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

To the outer court disciples, the recent encounter had been their first real taste of death lurking nearby.

They'd seen blood before sure... They had fought beasts, their seniors and more... but not this kind—not from Dao Shell realm elders, not from a true battle where one's strength alone determined whether they lived or died.

Even the so-called "geniuses" in the group, those outer court disciples who had broken into higher cultivation stages ahead of their peers, were younger in age. Their comprehension of cultivation was outstanding, yes—but life experience could not be cultivated in seclusion.

You had to live through death to understand it.

So they marched.

Quiet.

Focused.

Obedient.

The formation, which had been loosely followed in the first days of the expedition, was now near-perfect. No one strayed. No one joked. No one dozed off or slacked.

Han Yu noticed it all.

From where he marched near the rear flank, he observed with a keen eye. His attention roamed from tight footsteps to anxious glances, from how tightly some disciples gripped their weapons to how frequently others looked toward the sky or tree lines.

Four days passed in this manner.

Four days of disciplined marching.

Four days of setting up camp at dusk and waking before sunrise.

Four days of eating preserved rations and rotating watch duty. The path led them deeper into unfamiliar wilderness, past ravines cloaked in mist, across streams that shimmered with spiritual light, and into forests older than any elder in the sect.

And then, on the fourth night, they arrived at the edge of the White Marble Lady Forest.

The name didn't inspire comfort.

It came from the pale white trees that filled the land—each smooth and glistening like carved marble, their bark cold to the touch, with long drooping leaves like the sleeves of a mourning widow. Supposedly, it had once been the site of a great tragedy involving an immortal woman turned to stone, but no records had confirmed the tale. Still, the name stuck.

The disciples fanned out into the small clearing that had been scouted in advance. It was a natural hollow nestled between tall marble trees, protected on three sides by rocky inclines and dense vegetation.

Tents were quickly erected. Cooking fires were lit under strict supervision. Watch rotations were once again assigned with core disciples overseeing different quadrants. Everyone moved with mechanical precision.

Han Yu helped his logistics and support group settle in. Unlike him they were a lot more unsettled, being unused to such intense situations.

But the unease in his chest hadn't gone away.

If anything, it had grown stronger.

He glanced up at the canopy, where the strange marble-white branches waved ever so slightly in the windless forest.

The Spear Peak Head's intervention had saved them a few days ago. And the Sword Peak Head had clearly expected some form of trouble from the start.

But how much had they expected?

And more importantly…

What hadn't they told the rest of the disciples?

Han Yu didn't know why, but every step deeper into this land felt like a quiet descent into something planned long before they'd even set out.

He didn't know what awaited them past the forest.

But he had a gnawing feeling the ambush had been just the beginning.

And sure enough, that night the White Marble Lady Forest came alive with whispers.

Not the kind carried by the wind or stirred by leaves.

No—this was something deeper. Stranger. A silence so absolute it made every small sound feel like a scream. The gentle creak of a tree branch, the rustling of someone's robes, the snap of a twig underfoot—each echoed as if through a tunnel of glass, too sharp and too clear.

The camp was fully settled before the last light of the sun vanished behind the pale canopy. Fires burned low, not for warmth but for light. Elders and senior disciples, acting under the orders of the peak heads, erected defensive arrays around the entire perimeter. They hummed softly with faint spiritual light, their runes shifting like scales beneath a calm pond.

No one dared speak loudly.

That oppressive silence pressed into the bones of every disciple.

Some tried to laugh it off—at first. Light jokes from the braver inner court disciples quickly faded when the first incidents began.

The first was a scream—short, sharp, and raw.

A young outer court disciple, barely seventeen, had woken from his meditation pale and trembling. He kept insisting he'd seen a woman in white with no face staring at him from beyond the array. When others rushed to his side, nothing was there. No trace of spiritual fluctuation. No physical mark of entry. Just cold ground and disturbed grass.

He wasn't the only one.

Within an hour, several other disciples reported strange sights.

One swore he saw a former junior elder who'd died a decade ago during a mission standing over his shoulder.

Another claimed that while walking to relieve himself, the entire forest turned into a corridor of bleeding statues that seemingly stared at them with terror. A trio of girls saw the sky split open and a rain of ash falling for a few heartbeats—only to blink and find nothing had changed.

The camp, once a zone of orderly efficiency, became tense and alert.

Elders barked orders for all disciples to remain within the safety of the protective arrays. While they knew the forest hadn't truly harmed people there was no telling what the disciples might do due to the illusions.

No one was to leave unless authorized. Multiple secondary formations were layered onto the main array to shield against spiritual interference, illusions, and mental-type attacks.

Still, the illusions continued.

Even with no one physically harmed, the mental toll was mounting. Some disciples couldn't sleep, too scared of what they might see if they closed their eyes. Others began muttering sutras or quietly reciting sword mantras just to maintain their calm.

Han Yu watched it all with narrowed eyes.

He sat by the fire next to Wu Shuan and Fatty Kui, who were both visibly shaken.