My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

Just as the second-in-command was about to descend the mountain, the withered grass at his feet suddenly stirred.

It looked like something had crawled through the ground, creating a thin mound of earth.

The earthen mound stretched forward from his feet, growing faster and faster until it disappeared on the other side of the ridge in the blink of an eye.

The second-in-command stopped, squinted, and stared in the direction where the earthen mound had disappeared.

He knew it was the stone doing the work.

Stone had promised him that he would bring a monster over.

He didn't ask what the stone would attract, and the stone didn't answer either.

But now he feels it.

Something on the other side of the ridge has awakened.

The second-in-command stood still, motionless.

His ears were perked up, listening to the sounds in the distance.

At first, there was no sound at all; even the birdsong stopped and the chirping of insects ceased.

The whole world seemed to have its mouth covered, holding its breath and daring not to make a sound.

Then he heard the first sound.

It wasn't a roar, it was breathing.

It was heavy, very heavy, like something on the other side of the mountain was gasping for air.

The sound wasn't loud, but it traveled through the mountain ridge and dense forest, clearly penetrating his ears.

A chill ran down his back.

The second sound was closer.

The third sound was closer. By the fourth sound, he could already feel the ground trembling slightly.

Then he saw the bear.

We came from the other side of the mountain ridge.

No, it's not "walk", it's "rush".

It was too big, bigger than a bear.

Its body was twice the size of the largest bear the second-in-command had ever seen, and its fur was so black and shiny that it looked like a moving rock in the twilight.

Its four legs were as thick as tree trunks, and the ground trembled with every step it took.

Its head was lowered, as if it were smelling something.

Its eyes were red, like congealed blood.

The most bizarre thing is its pupil—there is a thin line of blood in it, vertical, like a crack, dividing the pupil in two.

The second-in-command's legs felt a little weak.

He instinctively took a step back, his back hitting a tree, the branches rustling loudly.

The bear heard the sound, raised its head, and glanced in his direction.

With just one glance, the second-in-command felt as if he were being gripped by something, unable to move from head to toe, inside and out.

There was no anger, no murderous intent, and not even any emotion in his eyes.

It glanced at him, then continued charging forward.

The second-in-command, panting heavily, leaned against a tree trunk, watching the bear run further and further away, heading towards the ginseng-gathering village.

His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to explode.

A century of cultivation.

This bear has at least a hundred years of cultivation.

A demon with a century of cultivation can only be dealt with by a Martial Saint.

This is common sense in the mountains, and everyone understands it.

He's a half-step Martial Saint, which sounds impressive, but against something like this, even escaping would be difficult.

But the bear was attracted by the stone.

How can a stone control a demon with a hundred years of cultivation?

A monster of this level could rule the mountains in the Hundred Thousand Mountains, so why would it listen to a rock?

He originally thought the other party would send a group of demons to cause trouble, at most fifty years, but who would have thought it would be a bear demon with a hundred years of cultivation?

The thought popped into the second-in-command's mind.

The thought had barely formed when his head suddenly throbbed with pain.

It wasn't severe, just like a prick of a needle.

Then the thought vanished, as if it had been wiped away with a rag, completely clean, leaving no trace.

He couldn't remember what he was thinking just now, only that he seemed to have thought about something very important, but he couldn't remember it now.

He frowned and shook his head.

Forget it, if I can't remember, I won't think about it anymore.

He straightened up, dusted himself off, and started walking down the mountain.

The bear had already run far away; only a blurry black shadow could be seen moving quickly through the valley.

It ran very fast, faster than any wild beast the second-in-command had ever seen.

Where it passed, trees fell, grass was flattened, and stones were crushed.

It neither avoided anything nor feared anything, and charged straight towards the ginseng-gathering village.

The second-in-command followed behind, at a leisurely pace.

He wasn't afraid the bear would discover him; the bear's target was the ginseng-gathering village, not him.

He wasn't afraid that the people from the ginseng-gathering village would find him. Once things got chaotic there, who would care about him?

He just needs to follow from a distance and wait to see the outcome.

If Lin Wusheng were still alive, he would definitely come out.

He'll let the bear fight him while he watches from the sidelines and reaps the benefits.

If Lin Wusheng is already dead, that bear will turn the ginseng-gathering village upside down.

He'll come out then and steal the 500-year-old ginseng amidst the chaos. Either way, he won't lose out.

Thinking of this, his steps became much lighter.

He walked along the mountain path, humming an off-key tune, imagining the wonderful scene of himself becoming a Martial Saint and replacing the leader.

The wind rustled through the treetops, as if it were whispering something.

It was as if he hadn't said anything at all.

But at the very top of that crooked pine tree, on a withered branch, a bird was perched.

The bird wasn't big; it was bigger than a sparrow but smaller than a crow.

Its feathers are grayish-brown, similar in color to tree bark, and are almost invisible unless you look closely.

Its eyes are different—not the black pupils of ordinary birds, but dark red, with vertical pupils, like a snake or a cat.

It remained motionless on the tree, its head slightly tilted, its dark red eyes fixed on the direction where the second-in-command had disappeared.

The second-in-command has gone far away.

The bird blinked, its vertical pupils contracted slightly, then it spread its wings and flew away silently.

It flies very fast, and the sound of its wings flapping is very soft, like the wind blowing through the leaves; you can hardly hear it unless you listen carefully.

It drew an arc above the treetops, then flew southeast and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Three hours later, Black Wind Stronghold was located on a solitary peak deep in the Ten Thousand Mountains, with cliffs on three sides and only a narrow path leading down the mountain.

The village is very large, with wooden buildings and stone houses crammed together densely.

The leader, Xiong Lie, sat in the Hall of Righteousness.

He was very strong, half a head taller than the second-in-command, with broad shoulders and a thick waist. Sitting on that tiger-skin chair, he looked like a small mountain.

His face was square, with thick eyebrows and big eyes, and he had a short beard on his chin, making him look like a rough and tough man.

But his eyes weren't thick; they were dark and bright, and when he looked at people, there was always something indescribable about them—not fierce, but deep.

Like water in a deep pool, the surface is calm, but who knows what lies hidden beneath.

He was drinking.

The bowl was a large, coarse porcelain bowl, and the liquor was a strong, pungent liquor; one sip burned from the throat all the way to the stomach.

He drank slowly, sipping slowly, as if waiting for something.

The gray-brown bird landed on the windowsill.

It folded its wings, tilted its head, and looked at Xiong Lie with its dark red vertical pupil.

Xiong Lie put down his wine bowl, looked at the bird, and waited for a while.

The bird opened its beak, but what it made wasn't a bird call, but a human voice.