"Lu Xiaoqi, wins!"
The referee deacon's slightly trembling announcement finally broke the deathly silence around the Group C arena.
Mo Fan slowly retracted his gaze from looking down at Li Rui.
He didn't strut around the stage enjoying the cheers like those outer court disciples who won their matches, nor did he deliver any impassioned victory speeches.
He simply turned around expressionlessly, slung the coarse-cloth-wrapped [ Pale Bone Scepter ] back onto his back, and stepped on the cracks he had trampled into the marble stage, walking down the steps steadily, step by step.
At this moment, the scene below the stage was worlds apart from before he went up.
The crowd that was originally packed water-tight and pointing fingers at him, the moment he walked down, voluntarily and even somewhat frantically parted to the sides.
Like they were avoiding a plague god—they forcibly opened a wide path for him in the sea of people.
The cultivation world, after all, was a place that only respected power.
High up on the platform, the inner sect deacons and outer court elders sitting in the clouds, responsible for proctoring the tournament, naturally noticed the commotion here as well.
However, there was no brain-dead trope of an elder slamming the table and exclaiming, "This child is terrifying!" In the eyes of these big shots who were accustomed to seeing geniuses rise and fall, a Qi Condensation stage body cultivator couldn't make much of a splash.
"So it's a poor wretch taking the body cultivation path."
An elder stroking his beard glanced indifferently at Mo Fan's shoulder, which gleamed with a black-iron luster.
He picked up his teacup and took a sip, his tone carrying the flatness of someone who had seen it all.
"To train this skin and flesh to such a degree, for his Qi and blood to be so condensed... he must have suffered a lot of inhuman torment. Commendable perseverance. Pity he has no Spirit Root; in this life, he'll peak as a martial artist of the mortal realm."
In the eyes of those at the top, he was just a slightly harder paving stone.
But in the eyes of his peers—the outer court disciples—this was an extremely real, chilling deterrence.
"A madman... absolutely a madman!"
As Mo Fan walked through the passage, the disciples on both sides lowered their heads, completely terrified to meet the eyes hidden in the shadow of his hat.
A few disciples lowered their voices, whispering privately, their tones full of awe.
"Do you know how hard this body cultivation path is to walk? You have to shatter your bones and reconnect them, and boil your flesh and skin in scalding poison!"
"This Lu Xiaoqi used to look so honest and easy to bully; I didn't expect him to be so ruthless to himself!"
"Exactly! He didn't even dodge the spell; he just tanked the fireball and went up to smash the guy. This kind of desperado with no way out and no regard for his own life is way scarier than those geniuses who just form hand seals!"
What the cultivation world feared most was never the step-by-step geniuses, but these ruthless lunatics where "the barefoot fear not those with shoes."
Mo Fan walked forward without looking sideways.
Although the people around him were deliberately lowering their voices, his constantly active [ Death Vision ] heard these discussions loud and clear.
"Did you hear? The younger brother this Lu Xiaoqi adopted is that A-Song who tested out a top-tier Wood Spirit Root and was taken as a personal disciple by the Sect Master a while ago!"
"Hiss... An inner sect monster of a younger brother with a high-grade Spirit Root, and an outer court ruthless older brother practicing body cultivation."
"These two brothers—one inner, one outer; one immortal, one demon—in this Azure Cloud Sect, they are absolutely people you don't want to provoke!"
Listening to these increasingly outlandish rumors that were even starting to give him nicknames, the corner of Mo Fan's mouth hidden under the hat rose in an imperceptible arc.
Not only was he not angry, but he was actually extremely satisfied with the fermentation of public opinion.
"Very good. This is exactly the effect I want."
He calculated inwardly.
If he acted too weak, he would be treated as a soft persimmon; everyone would want to come and pinch him, and some might even use him to threaten A-Song.
If he acted too strong, too heaven-defying, it would attract the extreme wariness and deep dissection of the sect's higher-ups.
But this current persona—"Not to be provoked, but has a limited ceiling, and is a paranoid madman willing to risk his life for his brother"—was just right.
This was perfect aggro management.
Mo Fan returned to the Group C waiting area, found a secluded, quiet corner with his back against a stone pillar, sat down, and planted the Pale Bone Scepter beside him.
The next few days were massive free-for-all preliminaries. According to his number plate, he didn't have any more matches today.
He closed his eyes, as if resting his mind. In reality, his brain was operating like a precision computer, conducting the next step of his tactical review.
"Step one, establishing dominance, is complete. Next is score control (sandbagging)."
Mo Fan had absolutely zero interest in the "Championship" of this tournament.
Undeniably, the champion's rewards were extremely generous, even including a "Foundation Establishment Pill" capable of shedding one's mortal shell, as well as top-tier magical artifacts.
But Mo Fan was very clear-headed.
To him, a Necromancer without a dantian, the Foundation Establishment Pill was just a candy bean with some spiritual Qi. To level up, he relied on killing monsters and siphoning remnant souls, not popping pills.
More fatally, aiming for the championship meant he had to maintain a high profile and punch through all the outer court elites.
A tall tree catches the wind. Once he stood in that highest spotlight, it would inevitably attract the personal investigation of Golden Core elders or even Nascent Soul ancestors.
Under the Divine Sense scanning of those old monsters, no matter how well he disguised himself, his very underwear might be seen through.
"My goal, from beginning to end, is extremely clear—camp my way into the Top 8."
As long as he fought his way into the quarterfinals, he could get the identity token of an inner sect disciple.
This token was what he truly wanted.
Once he entered the inner sect, not only could he openly look out for A-Song and build a more solid alliance of interests; more importantly, inner sect disciples had much higher clearance and freedom of movement than the outer court!
At that time, he could legitimately accept higher-level sect missions and go deep into the back mountain or even other forbidden areas with impunity, searching for the corpses of high-tier Spirit Beasts and cultivators, continuing to quietly farm and develop his unseeable undead army.
"Camp my way into the Top 8, grab the entry ticket, and then during the semi-finals or the quarterfinals, encounter a strong opponent who looks pleasing to the eye, and logically, after fighting with all my might, suffer a 'narrow defeat'..."
Mo Fan repeatedly deduced the details of this script in his mind to ensure nothing went wrong.
"Perfect."
Just as Mo Fan completely cleared his thoughts and prepared to actually take a nap in this noisy waiting area...
A subtle sound of footsteps suddenly intruded into his perception range.
The footsteps were extremely light, carrying a deliberately suppressed probing intent. Finally, they stopped steadily less than three steps away from him.
Mo Fan didn't open his eyes.
But in his semi-active [ Death Vision ], a clear spiritual aura outline was already reflected in his mind.
That wasn't the impure, floating spiritual light of an ordinary outer court disciple. It was an extremely deep, condensed spiritual fluctuation that carried a specific, hidden purpose.
"Not a participating disciple."
Mo Fan's heart chilled. "This kind of aura-concealing method... it's an expert. Coming for me?"
Before he could react, a deliberately lowered voice, carrying a bit of hoarseness and scrutiny, quietly rang in Mo Fan's ear.
"Junior Brother Lu..."
That voice was like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, carrying some hidden probe. "What an impressive external martial art."
Mo Fan's breathing didn't pause for a second, as if he had truly just woken up.
He slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head.
His gaze pierced through the shadow of the hat and landed on the person who had arrived.