NOVEL NEXT Chapter 83: Robin Hood?!
Late Night...
Mo Han silently waiting for the perfect moment.
The night sky over the Burning Sun Peak was heavy with clouds, as if the heavens themselves wanted to hide the deeds that would soon unfold.
A bone-chilling wind whistled through the mountains, carrying with it the rustle of branches and the faint cries of nocturnal beasts. The sect was mostly quiet, lanterns flickering dimly along the stone paths, casting long shadows that stretched like claws across the courtyards.
Mo Han stood at the edge of the inner court, his face hidden beneath a plain black mask. His aura was fully suppressed, his breath calm, body moving like a shadow. To any passing disciple, he would seem like nothing more than a trick of the night.
His eyes, however, burned with cold determination. That bastard Yao Fan! Mo Han clenched his fists, but quickly released the tension.
Moving like smoke, Mo Han scaled the walls of the main peak, avoiding patrolling disciples with uncanny agility. Each time a disciple passed, his body melted into the darkness, his breathing steady as if his heart didn't even beat. Step by step, he crept upward, until he reached the northern end of the peak—the residence of Yao Fan.
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From inside the stone house above the spiral steps, faint sounds of laughter drifted out. Yao Fan was reclining on his bed, still awake. In his hand, he toyed with Lambu's storage ring, rolling it between his fingers with an expression of pure arrogance.
On the table beside him, jars of wine stood open, half-empty, and scattered around were trinkets and spirit stones he had already poured out to admire.
"Hah!" Yao Fan chuckled to himself, staring at the glittering pile of stones. "Who would've thought that fat pig Lambu had such wealth hidden away? Looks like I'll be making visits to the inner court more often. That pig's storage ring might as well be my personal treasure chest." He snorted and poured himself another cup of wine, his face flushed. "Tomorrow, I'll call a few of my brothers and head straight to Red Blossom Pavilion. With this amount, I'll enjoy myself with ten women, hahahaha!"
His laughter echoed through the stone chamber, vile and self-indulgent.
But then, the room went silent.
The laughter was cut short not because Yao Fan stopped, but because the shadows in the corner of the room suddenly moved. A gust of cold air swept through the chamber, snuffing out half the candles, leaving the place shrouded in a dim orange glow.
"What the—" Yao Fan barely turned before a black-clad figure appeared in front of him, faster than his eyes could register.
Mo Han's fist, hard as iron, smashed directly into his gut.
"Guhhh!" Yao Fan doubled over, his eyes bulging as he coughed out a mouthful of wine and saliva. Before he could shout, Mo Han's hand shot up like a claw, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him back against the wall. The stone cracked under the impact, dust falling down as Yao Fan struggled for breath.
"You—who dares—" Yao Fan's voice was a strangled gasp, his face red, his arms thrashing wildly.
Mo Han leaned in close, his masked face inches away. His voice was low, hoarse, and cold. "Remember this well. I'm not here for your life. I'm here to take back what doesn't belong to you."
Without wasting a second, he ripped the storage ring from Yao Fan's hand.
Yao Fan's eyes went wide with fury and disbelief. "You bastard! Do you know who I am?! I'll skin you alive—"
But before he could finish, Mo Han's knee rammed into his stomach again, knocking the air out of him. Then, with one smooth motion, Mo Han threw him onto the floor and stomped down on his chest, pinning him like a dog.
"Shut up." The word came out like a blade.
Mo Han deliberately reached for the rest of the valuables piled on the table—spirit stones, jade slips, spirit beast tokens, even the golden hairpin Yao Fan had been bragging about to his cronies earlier that day. One by one, he swept them into his own pouch. He wanted this to look like a robbery, nothing more.
Yao Fan coughed and spat blood, his eyes filled with venom. "You thief! You dare touch me? I'll have your head nailed to the gates—"
Mo Han's hand lashed out, gripping Yao Fan's collar and lifting him halfway off the ground before slamming him back down again. The floor trembled, and Yao Fan let out a cry of pain.
"You think your status protects you?" Mo Han's tone was calm, but every word carried the weight of killing intent. "You beat a man weaker than you and stole from him. Tonight, I return that favor."
Yao Fan's hand trembled as he secretly tried to circulate his qi, but Mo Han was faster. With a flick of his wrist, his sword flashed out, the cold steel grazing Yao Fan's throat.
"Try it," Mo Han whispered. "Try circulating your qi, and I'll slit your throat before you even form a seal."
Sweat poured down Yao Fan's face. For the first time, he felt genuine fear. This wasn't just some robber; this was someone who knew exactly what they were doing, someone who was used to danger, someone he couldn't afford to underestimate.
"W-wait—" Yao Fan stammered, his arrogance shattering under the crushing aura Mo Han released. "Take it all… take the stones, take the treasures, just don't kill me! Please!"
Mo Han's eyes behind the mask narrowed, but he said nothing. Instead, he dragged the back of his sword across Yao Fan's cheek, leaving a shallow cut that bled instantly.
Then, with one swift strike of his palm, he slammed Yao Fan unconscious, leaving him sprawled on the floor like a broken doll.
The chamber was silent once again, except for Mo Han's steady breathing. He took a final glance at Yao Fan's unconscious body, then turned to the window. His figure blurred as he leaped into the night, vanishing into the shadows as silently as he had come.
By the time the night patrol passed by, there was no trace of the intruder—only Yao Fan lying in his chambers, bruised, bleeding, robbed, and humiliated beyond imagination.
And in the distance, a masked figure slipped back into the darkness of the mountain, carrying with him the stolen ring, the treasures, and the cold satisfaction of vengeance.
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