Sizzle—
A harsh, burning sound echoed as flames clashed violently with the miasma.
The zombie was forced back step by step.
Its arms charred black—
Painful, guttural howls tearing from its throat.
Yet—
Neither Uchiha Mo nor Uchiha Hideki showed the slightest panic.
Their gazes remained calm.
Focused.
Even… analytical.
This was only a green zombie.
Roughly equivalent to a high-level chūnin.
For two Uchiha—
Already possessing jōnin-level combat strength—
And the Sharingan—
Killing it instantly would not have been difficult.
But now—
This fight was no longer about killing.
It had become—
A test.
A silent one.
For each other.
Uchiha Mo observed:
"Three-tomoe Sharingan… precise chakra control… highly condensed output…"
"His real strength is definitely not low."
Behind his glasses—
Hideki's gaze sharpened as well.
"His movements look inefficient… but every step avoids attacks with the smallest possible adjustment."
"That shuriken earlier—perfect angle, perfect timing."
"How strong is Mo… really?"
Neither spoke.
But both understood.
The green zombie—
Had become their measuring tool.
—
At the same time—
At the foot of the mountain—
Three figures moved quickly along a narrow path.
Leading them—
A man around forty.
Square-faced.
Steady.
Carrying an upright, righteous aura.
An apricot-yellow cloth bag hung from his back.
Behind him—
A young man in his twenties.
Light-footed.
A hint of playfulness in his expression.
A smaller cloth bag slung over his shoulder.
And behind them—
A villager.
Pale.
Terrified.
"Uncle Jiu, please save us!"
"The back mountain is getting worse!"
"A few days ago, Old Wang's grave was dug up—his body is gone!"
"No one dares go out at night anymore!"
"Don't worry."
The man—Uncle Jiu—frowned slightly as he looked toward the mountain.
"Since I'm here, I'll handle it."
But—
A trace of unease rose in his heart.
Not without reason.
After decades of cultivation—
He had faced countless evil entities.
His sensitivity to yin and corpse energy—
Far exceeded ordinary practitioners.
And right now—
The density of yin energy in that mountain—
Was abnormal.
Not just that—
It wasn't dispersing.
It was gathering.
Condensing.
Even—
Draining life from its surroundings.
Uncle Jiu's expression darkened.
Ordinary corpse transformation—
Would never reach this level.
This…
Was different.
Graves disturbed.
Bodies missing.
A thought surfaced.
"Could it be…"
"A corpse-nurturing ground?"
A natural corpse-nurturing ground—
Wouldn't produce simple white zombies.
It would start with green zombies.
Far more dangerous.
And if conditions were right—
Hairy zombies could appear.
That—
Would be a disaster.
Green zombies—
Fast.
Strong.
Protected by miasma.
Ordinary weapons were useless.
Hairy zombies—
Even worse.
Bronze skin.
Iron bones.
Unafraid of common fire.
Even beginning to resist sunlight.
If it reached that stage—
Then something else was involved.
A dark cultivator.
Or a powerful entity.
Using corpses—
Using the land itself—
To refine something sinister.
"…Sigh."
"In troubled times… all kinds of monsters emerge."
Qiu Sheng noticed immediately.
"Master, what's wrong? Is it really that serious?"
Uncle Jiu shook his head slowly.
"Stay close to me later."
"Prepare the ink line. And glutinous rice."
"This may not be just—"
Boom!
A dull explosion echoed from the mountain.
The sound wasn't loud—
But in the silence—
It was unmistakable.
All three froze.
Qiu Sheng's eyes widened.
"Master! That was an explosion! From up there!"
"Did another Taoist arrive before us?"
"…Unlikely."
Uncle Jiu shook his head.
Maoshan methods—
Relied on talismans.
Incantations.
Sword techniques.
Not… explosions like this.
As for other sects—
In this declining age—
Even survival was difficult.
Someone capable of producing such a disturbance—
Was no ordinary person.
Either—
A disciple of a hidden ancient sect.
Or—
Someone relying on unorthodox methods.
External power.
And if it was the latter—
Then their goal might not be to eliminate the zombie.
But—
To use it.
To cultivate it.
Or worse—
To control the corpse-nurturing ground itself.
"Let's go."
"We need to see."
"But be careful."
Uncle Jiu's eyes sharpened.
From his bag—
He took out several copper coins.
Held them tightly.
Qiu Sheng followed closely.
As for the villager—
He didn't dare go further.
Uncle Jiu didn't force him.
"Go back. Wait in the village."
—
The closer they got—
The stronger the smell became.
Burnt.
Rotten.
Scorched.
The battle had ended—
But its aftermath remained.
A lingering pressure in the air.
"Master… it's quiet now. Is it over?"
"Silence."
Uncle Jiu raised a hand.
He activated a Maoshan technique—
Sensing energy.
His eyes narrowed.
The yin energy remained dense.
But—
The violent corpse miasma—
Had nearly disappeared.
"…The zombie… is gone?"
Shock flickered in his eyes.
To eliminate a green zombie—
In such a short time—
The opponent's strength…
Was no joke.
He gestured.
The two moved forward.
Carefully.
Using trees and rocks as cover.
Until—
They reached the graveyard.
Hidden behind thick bushes—
They parted the leaves slightly.
And looked.
What they saw—
Made even Uncle Jiu's pupils shrink.
The graveyard—
Ruined.
Scorched black.
Vegetation burned away.
Signs of intense battle everywhere.
At the center—
A zombie.
Dressed in tattered Qing official robes.
Lying motionless.
A gaping hole pierced through its chest.
Dead.
Completely.
But—
More than the corpse—
What drew their attention—
Were the two figures beside it.
Young.
Seventeen. Eighteen at most.
Dressed in coarse farmer's clothing.
Yet—
Completely out of place.
One—
Calm.
Refined.
Looking down at the strange device on his wrist.
The other—
Wearing glasses.
Gentle in appearance.
Yet crouched beside the corpse—
Examining it closely.
From them—
Uncle Jiu sensed no orthodox spiritual energy.
Instead—
A different kind of aura.
Vibrant.
Yet sharp.
Dangerous.
And most importantly—
Their expressions—
Facing a freshly slain zombie—
Were far too calm.
As if—
It had meant nothing.
"…Not orthodox cultivators."
"Those explosive methods… that aura…"
"Could they be…"
"…foreign sorcerers? Or something else entirely?"