Across from him, Fatty Kui was noisily shoveling food into his mouth, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks despite the evening's cooler air.

The man had somehow avoided both mosquito fevers and the leech infestations entirely, his thick skin apparently impervious to insect fangs or worm-like mouths. Han Yu found that almost enviable — if you ignored the fact that Kui looked like he might melt into the swamp from sheer perspiration.

Nearby, Wu Shuan was rubbing at his temples, clearly drained from the oppressive humidity despite his qi bolstering. He muttered something about the marsh air sapping more strength than the beasts themselves, and a few others nodded in agreement.

Han Yu only half-listened.

His thoughts kept circling back to his problem, turning it over like a puzzle in his mind. Maybe there would be a chance tomorrow. Maybe a patrol duty or a collection run for herbs would take him just far enough from the main group that he could plant the charm without notice. But the longer they stayed in the middle ring, the heavier the security seemed to get.

The night wore on, the fires dying down to embers. Mist thickened until it blurred the outlines of the barrier, and the insect chorus shifted to deeper, more resonant calls — the kind that signaled the large nocturnal predators had begun to stir beyond the wards.

Han Yu set aside his bowl and leaned back against the root, closing his eyes, trying to still the constant awareness of time slipping away.

If an opportunity came, he would have to take it instantly. Otherwise, the next time he thought about the Undying Life Charm might be in the middle of a battle, wishing he'd had the foresight to act sooner.

And that… was not a thought he cared to linger on. He had been through enough deadly situations that he didn't want more if he could avoid it.