Mo Yuan sat cross-legged on a stone slab half-sunken in the swamp. Crimson mist rolled across the ground like silent whispers, licking his torn clothes, the scent of decay thick in the air. The blood-red moon hung low above the jagged horizon, casting an eerie light over the swamp's surface.
His fingers trembled slightly—not from fear, but weakness. The trash body he had taken over had no strength, no nourishment, and no hope. Yet in his black eyes, there was a terrifying calm. A cold certainty.
"This body is useless now, but I will change that."
He shut his eyes and began the first meditation of the Blood Root Sutra.
In his past life, this technique had allowed him to awaken powerful bloodlines. He had used it to refine beasts, devour lineages, and make ancient clans fall to their knees. But now, in this weak Blood Demon body, its purpose was simpler—purify the trash within him and draw out what potential he could salvage.
A low hum echoed in his chest as the first lines of the Sutra stirred. It felt like a whisper running through his blood vessels. The blood inside him—dirty, impure, filled with broken instincts and ancestral shame—began to move.
Thump… thump…
His heart beat louder, slower.
Each pulse dragged out filth. His veins felt like they were burning. Black sludge pushed out through his pores. His skin itched. Pain danced under his flesh.
Still, he did not flinch.
"A pure bloodline…" he murmured, "…does not come without a price."
Within minutes, the trash blood of the Blood Vein Clan began to show signs of change. His vessels, once clogged and brittle, thinned and sharpened. He could feel a faint pressure, like something ancient inside him had been disturbed.
A memory not his own flickered—sharp fangs tearing flesh… red rivers flowing under a crimson sky… a voice screaming in joy as prey died.
He bit his tongue. A drop of blood ran down his lip.
Foreign instincts, he thought. So they've started to wake already…
He could already feel his body hungering. Not for food—but for blood.
And that was when he acted.
His hand reached into his robes, pulling out the tiny black scroll that had accompanied his soul through reincarnation—Heaven Devouring Forbidden Scripture.
The moment he touched it, the swamp grew colder. Even the blood mist paused, like the air itself held its breath. The Scripture did not glow or pulse—it hungered.
With one word, Mo Yuan opened it. "Devour."
From the far edge of the swamp, dozens of creatures—blood crows, corpse leeches, bone lizards—shuddered. Their bodies twitched as invisible threads wrapped around them.
Then, without warning, they exploded into mists of blood and essence.
All of it rushed toward him.
The Blood Root Sutra guided his internal refinement.
The Heaven Devouring Forbidden Scripture fed him the raw material.
One focused on purity. The other on consumption.
It was the perfect combination for someone like him.
Qi rushed through his veins. His broken meridians twitched, expanding slightly. The pain was unbearable—but he endured it without sound. His body shook, black blood pouring from his arms as new red veins replaced the old.
His dantian began to glow faintly. Still unstable, still small—but no longer trash.
Time passed. It might have been hours. Or days.
When he finally opened his eyes, his breath was steady, his pupils gleaming faint red.
"I've barely started... and already, this body feels different."
The impurities were still not completely gone, but his bloodline had begun its first evolution. The instincts were stronger now. He could hear things he shouldn't. Smell blood from deep underground. His nails had hardened slightly, his senses sharper.
"But this hunger will grow… if I don't balance it, the instincts will take over."
That was the cost of refining the bloodline through the Sutra. It pulled forward all the hidden traits—even the madness.
Originally, he had planned to cultivate the Verdant Heart Sutra alongside it. The spiritual tree within would have anchored his sanity and soothed the growing animal within. But this swamp… it was poison to nature. There was no greenery, no life qi, no sacred soil or treasure to nurture such a seed.
If he planted the Verdant Seed now, it would wither.
He narrowed his eyes. "No… not yet. I need a suitable environment first."
That left him with two techniques now in motion—the Blood Root Sutra and Heaven Devouring Forbidden Scripture. It was enough… for now.
He slowly stood, his legs still weak, but no longer trembling.
His next goal was to begin the Thousand Chain Nexus Method.
Of the three techniques, it was the most complex. But if he could succeed in forming the first "link" in his dantian, he would unlock the path to a modular, adaptable cultivation system. No matter how many Daos or bloodlines he devoured, the chain would expand to hold it all.
He sat down again, entering meditation.
With each ring, I bind the future into my now.
The visualization took form—rings of qi, glowing faintly, stacked like overlapping halos within his dantian.
He gathered a thread of blood qi, thinned and refined by the Blood Root Sutra, and began to shape it. It resisted him. It was chaotic, aggressive, unwilling to submit.
Control, he reminded himself.
Not everything can be taken with brute force. Control comes from patience.
He breathed slowly. Again, he shaped the qi. Slowly, it bent. Folded. Curved.
The first ring… forged.
It floated in his dantian, unstable, flickering. But it was there.
As he tried to form the second layer, a sharp pulse ran through his chest.
His eyes opened.
Someone was approaching.
Even from the swamp's center, he could feel footsteps in the distance. More than one. Heavy, armored. Blood Vein Clan guards? Or worse—Fang Clan dogs?
Then, a mocking voice echoed across the swamp.
"Well, well… what do we have here? The corpse is still moving?"
Another voice laughed. "I told you he didn't die properly. Let's make sure this time."
Mo Yuan slowly stood, cracking his neck. His red-tinged eyes narrowed.
He recognized those voices.
The two servants who had beaten the original body to death.
He looked at his hand, blood qi swirling faintly at his fingertips.
They had come to finish the job.
Good.
"I need more blood," Mo Yuan whispered.
And tonight… someone will feed me.