Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time-Chapter 98: A Meaty Reward

Nightfall.

The Twin Leaf Sect had gone quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional splat of a junior disciple tripping during midnight training.

In the shadows beneath the outer kitchens, a small, foul-smelling tunnel awaited. Han Yu knelt before it, clutching a humble bundle wrapped in rice paper. His expression was that of a man who had seen too much, sacrificed too deeply, and still couldn’t feel his eyebrows after Pill #7.

"I have it," he whispered solemnly into the darkness.

There was silence. Then a rustle. A squeak. And a glint of tiny eyes.

From the tunnel emerged a rat the size of a teacup, wearing what could only be described as a tattered cape made from old disciple robes. Behind it scurried five more—one dragging a broken toothpick like a sword, another with a walnut helmet, and the smallest riding a beetle like some kind of unholy cavalry.

They were the Rat Syndicate.

And this was a very serious mission.

"Password?" squeaked the lead rat, whose name was Warlord Sniffles.

Han Yu closed his eyes, filled with shame.

"Squeak twice for business, thrice for betrayal... long live the cheese."

A pause. Then a series of approving squeaks echoed like applause at a questionable stand-up comedy set.

"The offering?"

Han Yu unwrapped the bundle, revealing:

One slightly radiant Inner Court sock (still warm, disturbingly)

Three chicken bones (cleaned, polished, lightly gnawed on)

A small bag of fire-roasted peanuts (salted, not honey-glazed—they had standards)

The rats gazed upon the items like ancient cultivators beholding a divine relic that promised enlightenment and a nutty crunch.

Warlord Sniffles stepped forward reverently.

"You honor the syndicate with this sacred tribute. Especially the sock. That’s Grade-Two fabric—the requester will like it for sure."

"You have no idea what I went through to get that," Han Yu muttered, eyes twitching slightly.

"You have proven yourself," Sniffles said, voice solemn. "The Syndicate keeps its promises."

From the depths of the tunnel, a platoon of smaller rats appeared, dragging behind them a greasy bundle wrapped in dried leaves and sealed with a strip of fur.

They dropped it before Han Yu and retreated with military precision, one of them letting out a tiny battle cry as it slipped on a peanut shell.

Han Yu peeled it open cautiously. A savory aroma hit him immediately—rich, smoky, and undeniably primal.

"This..." he whispered, eyes wide. "This is..."

"Tenth Stage of the Body Tempering Realm Beast Meat," Sniffles declared. "From a Tier Three Black-Bellied Boar."

Han Yu fell to his knees. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

"You magnificent rodents. You actually got it."

"Half-roasted. Pre-marinated. Smuggled through two kitchens, a disciple dormitory, and the personal courtyard of Elder Lu. Three rats injured. One retired."

Han Yu bowed his head in respect.

"They will not be forgotten."

The rats squeaked in salute.

Han Yu pocketed the bundle with utmost care. Beast meat of this level could strengthen the body, fortify the dantian, and—most importantly—be turned into stew.

"One more thing," Sniffles said, voice lowering. "There’s talk in the underground pantries. The mice in the East Storerooms heard something about you."

Han Yu blinked.

"About me?"

Sniffles tilted his head.

"You seem to have far more enemies than you thought. More will probably be coming your way."

Han Yu considered his life. The pills. The sock. The exploding turtles.

"...Sure," he said finally. "Why not? Trouble just keeps on finding me in this sect."

Sniffles nodded once and vanished into the tunnel, his cape fluttering behind him like the whiskers of destiny.

Later that night, in his room—a broom closet with ambition—Han Yu sat before a tiny spirit fire, cooking his reward in a makeshift pot made from an alchemy cauldron lid.

The beast meat sizzled, oozing fat that crackled like celestial music.

He added scallions, garlic, a pinch of salt, and a single peanut for crunch.

As the stew bubbled, Han Yu sat back and breathed deeply.

"Was it worth it?" he asked himself.

The broom lay nearby, standing tall like a sacred relic.

His left eyebrow twitched. Possibly from residual pill side effects. Possibly from trauma.

He took a bite of the stew.

His soul left his body, did three cartwheels, consulted a spirit therapist, and came back weeping tears of joy.

"...Yes."

From that night onward, Han Yu was no longer just a humble servant or disposable pill-tester. Among the shadows of the sect, beneath the floorboards and behind the spice racks, whispers spread.

"The Sock Courier has delivered."

"The Rat Friend walks among us."

And to those who knew where to look—deep within the alchemical chaos of Li Mei’s hut or in the hidden tunnels beneath the rice cellar—Han Yu was now a man of strange renown. A legend whispered about in high-pitched tones and chewed through half-eaten scrolls.

He had earned the rats’ respect.

He had earned the stew.

He had survived.

And, most importantly, he had finally learned that in this sect...

Socks were never just socks.

Unaware of his newfound reputation that only kept on growing among the rats, Han Yu enjoyed his well earned beast meat. It was certainly the best beast meat he had gotten so far and intended to savor it.

He looked at the bundle of meat and muttered. "This should last be a few days. I need to ration it properly. I don’t want to do another mission like this again."

Though he certainly wondered just who was it that wanted the sock. The other mission items somewhat made sense and Han Yu reckoned it was just the rats that wanted them. But the sock? It was certainly not something they would want.

’Also who was talking about me?’ Han Yu wondered. ’Was it Shen Tu or another one of the servants?’ he wondered.

They had mostly left him alone after he had taught Shen Tu a lesson and there had been no attempts at teaching him a lesson after that. But Han Yu knew for sure the disciples who he had offended would not let him live in peace.