Chapter 3972 — Easily Beaten Off

After a short while, Wei Zhao came upon a stretch of ruins at a bend in the mountain path. Judging by the wreckage, this had once been the wooden hut the man had spoken of.

Wei Zhao could not help but feel a jolt of surprise. If this really was the Rag King's dwelling, then the fellow had not merely run into trouble—he had run into **real** trouble. His home had been burned down in broad daylight. What kind of grudge could run that deep?

After all, it was hardly likely that the Rag King had been bored out of his wits and decided to torch the place himself just for fun.

Fortunately, the Rag King was, at the very least, a top-tier expert at the peak of the early Foundation Establishment stage. Unless someone had actually killed him, a little hut fire like this should not have been able to harm him.

But then again, if he could not find the Rag King himself, Wei Zhao would be in a bind. In his current identity as Lin Er, even having removed the threat of Meng Jueming, he still could not afford to strut about and show his face too openly. If he failed to locate the Rag King in short order, this trip would end in nothing but a fruitless return.

Just as Wei Zhao was hesitating over whether to linger any longer, three figures came charging up swiftly from behind. While still far off, they launched martial techniques at him without a word.

Wei Zhao was startled and instinctively assumed his identity had been exposed. If a commotion broke out in a place like this, it would be nothing but bad news for him.

This, after all, was Qingyun Pavilion's territory. Once blood was actually spilled, the situation could easily spiral beyond control, leaving endless trouble in its wake.

With no time for further thought, Wei Zhao immediately employed the Butterfly Microstep to evade their attacks and said coldly, "Who are you? What business do you have here?"

"Hmph, what business? Settling scores with you, of course! You dare steal from us—you really don't even know how the word 'death' is written! Last time we only burned down that shabby hut of yours—consider yourself lucky. Today we'll teach you a proper lesson!" The leader sneered with a scowl. But when he got a clear look at Wei Zhao's face, his voice suddenly caught in his throat. "You... you're not the Rag King?"

Wei Zhao gave him a faint glance. "What do you think?"

The three exchanged glances. Yet upon realizing they had mistaken him for someone else, they did not stop—instead they grew all the more self-righteous: "Even if he's not the Rag King, he's definitely one of the Rag King's cronies. Dealing with scum like this is carrying out justice on heaven's behalf!"

"Carrying out justice on heaven's behalf? Heh, you lot really are infuriating." Wei Zhao frowned, and then the aura around his whole body surged violently, a scorching fist intent sweeping across every direction like a fire god descended into the world.

As a man of power, there was no need to be overly forbearing with such blind, foolish rabble. If they were being an nuisance, then a single move to put them down would suffice.

All three were only at the peak of the early Foundation Establishment stage—in Wei Zhao's eyes, utterly beneath a single blow.

In the span of a single exchange, all three were sprawled on the ground under Wei Zhao's casually delivered Wild Fire Fist, Style Twenty-Four, each of them scorched black and thoroughly bedraggled. Had Wei Zhao not deliberately held back, they would likely have been burned to ashes, not even a corpse left behind.

"Qingyun Pavilion really is feeble beyond words—truly worthy of its reputation as a shelter for trash," Wei Zhao said, shaking his head in exasperation. These three wore the attire of Qingyun Pavilion inner disciples. From their earlier arrogance, he had assumed they might have some real skill. To think they would crumble at a single blow—it truly left one speechless.

After a good while, the three who had narrowly escaped with their lives finally recovered from their terror. Cowering, they stole a distant glance at Wei Zhao, then turned and fled screaming as though they had seen a ghost.

If one had to put their feelings at this moment into words, there were only four: tears without weeping.

They had come to settle scores with a good-for-nothing like the Rag King, a man who did not even know what fighting was—and instead had inexplicably kicked an iron plate. Where was the justice in that?

Judging by this ruthless fellow, he must be from Chongtian Pavilion, surely? At the thought, the three silently counted themselves lucky not to have been crippled!

Wei Zhao curled his lip in a faint smile of disdain and let the three flee in disarray. He had no intention of wiping them out—otherwise, had he wished it, these blind fools would long since have been dead men.

"They're all gone now. You can come out," Wei Zhao suddenly said toward a certain boulder in the ruins. This one hid well—at first even he had not noticed. But when the fist intent of the Wild Fire Fist had swept past earlier, there had clearly been some movement behind it.

For a long while, there was still no movement behind the boulder—not even the faintest trace of aura could be sensed. By rights, with Wei Zhao's keen perception, at such a distance nothing could escape his notice; it should have been impossible not to detect even a breath.

Anyone else might have wondered whether it had been an illusion. But Wei Zhao was quite certain. He smiled slightly and said, "If you don't come out now, don't blame me for being rude—and giving you another punch."

With that, a scorching fist intent once again gathered around Wei Zhao's body, and only then did something finally stir behind the boulder.

"Wait, wait, I'm coming out!" A bedraggled figure immediately leaped out from the ruins, his clothes burned to tatters from head to toe, his face blackened with soot—at first glance, a living, breathing African refugee.

Before Wei Zhao could speak, the man was already bowing and scraping: "Brother, I really didn't mean to steal your spirit beast materials! You'd already thrown them away—at most I just picked them back up to put to good use. How can that count as stealing?"

Wei Zhao was taken aback, then caught between laughter and tears. From that bizarre appearance alone he might not have recognized the man, but the moment he heard his voice, it was clear—this was the very Rag King he had come to find.

"Rag King, why don't you think it over carefully—did you or did you not steal my spirit beast materials?" Wei Zhao decided not to call him out, and instead teased him with a raised brow.

"This... this really can't be called stealing! You people have no eye for value—you threw away good things as if they were garbage, and when I picked them up you insist on calling it theft, and you even want me to pay you spirit jade. Tell me, isn't that unfair?" The Rag King did not dare look Wei Zhao in the eye at all, merely pulling a long, mournful face.

"Unfair? Then tell me—just what garbage did you pick up? Maybe you misjudged it too?" Wei Zhao said with an air of amusement.

"Garbage? You dare call what I went to such pains to salvage garbage?" At these words, the Rag King was like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. Instantly shedding his cowardly manner, he sneered down at Wei Zhao. "Then let me open your eyes. Black Toad Tail, Foxbear Bone, Wolfsbane Spider Down—to you laymen these are worthless trash, but in the hands of an artificer like me, once properly used, they are priceless treasures, not one bit inferior to those materials that cost a hundred spirit jade a piece. It's only that you don't know quality when you see it—who else is there to blame?" R1152