Ten days of seclusion had changed him.
Jian Wuxin had entered the forest as a nameless bandit with a pouch full of stolen items. Now, he walked as a cultivator at the fifth stage of Qi Refining, carrying the whispering banner of souls and secrets.
Yet for all the power he had gained, he knew it wasn't enough.
Not yet.
He needed more—more Qi, more techniques, more knowledge. And more cover.
The Soul Devouring Banner, for all its strength, had warned him: he couldn't use it freely in the open. If cultivators discovered it—or sensed the dark energy it carried—they would hunt him down.
> "You are still weak," it had told him. "Hide your power. Bury your ambition beneath dirt and smiles. Grow where no one looks."
So when the banner whispered of a Qi-dense area north of the ridge—a place "not dead, but dangerous"—Jian Wuxin listened. He thought it might be an old formation site. Maybe ruins he could loot. Maybe a place he could hide and grow stronger.
He didn't expect what came next.
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The Soul Devouring Banner pulsed faintly on Jian Wuxin's back as he climbed higher into the mist-veiled ridge, the puppets following silently behind him like loyal shadows.
The air here was different—heavier. Sharper. With each step, the weight of the world seemed to press tighter against his skin.
> "You are near a place of dense Qi," the banner whispered. "But something else stirs. Something... old."
Jian Wuxin paused.
That's when he felt it—a presence.
Not like a human's. No heartbeat. No breath. Just a deep, primal pressure that curled around the trees and sank into his bones.
Then, ahead in a clearing, he saw it.
Massive. Quadrupedal. Scaled in black stone-like plates. Its eyes burned red like molten ore, and its jaws dripped steam that sizzled against the forest floor. A beast with the head of a bull, the body of a lizard, and hooves that cracked the earth with each step.
It stood over a crushed wagon, steam rising from the bodies of men and horses beneath it.
Jian Wuxin froze.
> "That's..."
He'd heard tales back in the mortal towns. Drunk warriors and toothless merchants telling stories about creatures that destroyed villages and chewed through castle gates.
Demon Beasts.
He had thought them exaggerations. Myths meant to scare children.
But this thing... it fit every word. And worse, it hadn't seen him yet.
> "Rank One Demon Beast," the banner growled low. "Even in the Qi Refining stage, you'd be ashes if it notices you. Hide."
Jian Wuxin ducked behind a tree, signaling his puppets to freeze and blend into the shadows.
The beast snorted once, turning its head slightly.
Its nose twitched.
Then it stomped toward the trees—closer.
> "If it catches your scent, we die."
Jian Wuxin's heart thudded in his ears. He held his breath. His hand drifted to the banner, but even it remained still.
Then, as suddenly as it had turned, the beast snorted again and lumbered away. Deeper into the woods. Each step left scorched soil in its wake.
When the sound of cracking branches faded, Jian Wuxin exhaled slowly, sweat pouring down his back.
> "That... was no wild animal."
He stared at the crushed wagon, smoke still curling upward from the corpses.
> "Remember its shape, boy," the banner hissed. "That is the world you now walk in. That is why mortals do not cultivate. They would die before they reach the first stage."
Jian Wuxin nodded, wordless. He had seen power. Real power. Not human. Not bound by reason or law.
And he was still so far beneath it.
But as he turned back to the road, a fire had lit behind his eyes.
He would rise. He would reach that level. No—he would surpass it.
Hours later, as twilight kissed the mountaintops, he reached the outer gates of a stone fortress built into the cliff.
Above it, banners flapped gently in the wind:
> Iron Vein Sect
Inside, voices rang out. Youths stood in lines. A great crystal burned with light at the center of the field.
An entrance ceremony.
And Jian Wuxin, fresh off his encounter with death itself, stepped forward.
Into the world of true cultivation.
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