The morning sun rose slowly over the mountain peaks, casting pale light upon the charred ruins of Shen Zong's village. Smoke still lingered, a bitter reminder of the carnage that had taken place the night before.
Among the broken homes and collapsed roofs, silence reigned. The few surviving villagers whispered prayers behind barred doors, unwilling to step out, unwilling even to look upon the boy who had destroyed both enemy and fate alike.
Shen Zong sat cross-legged atop the remains of the altar, his robes torn, his body still trembling from the strain of the Cursed Lotus's awakening. His breathing was shallow, his face pale, but his eyes remained sharp as a blade.
The phantom lotus no longer hovered behind him, but the cursed mark on his chest pulsed faintly, black veins spreading across his skin like cracks in porcelain.
He could feel it—his cultivation had taken a leap. From a mortal without foundation, he now possessed a base of demonic qi equivalent to the Qi Refinement Realm, Second Stage. But the power was unstable, twisted, always threatening to devour him from within.
He clenched his fists.
Immortality is never won without sacrifice.
---
Far away, deep within the grand halls of the Azure Cloud Sect, an elder's hand trembled as he read the jade slip delivered by a bloodied messenger.
"The enforcers… all of them, gone?" the elder muttered, his wrinkled face tightening. His aura surged, rattling the hall's pillars. "Slain by a single boy?!"
The messenger knelt, forehead pressed to the floor. "Yes, Elder. A youth, no older than sixteen. He wielded… a lotus of demonic origin. Witnesses say it consumed flesh, bone, and even qi itself."
Murmurs spread among the gathered disciples. A demonic technique that consumed cultivators? Impossible—such heresies had been eradicated long ago.
The elder's eyes narrowed.
"The Cursed Lotus Scripture… so it wasn't destroyed after all."
He slammed his palm against the table, cracking the jade. "Send word to the inner sect. Summon the hunters. If left unchecked, this boy will become a calamity."
---
Back in the ruins, Shen Zong rose slowly, his body screaming in protest. He gazed at the desolate land that once held laughter, markets, and the warmth of fires. Now, it was nothing but dust and corpses.
The surviving villagers peeked from their homes, eyes filled with fear and awe. One old man, trembling, dared to step forward.
"Child… no, not child. Cultivator…" His voice cracked. "Leave this place. Please. If the sects learn what happened, they will not only hunt you, but us as well."
Shen Zong regarded him silently. There was no malice in his gaze, but neither was there attachment. These people had never protected him when he was beaten, starved, or cursed. And now, they begged only for their own survival.
Finally, he spoke. "You will not see me again."
The old man bowed, relief flooding his face.
Shen Zong turned his back and walked toward the mountains. His robes fluttered, his shadow long beneath the rising sun. He carried nothing—no family, no home, no name that was welcomed. Only his cursed body, his ruthless wisdom, and a lotus that demanded both blood and destiny.
---
As he crossed into the wilderness, the forest seemed to grow darker, the trees twisting unnaturally, roots gnarled and pulsing faintly with sinister qi. This was the Blackwood Forest, a place avoided even by cultivators, for it was said to be tainted by the remnants of ancient demonic battles.
Shen Zong paused at its edge. His lips curled faintly.
"A cursed fate… belongs in cursed lands."
And so, he stepped inside.
The air grew heavy. Shadows stretched unnaturally long. From the depths of the forest, crimson eyes began to stir.
But far above, unseen to Shen Zong, a hawk circled in the skies. Its eyes glowed with azure light—an Azure Cloud Sect tracking beast.
The hunters had already begun to move.