The Southern skies howled like starving beasts.
Dark clouds rolled across the heavens, casting a crimson tint over the wild lands below. Wind slashed through the treetops like blades, whispering rumors of murder and madness. The deeper Xuan Long flew, the more the world twisted. The air here was thick—not with fog or moisture—but with sin.
For two days, he traveled alone, cutting through the skies like a silent spear. His robes fluttered behind him, his gaze fixed forward, unwavering. Every gust of wind, every shift in qi, bent around him. The immense energy he carried—absorbed and buried deep within his flesh—burned low and steady like a furnace.
His eyes—cold jade once—now glowed faintly red.
They saw everything.
Then—movement below.
A flicker of crimson. A robe etched with demonic talismans. A cultivator, cloaked in darkness, wandered the forest floor like a scavenger. He wasn't hiding. He didn't need to. In this lawless region, demons walked freely.
But today, he met a greater demon.
Without a word, Xuan Long descended.
CRACK!
The force of his landing split the ground. The demonic cultivator was slammed into the earth, ribs shattering on impact. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he struggled to breathe.
"H-Have mercy!" he cried, writhing in agony. "I don't want to die!"
Xuan Long crouched beside him, expression carved from stone.
"Where do the demon disciples gather?" he asked. Not shouted. Not growled. Asked.
The man blinked through the blood in his eyes.
"B-Bloodshade Peaks," he gasped. "I-I can take you! Please—just spare me!"
Xuan Long grabbed his collar.
"Then take me."
Bloodshade Peaks
They flew for an hour.
The mountains soon rose ahead—tall, jagged things that stabbed at the clouds like fangs. A thick crimson fog clung to them like blood-drenched mist. The very air here felt… unnatural. The trees were blackened. The rocks bled when stepped on. Screams echoed faintly from deep within the cliffs.
From high above, Xuan Long floated alone, staring down at the accursed place.
He didn't hide his presence.
Instead, he let his voice echo through the peaks like thunder.
"BASTARDS!!" he roared.
"If any of you have guts—COME AND FIGHT!"
The mountains shook.
From shadowed caves and cracks in the rock, cultivators emerged—one by one. Twenty figures in total. Each one cloaked in talismans, bones, and blood-threaded robes. All Foundation Realm. All carrying the weight of darkness.
The man who led Xuan Long tried to step back, trembling.
But—
SLASH!
Xuan Long's palm cut through him like silk.
The body fell, lifeless.
"Cowards die first," he muttered.
The cultivators laughed, circling him like vultures.
"You came to die?" one sneered.
"You insulted our sect. You die screaming," said another.
They didn't wait for orders.
They attacked.
Black flames. Cursed chains. Blood blades. Ghost palms. Every deadly technique known to demonic cultivation was hurled at him from all directions.
But they never reached.
The moment they touched Xuan Long's aura, they slowed… stuttered… then reversed.
Devour. Reflect.
BOOM!!!
A massive shockwave exploded across the peaks. Dozens of techniques slammed back into their casters. Heads burst. Chests caved. Bones cracked like eggshells. Screams rang out—and then were silenced.
When the blood fog cleared…
Twenty corpses surrounded Xuan Long, burning.
He exhaled once.
Then, silently, he knelt among the ruins and began to collect the spoils.
Among the blood-soaked robes and shattered talismans, he found:
A scroll: Blood Pill Refinement – Complete Recipe
A pouch: 50 refined Blood Pills
Two scrolls: Mid-Grade Foundation Arts
Two artifacts: Low-Grade, but intact
He stared at the loot without emotion.
Then vanished into the sky.
Midnight – Return to the Fortress
The night was still when Xuan Long returned.
His cloak smelled of ash. His hands were stained with blood. But his steps were calm.
Hei Mo rushed forward, immediately dropping to one knee.
"Master. You've returned."
Xuan Long handed him the scroll and the bag of blood pills.
"Learn the recipe. Master it. Teach it to your five."
Hei Mo's fingers trembled as he received the items.
"Yes, Master. I will not fail you."
Xuan Long tossed him the two skill scrolls and an artifact next.
"Reinforce your arts. If you die, I'll consider it a waste."
Hei Mo bowed lower. "Yes, Master."
Mu Chen approached from behind, cautious.
"Master, what about us? We can't use blood pills. Will we…"
Xuan Long turned to him.
"You will not be left behind."
He placed a hand briefly on Mu Chen's shoulder.
"I'll acquire mid-grade spirit stones. And more."
"Your path," he said, "will be paved."
Southern Trade City – The City of Ash and Gold
The next morning, Xuan Long descended into the nearest city.
It stank of smoke, sweat, and sin.
Merchants shouted. Guards demanded bribes. Slaves cried out behind rusted bars. It was a pit of gold and ash—where anything could be bought, sold, or broken.
Xuan Long walked through it like a shadow.
At the city square, a notice board caught his eye.
He stopped.
There—nailed to the center—was a bounty.
A painted face.
Mu Chen.
Reward: 50 Low-Grade Spirit Stones. Wanted: Dead or Alive.
His fingers curled slightly around the paper.
"Lu Family…" he muttered.
"You dare hunt my people…"
He closed his eyes for a moment. Then opened them with a cold smile.
"Very well."
"I'll give you Mu Chen's location."
Deception – A Shadow's Trap
At a nearby inn, he found the black channel brokers.
Rogue couriers who spread underground messages.
He leaned in and whispered a forged location—Mu Chen's base in the mountains.
The broker nodded, unaware of the trap.
"It'll reach the bounty network by sundown."
Xuan Long paid in spirit stones.
Then walked away.
"Only one Foundation Realm among them," he muttered to himself. "My army can handle that."
"I'll let the shadows welcome them."
Slave Market – Southern Alley
Later, wandering through the darker districts, Xuan Long passed by the slave market.
It was chaos.
Children in chains. Mothers with gags. Cultivators bartering like beasts.
And then—he saw her.
A small girl.
No older than five.
Her arms bore burn marks. Her cheeks were cut. Her clothes were nothing but torn linen. And her eyes—gods—those eyes were hollow.
A merchant laughed behind her.
"100 stones!" he shouted. "She'll grow into it—trust me!"
Laughter followed.
Xuan Long stepped forward.
"500."
The crowd hushed.
Even the merchant stopped mid-chuckle.
The auctioneer blinked.
"S-Sold!"
Xuan Long approached. The girl flinched, expecting pain.
But instead—
He lifted her gently.
She was light. Barely alive. She didn't cry. Didn't speak.
The crowd began to disperse—until the merchant stepped in his path, flanked by ten armed guards.
"That girl's mine."
"Give her back—or we take her."
Xuan Long stared at him.
"You bought pain," he said coldly. "I bought hope."
He raised one hand.
Absorb. Ignite.
FWOOM!
A pillar of fire erupted, consuming the alley in a wave of crimson.
The guards screamed. The merchant shrieked. Their flesh peeled away in seconds. Their souls didn't even have time to escape.
When the fire died, nothing remained but ash.
Xuan Long turned and walked away, the child held tightly in his arms.
She didn't weep. Didn't tremble.
She simply… held his robe.
Like it was life itself.
He looked down at her—eyes soft for the first time in days.
"From now on," he whispered,
"…you are not alone."