Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time-Chapter 178: Reaching The Ravine

Nine days into their journey, the trio finally reached the edge of Broken Fang Ravine—a day earlier than expected.

"I think we overdid the marching," Han Yu muttered, rubbing his legs as they crested a hill.

"No, you overdid the marching," Fatty Kui groaned. "I was ready to stop and make camp two days ago, but you kept shouting, ’We make time or time makes us!’ like some motivational goose."

Han Yu raised a brow. "Did you just compare me to a goose?"

"An inspirational one," Fatty Kui clarified.

Wu Shuan ignored the bickering and crouched at the edge of the hill, squinting at the terrain ahead. "That’s the ravine," he pointed.

The trio looked down from their vantage point. Broken Fang Ravine lived up to its name. Jagged cliffs tore through the earth like a massive scar, the sharp edges curved inward like the jaws of a beast frozen mid-snap. Though the air was clear and fog-free, the bottom of the ravine remained concealed in an uncanny darkness—as though the world itself refused to look too deeply.

"No mist," Han Yu noted. "At least the Mist Eye Sect didn’t name this place after their laundry brand."

"I don’t trust it," Fatty Kui said. "Too quiet. Even the birds are suspiciously absent."

"Well," Wu Shuan said calmly, "we’ll find out soon enough. No patrols, no visible movement. If the Mist Eye Sect is still here, they’re keeping to the shadows."

They had spent the last week fending off minor spirit beasts—nothing serious, just a few wild razor-back boars and an especially aggressive bush that tried to steal Fatty Kui’s pants. Most of the beasts were swiftly dealt with and, more importantly, swiftly roasted.

Han Yu, having skewered one particularly spicy fang-beaked hare, had been stunned to see Fatty Kui down six servings in the time it took him to eat one.

"You’re eating more than ever," Han Yu had commented mid-chew, watching in horror as Fatty Kui crunched through spirit beast bones like they were spiced crackers.

"Spiritual Gluttony Physique," Fatty Kui had said proudly, licking grease from his fingers. "The stronger it gets, the hungrier I get. But in exchange, I can absorb more energy and cultivate faster."

"That’s not a physique. That’s a cursed buffet ticket," Han Yu had muttered.

Now, as they stood at the edge of the ravine, all humor slowly faded into a thoughtful silence. The descent ahead of them would be difficult—steep, winding, and potentially full of loose stones just waiting for one clumsy step.

"Should we wait until morning?" Wu Shuan asked.

"No point," Han Yu said. "We’re already ahead of schedule, and if no one’s patrolling, it’s better to make use of the daylight while we can."

It took them the better part of a day to carefully descend the ravine. Fatty Kui, despite his appearance, was surprisingly nimble when he needed to be—though the snack basket on his back occasionally swung out and nearly took Han Yu’s head off.

"Kui, for the love of the heavens, tie that thing down!"

"You try climbing without letting the pickled radish jar rattle!"

"I swear to the Sword Sage, if I die because of a rogue dumpling—"

"Silence," Wu Shuan said firmly. "Focus."

By the time they reached the base, dusk had begun to fall. The ravine’s bottom was not entirely pitch black, but dim in an unsettling way. It was a subtle darkness—not deep enough to blind, but enough to make you squint constantly, as though your eyes were always adjusting.

The trio lit a few Spirit Beast Fat-infused torches, their red-orange flames crackling softly as they cast eerie shadows across the jagged rock walls.

"No bodies," Han Yu noted. "No signs of struggle."

"That’s either good or really, really bad," Fatty Kui whispered.

They began to spread out slightly, staying within earshot of each other. Wu Shuan took the lead, while Han Yu and Fatty Kui fanned out in a triangle formation, eyes sharp and senses extended.

Every now and then, the flickering torchlight would reflect off oddly shaped rocks, and more than once, Han Yu had to squint to make sure he wasn’t looking at someone’s petrified leg.

He wasn’t. At least, he hoped he wasn’t.

After about an hour of searching and checking the rough map, Fatty Kui suddenly stopped and raised a hand.

"Wait," he whispered. "Over there. What’s that?"

Wu Shuan moved in, followed closely by Han Yu.

In the crevice of a broken cliff wall, half-buried under rubble and dried vines, something metallic glinted.

They approached cautiously.

Wu Shuan knelt first and brushed away the debris. What emerged was a shattered stone pedestal with a deep, vertical scar carved across it. Embedded in the center—up to the hilt—was a long, blackened sword. Its blade shimmered faintly with spiritual energy, though it was cracked near the middle and covered in blood that had long since dried to a brown crust.

"This must be it," Wu Shuan murmured.

Han Yu frowned. "It’s not broken... just damaged. And it’s definitely a high grade spiritual weapon."

Fatty Kui leaned in and squinted. "Yup. That’s Elder Zheng’s family crest near the guard. I heard he used to wave this thing around during demonstrations and accidentally cut three lecture stands in half."

"Well," Han Yu said, "we found it."

"But now comes the hard part," Wu Shuan added. "Getting it out—and back up—without drawing attention."

Han Yu nodded, but a strange prickling had started at the back of his neck. He turned slightly, eyes scanning the shadows.

"...Do you guys feel that?" he asked slowly.

Fatty Kui swallowed. "Yeah. Like we’re being watched by something with a grudge and terrible skincare."

Wu Shuan stood, slowly reaching for his sword.

"Be ready," he whispered.

From the far end of the ravine, a faint sound echoed—like the distant hiss of breath on glass.

Then silence.

Han Yu tightened his grip on his torch and readied his stance.

Things were about to get complicated.

"Looks like ravines are always going to be unlucky for me." Han Yu sighed.