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Li Meixia, Liang Chen and his companions, and Driver Mo—all witnessed something very different from what the bandits were experiencing.

From their perspective, there were no demonic entities, no ghostly apparitions, no tears in the fabric of reality. The darkness had intensified, certainly, and an undeniable aura of malevolence permeated the clearing.

 But what they observed was the bandits themselves acting as if they were under attack by invisible assailants.

The men screamed and thrashed, clawing at their own bodies as if trying to remove something that wasn't there. They staggered about the clearing, swinging their weapons at empty air and begging for mercy from attackers that only they could see. 

Some dropped to their knees, hands raised in supplication to unseen tormentors. Others tore at their own flesh, ripping skin and drawing blood in their desperate attempts to free themselves from whatever horrors their minds perceived.

"An illusion," Liang Chen murmured, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and horror as he watched the bandits' self-destruction. "But one so powerful..."

"Not just any illusion," Li Meixia replied softly, her gaze fixed on Wudi Egun's still form. "The Night Spirit Summoning Mantra is said to be one of the supreme techniques of the Illusion Dao. It doesn't merely create false images—it reaches into the victim's mind and manifests their deepest fears in such detail that the body itself cannot distinguish between illusion and reality."

Tong Xin, her perfect features set in an expression of grim fascination, added: "Such techniques are said to be beyond the capability of ordinary cultivators. Even those who specialize in illusion methods would require decades of focused study to achieve effects far less comprehensive than this."

As they watched in stunned silence, the final act of the grim spectacle began to unfold. The demonic skull that had remained hovering before Wudi Egun throughout the ritual slowly opened its jaws wider than should have been physically possible. 

The movement was accompanied by a sound like ancient hinges creaking after centuries of disuse—a noise that somehow carried over the screams of the bandits despite its relative softness.

From the bodies of the thrashing, self-mutilating bandits, faint luminous wisps began to emerge—ethereal strands of light that might have been beautiful were it not for the context of their appearance. These wisps, clearly visible to all present regardless of whether they perceived the illusory demons, drifted through the air with purpose, drawn inexorably toward the open jaws of the skull.

"Their souls," Driver Mo whispered, his weathered face pale in the moonlight. "He's extracting their souls."

One by one, the luminous essences of the bandits were pulled into the waiting maw of the skull, disappearing into whatever void existed within its bone confines. As each soul was consumed, the body it had abandoned collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, eyes staring sightlessly at the night sky.

Feng Juechen was the last to fall. As the leader and strongest of the bandits, his soul fought the extraction with desperate intensity, the luminous wisp twisting and writhing in the air as if trying to return to its physical vessel. But the pull of the skull proved irresistible. With a final, silent scream that was felt rather than heard, his essence was drawn into the waiting jaws, which snapped shut with a finality that echoed through the clearing.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The unnatural darkness receded, moonlight once again filtering through the canopy to illuminate the aftermath of what had occurred. The bodies of the bandits lay scattered across the clearing, their expressions frozen in masks of ultimate terror, their self-inflicted wounds testament to the power of the illusion that had claimed them.

Wudi Egun calmly reached out and plucked the skull from the air, returning it to his pouch with the same care one might show when handling a valuable but ordinary object. He then bound his cut palm with a strip of cloth, his movements methodical and unhurried.

Only when these tasks were completed did he turn to face his companions, his expression once again the polite mask they had come to know—all traces of the cold, calculating entity that had orchestrated the bandits' destruction carefully concealed beneath his ordinary exterior.

The silence that greeted him was profound. Even Liang Chen, typically quick with words, seemed at a loss for how to respond to what they had witnessed. 

Liang Nian'er had moved closer to her brother, her earlier cheerfulness replaced by wide-eyed wariness. Tong Xin's perfect features remained composed, but her hand had not left the hilt of her sword since the ritual began.

Driver Mo positioned himself slightly closer to Li Meixia, his protective instincts engaged despite the fact that the immediate threat had been eliminated. His eyes never left Wudi Egun, watching for any sign that the alchemist's attention might turn toward his young mistress.

It was Li Meixia who finally broke the silence, her diplomatic training allowing her to recover more quickly than the others.

 "It seems we underestimated the breadth of your abilities, Master Wudi," she said, her voice steady despite the tension evident in her posture. "You mentioned being a practitioner of alchemy, but not... this."

There was a careful neutrality to her statement—neither condemnation nor approval, merely acknowledgment of a significant revelation.

Wudi Egun inclined his head slightly, as if accepting a minor correction rather than addressing the monumental shift in how they now perceived him. 

"There are many paths to power," he replied, his tone suggesting this was a simple fact rather than a matter worthy of particular note. "I have found it advantageous to explore several."

Liang Chen had finally regained enough composure to speak, though his voice carried an edge of caution that had not been present in their previous interactions.

 "That was... most effective," he managed, gesturing toward the scattered bodies of the bandits. "Though perhaps somewhat more final than necessary?"

The question contained an implicit criticism—these had been bandits, yes, but the complete destruction of their souls went beyond mere self-defense into a realm of retribution that many would consider excessive.

Wudi Egun's response was a slight shrug that somehow managed to convey both dismissal and finality. "They chose their path. I merely expedited their journey to its inevitable conclusion."

The cold pragmatism of this statement sent another ripple of unease through the group. This was not the response of someone who had reluctantly employed extreme measures in a desperate situation, but rather the casual observation of one who saw nothing particularly noteworthy about what had transpired.

Liang Nian'er, her natural curiosity overcoming her initial shock, ventured a question of her own. "Are you... a Demonic Cultivator, then?"

The term carried significant weight in cultivation society. Demonic Cultivators were not necessarily evil by definition—the designation referred to their methods rather than their morality—but they were universally regarded with suspicion and often outright hostility by mainstream cultivation sects.

 Their techniques, which frequently involved blood sacrifices, soul manipulation, and pacts with entities from beyond the mortal realm, were considered dangerous not just to their targets but to the practitioners themselves.

"I am many things," Wudi Egun replied, neither confirming nor denying the label. "Labels are often more limiting than illuminating."

His non-answer hung in the air, adding another layer to the mystery that surrounded him. Was he deliberately avoiding classification, or was there something about his practices that defied conventional categorization?

Li Meixia, sensing the growing discomfort among their companions, took it upon herself to steer the conversation toward more practical matters. 

"Whatever methods you employ, we are grateful for your intervention," she said, her diplomatic skills once again coming to the fore. "The battle was... not proceeding as favorably as we might have hoped."

This gentle understatement—acknowledging that they had been, if not losing, then certainly not decisively winning their respective confrontations—provided a graceful way to move past the immediate shock of what they had witnessed.

"Indeed," Liang Chen added, seizing the opportunity to shift the focus. "Your timing was impeccable, if somewhat dramatic."

A hint of his usual charm returned with this observation, though his eyes remained watchful as he studied their enigmatic companion.

Wudi Egun accepted their comments with a slight nod, his expression revealing nothing of his thoughts. The mask of polite interest that he typically wore had been fully restored, the glimpse of cold calculation that had emerged during the ritual once again carefully concealed.

"We should move our camp," Driver Mo suggested, his practical nature asserting itself as he surveyed the bodies scattered across what had been their resting place. "This location is... compromised."

No one disagreed with this assessment. The clearing, which had earlier seemed so peaceful and welcoming, now felt tainted by what had occurred. The bodies of the bandits, their faces frozen in expressions of ultimate terror, would make sleep impossible for most of the group.

As they gathered their belongings and prepared to relocate, a new dynamic had clearly been established among the travelers. 

The easy camaraderie that had begun to develop during their journey had been replaced by a wary respect tinged with undeniable fear. Wudi Egun was no longer viewed as merely an eccentric alchemist with mysterious origins—he was now recognized as something far more dangerous and unpredictable.

For Li Meixia, the revelation presented a complex challenge. She had invited this man into her family's home, vouched for him to her relatives, and now accompanied him on a journey to obtain materials for what she now understood with certainty would be a dark and potentially forbidden cultivation method. Her responsibility in whatever might follow was undeniable.

Yet as she watched him calmly gathering his few possessions, his movements as measured and precise as ever, she could not help but wonder: How much of what she thought she knew about Wudi Egun was real, and how much was simply another facet of the elaborate facade he presented to the world?

The answer to that question, she suspected, might prove more terrifying than anything they had witnessed this night.