Journey to the West: The Immortal Clan Begins by Feeding Monkeys at Five Elements Mountain

Chapter 82 The Barbarian Witch (Sudden release, expected to be ten chapters, please subscribe!)
Something's very wrong with this grove of trees.

It doesn't look like a naturally formed forest; it's more like an evil obstacle that has been erected by someone who disturbed its foundation.

The old scout was quite knowledgeable; he first took out a palm-sized bronze mirror and tried to use sunlight to reflect images.

No, so he used a flint and steel to set fire to some dry branches and grass to fumigate the ground.

If that didn't work, he simply turned around and peed on the tree trunk that looked like a face.

After scattering the confetti, he took a step back, as if waiting for something to happen.

Unfortunately, Linzi didn't respond this time.

"This is not your average ghost wall."

The old scout spoke calmly, his tone revealing little emotion.

But Jiang Liang noticed an unusual seriousness in his slightly narrowed eyes.

The forest seemed alive, clinging to them tightly, refusing to let them pass.

The group tried several more rounds, going through every possible method, but ultimately returned to square one.

The old, crooked elm tree still stands there, its trunk tilted like a ghostly face with its head hanging down, as if it too is coldly watching them.

The group met, and for a moment no one spoke.

The mountain wind was silent, the branches and leaves were still, and the air was stiflingly stuffy.

The other young scout accompanying the team finally couldn't hold back any longer.

His face was filled with fear and anger, and his eyes were darting around.

Without uttering a word, he suddenly drew his sword and chopped it down at the "ghost face" elm tree.

With a flash of the blade, bark flew everywhere. The old elm bark was tough and sturdy, and it couldn't withstand the blows after a few times.

In the blink of an eye, it was hacked to pieces, the ripped pieces flying off like a grinning, chaotic laugh.

But the kid was still not satisfied and turned around to slash wildly in all directions.

His movements were erratic, like a mad dog; his eyes gradually lost focus, and he seemed to be consumed by evil fire.

Jiang Liang glanced to the side and saw the old scout standing there, expressionless, only nodding slightly.

Knowing what was going on, he slowly stepped forward, drew the long staff from his back, and with a slow movement, used the staff to block the flurry of blows.

With a flick of the wrist, the tip of the stick was slightly raised. The force was small, but the power was skillful. The knife clicked and slipped from the hand.

It rolled a few steps away, clattered, hopped twice on the stone, and then stopped.

The young man, as if his bones had been removed, plopped down on the ground, panting heavily, sweating profusely, and his temples throbbing.

The madness from before had subsided somewhat.

Jiang Liang didn't say much, he simply tucked the stick behind his back.

The three copper rings on the end of the stick flashed suddenly in the gray light through the gap in the trees, silent yet chilling.

It hit the chopped-up tree stump with a loud "thud".

It was a casual slap, but a dull thud was heard, as if it had hit something.

Jiang Liang raised an eyebrow and looked back.

What was once an empty space now had a mask fall out.

It was entirely black, covered with exaggerated ghost faces, as if it had been shaken out of thin air; the shadow puppet flickered and seemed to have no origin.

The next instant, the scenery before my eyes seemed to ripple, gently undulating like the moon reflected on water, quietly parted.

Upon closer inspection, the old elm tree that had been cut down earlier had silently stood up again.

The branches were smooth and flat, and the eerie ghost face was no longer there.

Even the eerie atmosphere that lingered in the air seemed to have been somewhat dispersed by the gentle breeze.

The pent-up anger in Jiang Liang's heart finally dissipated a little.

But the old scout beside him did not show the slightest sign of relief.

His eyes were slightly narrowed, the whites of his eyes cloudy like water stagnant in an old well, and his breathing was as still as if it were a thread, not a breath was leaked.

His expression remained unchanged, yet he was like a bowstring taut, poised to strike.

Suddenly, a very faint groan came from somewhere in the woods. It was so low and deep that it was almost impossible to hear unless one was concentrating.

The three veterans exchanged a glance, then without even saying hello, they vanished like falling leaves in a flash.

They left without a sound, not even disturbing a single fallen leaf, like a few old wolves that had already mingled into the forest. Their killing intent was subtle, yet their blades were chillingly sharp, already deeply embedded in the shadows of the trees.

Jiang Liang didn't move, standing firmly in place.

Knowing that his skills were still limited, he feared that any rash actions would ruin things, so he simply held his breath, focused his mind, opened his five senses, and held his breath as if it were a stone.

The forest was eerily quiet; even the wind seemed to be suppressed.

Then came a few short, muffled thuds.

Like a fist slamming into flesh, heavy and brutal, without the clang of metal against metal, only the weight and speed of a bloody mess.

Jiang Liang then lightly touched the ground with his foot, his body trembled, and he drifted silently into the depths of the dense forest like an old leaf in the wind.

By the time they arrived, the murder plot in the forest had already ended.

Three figures lay on the ground, each in a different posture, but all were silent.

The two men were dressed as Qiang people, wearing leather skirts and short armor. They had strong arms and broad chests, and looked like ruthless warriors who had fought their way through the hunting grounds.

One man's throat was severed; the blade pierced his neck and emerged through his back, clean and swift.

The other person's face was purplish-black, and the corners of his lips were bluish-black, indicating that he had committed suicide by biting a poisonous creature.

Between the two corpses lay an old witch draped in animal skin and adorned with bones.

His forehead was painted with vermilion and blue, his face was covered with incantations and talismans, his hair was tied into a tangled ghost bun, and his bones jingled all over his body.

Blood was gushing from all seven orifices, soaking his face and making it look as if one corner of his head had been smashed into it.

The man was still clinging to life, his body convulsing, and he looked incredibly miserable.

The old scout glanced down, his expression indifferent, his tone even colder, like frost falling on dry branches:
"If I can't keep it, I'll end it."

As soon as he finished speaking, the two people beside him did not move, but turned their heads to look at Jiang Liang.

This kind of job is clearly meant to give newcomers a chance to hone their skills.

Jiang Liang was perfectly clear-headed, his eyes remained unmoved, but the image of his comrade's corpse flashed through his mind.

I took a deep breath, my chest heaving, but my mind remained firmly focused.

With a flick of his fingers, he drew a short dagger from his waist.

While there was a hint of stiffness in his movements before the blade was drawn, Jiang Liang's actions were steady and precise when it came to actually striking.

He took half a step forward, bent his knees and half-squatted, then delivered a swift and ruthless blow to the throat.

The wizard seemed not to have recovered yet, with a trace of lingering surprise and hatred in his eyes, before blood gushed from his mouth and nose, and he murmured in his throat before dying.

Jiang Liang didn't even blink; he simply shook his hand to sheathe his sword and stood up.

The trials and tribulations in the Illusory Grassland were not in vain.

The old scout glanced at him, neither praising nor scolding, but simply nodding slightly, as if acknowledging the blow.

The two veterans then stepped forward, skillfully cutting off the left ears of each of the three men, and then rummaged through their belongings.

They worked quickly and cleanly, and after turning over the bodies, they found a ditch with dense foliage and buried the three people.

The soil was compacted, the leaves were thick, and even half of the bloody smell on the ground was carried away.

These experienced scouts always acted with cleanliness, unlike the crudeness of the barbarians.

Leaving the corpses would only serve to light the way for the enemy.

When he returned to his original spot, the young scout had caught his breath a little, but his face was still pale as a bluish-white.

He was squatting next to the ghost mask, his eyes glazed over, but his hand was gripping the hilt of the knife tightly.

The old scout approached and pulled out a piece of linen from his pocket, which was originally used to wrap dry rations.

At this moment, however, he carefully wrapped the mask layer by layer, tied it tightly, hugged it to his chest, and spoke in a deep voice:
"Go back to camp."

The voice wasn't loud, but it carried a cold, hard tone.

This mask is very sinister; it's probably the work of that sorcerer.

It can cause people to wander in the forest, trapped and dying invisibly.

If they hadn't been lucky and reacted quickly, they probably would have died in this forest today.

We need to send it to the main store for inspection as soon as possible; if we wait too long, I'm afraid more people will fall into the trap.

(End of this chapter)