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

The charm wasn't ready yet—not to its full potential—but it was functional.

He had enough materials now that if he died, he could revive once.

But doing so in the sect?

Impossible.

Too risky.

"If I reappear inside the sect after dying in front of others…" he muttered. "Even the dumbest disciple would start asking questions."

That kind of secret couldn't be exposed—not yet, not ever.

So he needed to plan carefully.

Somewhere on the route to the Southern Marshes, before they reached the tomb expedition site, he needed to find a place to set up his revival anchor. A hidden location, deep enough in the wilderness or ruins, that if something went wrong, he could vanish and reappear without causing suspicion.

It had to be far enough from the sect, but not too far from the tomb—because depending on how things went, he might not want to go back to the sect at all.

He might want to go straight back into the marsh.To finish whatever business had killed him.

Or claim whatever had almost cost his life.

By the end of the next day, his preparations were complete.

Han Yu now carried three small spatial pouches.

One for alchemical supplies and personal cultivation tools.

One for revival charm materials, stealth gear, and emergency herbs.

And one hidden one… containing a reserve set of materials just in case he needed the when he revived. After all, he would lose everything upon death, so it was best to have some 'cash' at hand or he would be left naked.

He even kept a duplicate disciple token in there, marked by him, so that he would have proof of identity if he returned to the sect.

He specifically kept these things in the pouch as he didn't want these materials to be used up during his revival. Of course, he still didn't know how it worked, and there was a chance the entire bag might be absorbed, but he could at least put some distance between them.

The skies over Twin Leaf Peak turned dull and gray, clouds gathering as though echoing the unease of the days to come. Disciples gathered in groups across the sect, murmuring, meditating, checking their gear.

Rumors of other sects moving out had already spread.

Han Yu looked out from the edge of Alchemy Peak, gazing toward the southern horizon.

He knew Meng Jueyan and the Hollow Eye Sect would be there. He knew Xuan Qing and others had already gone and returned, injured and wary.

Now it was his turn.

He looked over his gear one last time. Every pill counted. Every soul qi filament. Every coin and spiritual herb.

Even Chitterfang had been stuffed into a side pouch—drowsy and fed on a hearty portion of roasted pine nut spirit cake. The rat had decided to come with him, much to his surprise. Even after Han Yu had explained the danger, the rat was willing.

For now though, the little spirit rat would rest during the travel, unless Han Yu needed his help.

The final call came the next morning.

A sect bell rang twice, then thrice.

Disciples began forming lines by their designated peak banners. Banners for Sword Peak, Weapon Peak, Spear Peak, Formation Peak, and others swayed in the breeze.

Then came the banner of Alchemy Peak, its symbol a cauldron floating in the air.

Han Yu stepped forward, placing himself among the outer court logistics team—but near the back, close to the edge of the group, where he'd have more freedom of movement.

And deep in his mind, as he stared out at the cloudy southern horizon, a thought echoed:

'This expedition will change everything.'

And he would be ready—to survive, to claim, and to rise.

The sect's staging ground was a lively sea of color, with banners fluttering and dozens of disciples in coordinated robes preparing to march. Carts loaded with pill crates, formation flags, spirit beast feed, and heavy metal weapons clattered past.

Amidst the controlled chaos, Han Yu finally found his way toward the west side of the grounds, where a small cluster of familiar faces were gathered.

"Han Yu! Over here!" came a booming voice that could belong to no one else.

Han Yu turned, lips tugging into a smile as he saw Fatty Kui Number One, dressed in a surprisingly sleek set of expedition robes, the fabric strained at the seams but still holding strong. His twin gauntlets hung across his back, and his belt was lined with pouches that clearly held more food than pills.

Beside him stood Wu Shuan, calm and poised as always, wearing the crimson-trimmed robes of the Sword Hall, his new sword resting in a scabbard of seared ironwood. The man looked sharper than ever, and his aura was beginning to show the faint traces of Sword intent that might be born soon.

"Looks like we all made the cut," Han Yu said as he approached.

Fatty Kui grinned. "Damn right we did. I'm in Division Eight of the main combat group. Wu Shuan's in Division Five—they stuck him near the vanguard." He jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "I requested back line support! Not because I'm scared, but to protect the—uh—strategic reserves."

Wu Shuan scoffed. "He means food carts."

"I am the last line of defense," Kui retorted proudly. "No thief escapes with rations if I'm alive!"

Han Yu laughed, the tension melting from his shoulders a little. "I'm in the logistics support group," he said. "Primarily alchemical and medicinal backup. I'll be stationed with the central supply teams until we reach the first waystation. We probably won't be able to meet until the temporary headquarters is established."

"Figures," Wu Shuan said, "but at least you'll be close to the decision-makers. Maybe we'll end up being deployed in the same zone."

Before they could say more, a smaller, rounder figure trotted up with hurried steps—Fatty Kui Number Two. His cultivation robes were simpler, and his eyes slightly red as if he'd stayed up all night worrying.