The Blackwood Forest swallowed Shen Zong whole.
The moment he stepped past the tree line, the sunlight dimmed as though choked by unseen hands. Gnarled branches intertwined overhead, and the air grew thick, heavy with the stench of rot and iron. Each breath carried a taste of blood, each step echoed faint whispers that curled at the edges of his mind.
The forest was alive—and hungry.
Shen Zong pressed forward, his expression calm, his senses sharp. The cursed mark on his chest pulsed faintly, resonating with the strange aura of the land. He could feel it: this was no ordinary forest. It was a graveyard where countless cultivators had fallen, their lingering resentment festering into an unholy qi.
A low growl broke the silence.
From the shadows, a beast emerged. Its body resembled a wolf, but its fur was mottled black and crimson, its eyes glowing with ghostly flames. Fangs jutted unnaturally long, dripping with corrosive saliva.
A Demonic Wolf — Qi Refinement, Fourth Stage.
Stronger than Shen Zong in terms of cultivation realm.
But Shen Zong's lips curved into a faint smile.
The wolf lunged, claws raking through the air with lethal speed. Shen Zong shifted a step to the side, his movements as fluid as water. His hand extended, fingers forming a claw, and from his palm, a faint black lotus bloomed.
The cursed petals unfurled, exuding a chilling aura.
The wolf hesitated mid-pounce, instincts screaming. But it was too late.
"Consume."
The lotus's shadow stretched outward, wrapping the beast in tendrils of darkness. The wolf howled, its flesh peeling away as the cursed energy stripped it of blood and qi. Within breaths, nothing remained but brittle bones and dust scattered across the roots.
Shen Zong inhaled deeply, feeling the stolen qi fuse into his dantian. His body trembled as his foundation stabilized, the chaos within his meridians smoothing slightly.
Qi Refinement, Third Stage.
"Demonic indeed," he murmured, gazing at his own hand as the lotus mark dimmed. "A single kill, and my cultivation leaps forward."
But even as power surged through him, he felt the sting of the curse biting deeper into his soul. The lotus did not give without taking.
---
The deeper Shen Zong walked into the forest, the stranger it became. Trees whispered his name. Shadows slithered just out of sight. At times, he thought he saw silhouettes of people—warriors, cultivators, even children—hanging among the branches like phantoms, their eyes hollow, their voices chanting faintly:
"Immortality is illusion… Immortality is hunger… Join us…"
Yet Shen Zong's gaze never wavered. His mind, sharp and ruthless, cut through the illusions like a blade.
If this forest wishes to break me, it will fail.
---
But he was not alone.
High above, hidden within the trees, two figures cloaked in azure robes crouched silently, their eyes locked on the boy. They bore the insignia of the Azure Cloud Sect—the hunters sent to erase him.
One of them, a tall man with cold eyes, whispered, "The reports were not exaggerated. He truly wields the Cursed Lotus Scripture. For someone at the Second Stage to slay a Fourth Stage beast so cleanly… dangerous."
The other smirked. "All the better. The sect will reward us handsomely when we bring back his head."
The first man frowned. "Do not underestimate him. Wait for the right moment."
Below, Shen Zong paused, his steps slowing. His eyes narrowed faintly, gaze lifting toward the treetops.
For a fleeting instant, his lips curved.
Hunters, is it? Then let the prey become predator.