The cave at the mountain's northern edge was forgotten by most. It lay buried beneath frost, hidden beneath a veil of spiritual distortion — imperceptible to anyone below Nascent Soul. Even those who stumbled near it turned away instinctively, their minds brushing something they couldn't understand.
But Lu Xuan stood within it now.
Alone.
It was here that he had come after Shi Qiran's death. His master's body, now ashes, had been committed to the sect's ancestral flames with honor… but Lu Xuan had not attended. He couldn't.
Because the shame inside him burned hotter than any flame.
He sat cross-legged beneath the jagged outcropping of black quartz, the cold wind howling like a mourning ghost. Blood stains marked the edges of his robe, and his eyes—golden now, like an echo of something ancient—stared into the darkness beyond.
A Weight That Couldn't Be Carried
"He died because of me."
The thought had rooted itself in Lu Xuan's chest like a thorn. Shi Qiran had stood for him when no one else would. Shielded him when the sect whispered, when the elders turned wary of his power, when even Su Xue recoiled from his presence.
And now… he was gone.
Murdered by Zhao's shadow envoy, the blade that slipped past even Celestial Dawn's defenses. Not just any assassin—this one wielded power strong enough to threaten even mid-Nascent Soul cultivators.
"And I couldn't stop him."
But it wasn't just weakness that plagued him.
It was fear—a fear deeper than the battlefield, deeper than defeat.
Because for the first time since his memories returned, Lu Xuan had seen a glimpse of something else in himself.
Not just power.
Hunger.
A Fractured Soul
In the silence, he could feel the heartbeat of the Demon God beneath his skin. It pulsed with quiet fury, a rhythm echoing through his immortal meridians. The first level of the Immortal Demon God Body was fully awakened now. Nascent Soul cultivation had completed the cycle.
He could feel it — the surge of his combat power, now magnified tenfold.
A sword strike could level a valley.
His gaze alone could pierce the spiritual defenses of lesser cultivators.
His qi was no longer mortal — it was laced with the aura of divinity and death.
But it came with a cost.
Every time he fought, he felt less like himself. The bloodlust no longer disgusted him. The thrill of battle — of overwhelming, absolute destruction — brought something close to joy.
Is this who I was… or who I'm becoming again?
In his previous life, he had become the Demon God not simply out of necessity — but out of choice.
The world had rejected him. So he had rejected the world.
Now, with that persona clawing its way to the surface again, Lu Xuan stood at a crossroads. His soul bore two paths: the man who once loved, and the god who destroyed.
Which one was he now?
Visions of the Past
He opened his palm. A thin wisp of qi shaped itself into a burning lotus — crimson and black. It danced for a moment before fading.
The technique had come to him instinctively.
Just as the memory had.
The Blood Lotus Temple. A mountain shrine soaked in sacrifice.
Su Xue's father — kneeling.
Lu Xuan's hand — raised.
"Forgive me," he had whispered, before severing the man's soul.
The scene played again and again behind his closed eyes. He had killed her father not with rage, but purpose. Because her clan had sided with the Immortal Court in hunting him. Because she was born of the bloodline that had ordered his execution in his past life.
And yet… the look on her face today.
Not fear.
Grief.
The Demon Within
Lu Xuan's fingers curled into a fist.
If he let go — if he embraced what he was fully — no one could stop him. The Celestial Dawn Sect would kneel. The Zhao Emperor would burn. The immortal clans who feared him would scatter like dry leaves.
He could end it all. Here. Now.
But would that make him stronger… or hollow?
Would it make him free… or lost?
The Demon God had been feared in all realms. But in the end, even he had been betrayed — sealed, destroyed by the heavens, and cast into endless reincarnation.
"Even gods die," he murmured. "Even I… was defeated."
So what did that make him now?
A man?
A weapon?
A ghost?
A Flicker of Resolve
From within his robes, he drew a small, worn charm. Shi Qiran had given it to him during his third year at the sect. A piece of worthless jade, no more than a sliver — yet he had held onto it.
He clutched it now, knuckles pale.
"I failed you, Master," he whispered.
"But I swear on your name… I will not lose myself."
It was a fragile promise. But in this frozen cave, it was all he had.
Outside, the wind shifted.
Qi rippled across the mountain range. Thunder echoed.
War was coming.
The Zhao Emperor had issued a decree: Lu Xuan must be delivered to the Imperial Court, or Celestial Dawn would fall. The shadow envoys were only the beginning.
And inside the sect, the elders grew restless. They debated whether Lu Xuan's power was salvation or doom.
Some called for his imprisonment. Others whispered of execution.
Only the Sect Master — a man cloaked in secrecy — had yet to show his hand.
Lu Xuan Stands
Lu Xuan rose slowly from the stone. His aura unfurled like a dark tide, washing over the rocks, shaking the cave walls.
But his face was calm. Quiet.
The Demon God was not a mask. It was not a title. It was part of him.
But so was his pain.
And his choice.
"Let them come," he said, voice low.
"I will not run."