Mo Yuan stood in silence for a moment, the air around him still thick with red mist. The two corpses beside him were already devoured—emptied of their essence, soul traces, and marrow by the Heaven Devouring Forbidden Scripture. But their flesh remained whole, untouched by decay or violence.
He picked them up one by one, slinging them over his shoulder like discarded sacks. They had served their purpose, but they still had a use. Flesh—no matter how hollow—could be useful when wrapped in the right illusion. A corpse was more than a vessel for essence. It could be armor. It could be bait.
Then he began to move through the swamp.
This zone—far from the inner and main punishment grounds—was where the Blood Vein Clan dumped the weak. The punishment grounds aren't a place of execution. No, these punishment grounds are a place for torture. A slow, rotting, humiliating death. After all, Demons are merciless creatures.
Mo Yuan picked his way through the muck and reeds, following the faint, clotted scent of old blood. For half an hour, he searched—through shallow ditches, beneath hanging roots, behind warped stone pillars half-sunken into the ground.
By the time he returned to the clearing, he had gathered twenty-eight corpses in total.
The bodies varied—some no more than bones bound by scraps of skin, others still bloated and fresh, no older than three days. Their faces were twisted in agony, their bodies covered in whip marks, branding seals, and shackles and to Mo Yuan, they are valuable good for his escape.
He dropped the two hollow corpses gently beside the others and stepped back, surveying the pile. The crimson light in his eyes dimmed slightly as he measured their worth. Most held little blood qi, but their flesh and bones were enough to sustain his needs—for now.
A faint breeze stirred the mist again.
Mo Yuan extended one hand, blood qi forming a faint vortex in his palm.
It's time. He gathered these corpse because instead of feeding further, he had a different idea.
One drawn from memories soaked in blood and centuries of war.
Corpse Ignition Method, a low level technique from the Fallen Soul Sect. It is the lowest version of thier core technique. A forbidden technique that converted corpses into unstable puppets, packed with volatile qi. They wouldn't be able to fight niether can they think.
But to him, just turning them into puppets will be enough.
He carved the first pattern into a corpse's chest with his fingernail—an array of five curved bloodlines circling a broken seal. The blood qi on his fingers shimmered with forbidden essence, drawn from the Heaven Devouring Forbidden Scripture.
His qi seeped into the dead flesh like a parasite. The corpse twitched once. The veins swelled. The stomach bulged slightly. Then… silence.
The array was in place.
He repeated the process. Again. And again. And again.
One corpse. Five. Ten. Twenty.
By the end, twenty-six corpses had been marked. Two were too far gone, so he had simply had abandoned them.
He laid the hollow servant corpses last—one on each side of the central mound like silent sentries.
Then, he moved.
A crack beneath a thick root. A sinkhole surrounded by moss and blood reeds. Mo Yuan slid inside, wrapping himself in a shroud of condensed blood mist, dampening even his breath.
He activated the formation with a flicker of will.
A beat passed.
Then—
BOOOOOM!
A thunderous roar shattered the stillness of the swamp.
Red light erupted into the air. The corpses burst like overripe fruit, their contents igniting with corrupted qi. The explosion wasn't just fire—it carried waves of spiritual distortion, twisting qi flows, and blood smoke. For a hundred meters in every direction, trees cracked and crumbled. Mud geysered into the air. The swamp shook.
It was chaos.
And chaos was opportunity.
Mo Yuan didn't move immediately. He waited. Seconds passed. Then a minute.
Shouting. Footsteps. Qi fluctuations.
Several figures arrived. Warden enforcers, guards. Maybe even a curious elder's personal servant. Mo Yuan's senses flared, but he didn't react—not yet.
Then he felt it.
One Foundation Establishment blood demon separated from the rest. A servant, perhaps. Still cautious, but curious.
Perfect.
Mo Yuan moved.
He erupted from the root-crack like a viper.
The man had no time to scream. Mo Yuan's fingers closed around his throat, and his blood qi surged. The Heaven Devouring Forbidden Scripture came alive. The cultivator's eyes widened. His body convulsed, bones cracking as if twisted by invisible hands.
Flesh, bone, blood, soul. Devoured whole.
The body collapsed into nothing—nothing but a loose puddle of robes and a light trace of blood qi that Mo Yuan quickly absorbed.
Then the transformation began.
His bones shifted first. Height. Shoulders. Then skin tone and facial features molded like wax in fire. The Blood Root Sutra responded naturally to the devoured bloodline, adapting his vessel into a perfect mirror of the demon.
Within moments, Mo Yuan stood clothed in his victim's skin—not literally, but truly. From voice to qi signature, everything matched. Only the soul remained unchanged—and hidden.
He brushed off the dust. Adjusted the stolen robes.
Then, wearing a neutral expression, he stepped out from his hiding spot and began walking toward the servant area. In the distance, the group remained confused, still reeling from the explosion.
This was one of the abilities of the Heaven Devouring Forbidden Scripture. He could change his appearance to perfectly mimic those he had devoured. No one would be able to tell the difference—no one except a Core Halo Realm cultivator. Even a Spirit Tide Realm expert would only sense that something was slightly off.
Now, with this new mask, he would begin his rise within the clan. As for how a mere servant would obtain the resources needed for cultivation?
All that exist beneath heaven and earth are my resource, A dark glint flickered in his eyes.