Night fell heavy over the compound, the darkness broken only by the flickering glow of oil lamps. It was the hour when shadows stretched long and thin, and the air grew cold.
Xiang An, the Right Guardian, moved with a frantic energy that betrayed his usual composure. He hurried through the corridors toward the residence of the Gang Leader, his footsteps echoing sharply against the stone.
"Chief..." he called out, breathless, stopping just outside the door.
Inside the room, Jiang Dao sat in meditative silence. At the sound of the voice, his eyes snapped open. "Speak."
"It's bad news from Sifang City," Xiang An stammered, stepping into the dim light of the doorway. "The group of wanderers we recruited recently... they're all dead. Every single one of them. The marks on the bodies suggest it wasn't human."
"Not human?" Jiang Dao's voice was a low rumble. "When?"
"Just this evening, at dusk."
"Understood."
Xiang An lingered for a moment, his mouth opening as if to offer a suggestion or a warning, but he caught himself. He knew better. Jiang Dao was not a man who needed advice on how to handle an insult, nor was he a man who suffered losses lightly. The Guardian bowed deeply, retreating into the night without another word. He had delivered the spark; Jiang Dao would provide the fire.
Alone again, Jiang Dao exhaled a long, turbid breath. The air around him seemed to vibrate slightly with the release. He focused his mind, summoning the invisible interface that only he could see—the Panel.
It shimmered into existence before his eyes, a stark list of numbers and text that defined his existence.
Name: Jiang Dao
Strength: 19.0
Speed: 16.8
Spirit: 3.0
Martial Arts Mastery:
Extreme Demon Saber (Twelve Forms): Peak State. (Attributes: Rapid Reinforcement, Evil Qi Saturation, God-Killing Slash, Mad Demon Cleave).
Extreme Heavenly Demon Body: Peak State. (Attributes: Vajra Indestructibility, Scorching Yang Heat, Explosive Power, Warp Speed, Flesh Mutation).
Life Nourishing Technique: Immutable. (Attributes: Healing, Accelerated Recovery, Internal Qi Armor, Yin-Yang Harmony).
Congenital Fire Demon Gang: Immutable. (Attributes: Invincibility, Fire Poison Aura, Qi Net Binding, Extreme Yang Liquid).
Black Demon Evil Heart: Immutable. (Attributes: Strangulation, Concussive Force, Soul Seizing).
Wind Thunder Poison Sand Palm: Immutable. (Attributes: Toxic Touch, Thunder Flame).
Hundred Li Dragon Movement: Peak State. (Attributes: Swift Step).
Jiang Dao stared at the list. A frown creased his brow.
Several of his core techniques had reached the Peak State. The words mocked him. "Peak" meant the end of the road. No matter how much experience he poured into them, no matter how he tried to modify them, these techniques would yield no further power. The vessel was full.
"The Extreme Heavenly Demon Body... capped already?" he muttered.
Physical cultivation was a brutal curve; the higher you climbed, the thinner the air. His body had already mutated into something that barely passed for human, a biological fortress of muscle and density. Ordinary martial arts manuals were useless to him now. They were like trying to reinforce a steel dam with paper.
If this continued, his meridians would soon be clogged with internal Qi again, leading to another bottleneck. The gap between a mortal and the supernatural was a chasm that felt impossible to bridge.
"Chief!"
The shout from outside broke his introspection. A gang member sprinted into the courtyard. "Another letter. Anonymous."
"Bring it."
The subordinate entered, trembling slightly, and handed over a plain envelope. It bore no seal, no signature.
Jiang Dao tore it open. His eyes scanned the single sheet of paper, absorbing the message in a second.
The Master of the Spirit Child Palace has surfaced. He is hiding within the Money Gang in Sifang City. He is critically injured and currently in recovery.
Jiang Dao's eyes narrowed. A flare of internal Qi surged from his fingertips—a burst of heat so intense that the paper didn't just burn; it disintegrated into ash instantly.
Perfect.
His enemy had clashed with the Tuoba family and lost. A wounded tiger was still dangerous, but it was also slow. This was the opening he had been waiting for.
He stood up, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the floor. He didn't wait for morning. He opened the door and stepped out into the night, a predator catching the scent of blood.
Dawn broke over Sifang City, but the light brought no warmth to the secluded mansion deep within the city limits.
A scream, raw and terrifying, was abruptly cut short by the wet crunch of snapping bone.
In the dim main hall, the Master of the Spirit Child Palace lifted his head. He was a creature of jarring beauty—pale, flawless skin and delicate features that belied the monster underneath. He wiped his mouth, pulling away from the neck of a burly wanderer.
On the victim's throat, a deep, purple bite mark was visible. The man was dead, but worse than that, he was empty. In seconds, his muscular physique had collapsed in on itself, skin shrinking tight against bone until he looked like a dried husk left in the desert for a decade.
The Palace Master tossed the corpse aside like a used napkin.
"Too weak," he rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on pavement. "These ignorant mortals... relying on their essence is inefficient. It will take me three months to heal at this rate. From now on, bring me martial artists of the Divine Strength Realm. Their blood has flavor. Their power will fuel mine."
"Master," a robed figure—a Dharma King—stepped forward. "We have a problem. The Tuoba family was spotted outside the city last night."
"So soon?" The Palace Master's eyes darkened, turning reptilian in their coldness. "Who is leading them?"
"Tuoba Longteng. The second brother."
"Him?" A sneer curled the Palace Master's bloodstained lips. "Hehehe... If I can drain that old fool dry, I won't need months. I'll be restored in days. Where is he?"
"We didn't dare engage, but they seem to have set up camp in an abandoned manor just outside the city walls."
"Excellent. Verify it. If he is there, I want to know immediately."
"And the Divine Strength martial artists you requested?" another subordinate asked.
"Keep hunting," the Palace Master commanded. "The more, the better. Find them before we find Longteng."
The subordinates bowed low and melted into the shadows.
In a nondescript inn on the other side of the city, Jiang Dao sat cross-legged on a hard wooden bed.
He held a small porcelain vial in his hand. Inside, a single drop of emerald liquid swirled, emitting a glowing, eerie Yin energy. He shook the bottle rhythmically, a silent call broadcasting on a frequency only the dead could hear.
It was the Yin Source of the Spirit Child Palace's Left Guardian. A leash.
After nearly an hour of rhythmic shaking, the temperature in the room plummeted. Frost began to creep up the window panes. The air in the center of the room rippled like water disturbed by a stone, and a translucent, ghostly figure materialized.
"Old servant Han Ming greets the Lord," the ghost whispered, bowing low. "Forgive the delay. The Palace Master is paranoid; his surveillance is tight. I dared not leave sooner."
Jiang Dao stopped shaking the bottle. "Is he still there? How bad are the injuries?"
"We moved, Lord. We are now in a derelict house in the southern district. His wounds are deep, not yet healed. But..." Han Ming hesitated.
"But what?"
"News has arrived. The Second Elder of the Tuoba family is outside the city. The Palace Master intends to hunt him. If they clash... and if the Lord were to strike while they tear at each other's throats... victory would be assured."
"Tuoba Longteng is here?" Jiang Dao's mind raced. The Tuoba family were Exorcists—sworn enemies of his kind, just as dangerous as the Spirit Child Palace. To kill two birds with one stone would be a stroke of immense fortune.
"Han Ming," Jiang Dao asked, "how was the Palace Master injured so badly? I thought he fused with a Sacred Artifact. Even the Tuoba family shouldn't be able to break him so easily."
"You are unaware, Lord," Han Ming explained, his voice trembling. "The Tuoba family has allied with a terrifying faction known as Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountain. They borrowed a Sacred Artifact of their own. They ambushed the Master. The collision of two Sacred Artifacts... it was catastrophic."
Jiang Dao's eyes glittered. "Is a Sacred Artifact truly that powerful?"
"Unimaginably so. A single strike can level mountains."
"If I don't have one... can I kill him?"
"I... I do not know, Lord." The ghost looked genuinely terrified.
Jiang Dao fell silent. The risk was enormous. But in this world, hesitation was death. If he waited for the Palace Master to heal, the hunter would become the hunted.
"Go back," Jiang Dao ordered. "When the Palace Master moves against Tuoba, signal me."
"Yes, Lord. One final thing... The Master has sent his Dharma Kings into the city. They are hunting Divine Strength martial artists to harvest their blood."
"Harvesting blood to heal?" Jiang Dao let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Go."
The ghost bowed and dissolved into mist.
Evening descended on Sifang City, bringing with it the roar of life.
Five Fresh Alley was a sensory explosion. Steam rose in thick white pillars from giant iron pots. The air was thick with the smell of cilantro, roasting chili peppers, and the rich, gamey scent of mutton. It was a famous culinary destination in the Great Ye Dynasty, a place where travelers came to forget their troubles over a bowl of soup.
It was also the perfect hunting ground.
Pei Tian, a Dharma King of the Spirit Child Palace, walked through the crowd. He was a jarring anomaly—an old man in gloomy black robes, his face pale as chalk, a goatee hanging from a pointed chin. He looked like a corpse that had forgotten to lie down.
His triangular eyes scanned the vibrant crowd, looking not for food, but for vitality.
"Fresh mutton! Best in the city!"
"Beef soup! Cures what ails you!"
Pei Tian stopped at a mutton stall. The smell of the raw meat triggered a hunger deep in his gut—not for the meat itself, but for the life it represented. He picked up a raw slab, sniffed it deeply, and then, to the horror of the onlookers, dragged his long, pale tongue across the surface.
"Hey! Old man!" The stall waiter, a young man with a sharp knife, waved his hand angrily. "What do you think you're doing? You buy that! I can't sell it now!"
Pei Tian dropped the meat. "Stale," he hissed. "Dead for five hours."
He turned to leave.
"You think you can just walk away?" The waiter, fueled by indignation, lunged forward and grabbed Pei Tian's wrist.
The moment his skin touched the old man's, the waiter froze. It wasn't just cold; it was the absolute zero of the grave. The chill shot up his arm, piercing his marrow.
"You... You..."
The waiter tried to apologize, to scream, to do anything, but his voice failed. His heart began to hammer against his ribs—thump, THUMP, THUMP—faster and faster, a runaway drumbeat.
Pop.
The waiter's eyes rolled back, red flooding his vision as his heart literally burst within his chest. He collapsed, clutching his chest, dead before he hit the ground.
Pei Tian didn't even look back. He continued his patrol, blending into the chaos as the crowd began to scream.
He moved to a fish stall, eyeing the strong arms of the fishmonger. But as he stepped forward, the light in front of him was blocked.
A wall of black fabric stood in his path.
Pei Tian side-stepped. The wall moved with him. He tried to go left; the figure blocked him on the left. It was a man—massive, broad-shouldered, looming like a mountain.
Pei Tian looked up, annoyance flaring into murderous intent. "You seek death?"
The giant in the black robe looked down. And then, he smiled.
It wasn't a human smile. The corners of his mouth didn't just lift; they tore open, stretching unnaturally wide, all the way to his ears. It was a maw of jagged, dense teeth, a shark's grin grafted onto a man's face.
"You..." Pei Tian froze, the instinctual fear of a predator meeting an apex monster seizing his spine.
Crack.
A hand the size of a shovel clamped around Pei Tian's throat. It squeezed. There was no room for negotiation, no time for a spell. The Dharma King was lifted off the ground like a doll.
He tried to struggle, to summon his dark arts, but a tyrannical energy flooded his system, locking his limbs in place. He was paralyzed.
Jiang Dao held the struggling sorcerer by the neck, ignoring the terrified gasps of the crowd, and dragged him into a dark, narrow alleyway nearby.
Snap.
The sound of the neck breaking was crisp.
Deep in the shadows, Jiang Dao ripped Pei Tian's head from his shoulders with a wet tear. He tossed the head into the stagnant water of the city moat, followed casually by the body. It was done with the indifference of a man taking out the trash.
"Pity," Jiang Dao whispered, wiping his hand on the stone wall. "Just an Exorcist. Not an Evil Spirit. No points."
He adjusted his robes and walked back into the night, leaving no trace but ripples in the water.
The Thirteen Slopes, outside the city.
The landscape was desolate, a graveyard of trees and ruined structures.
The Spirit Child Palace Master stood on a ridge, staring at an abandoned villa in the distance. His pale face was twisted into a grotesque grin of anticipation.
"Is Pei Tian back?"
"Not yet, Master," Han Ming replied, bowing.
"Useless. We don't wait." The Master's form began to dissolve, turning into black smoke. "Tuoba Longteng is in that villa. Seal the perimeter. If he escapes, you die."
"And your wounds, Master?"
"Pain is irrelevant. With the Sacred Artifact, Tuoba is nothing."
The smoke drifted away, carried by the wind toward the villa.
Han Ming stood alone with another Dharma King, Fan Tian.
"I'll take the east," Han Ming said quickly. "You take the west."
"Agreed."
Han Ming rushed into the eastern woods. Once he was sure he was unobserved, he pulled a small paper effigy from his sleeve. He blew on it gently. The paper doll animated, caught a gust of wind, and zipped through the trees like a hummingbird.
Deep in the forest, Jiang Dao was already moving. He was a blur of motion, leaping from tree to tree, his senses extended to their limit.
Suddenly, he stopped. A small paper figure fluttered in front of him, circling once before darting back the way it came.
Jiang Dao grinned, his teeth flashing in the moonlight.
He landed on a massive boulder, looking down to where Han Ming was nervously peeling an orange.
"Lord!" Han Ming gasped, dropping the fruit.
"Where is he?" Jiang Dao asked, his voice low.
Han Ming pointed toward the ruined villa in the distance, where the sound of explosions and crumbling masonry had just begun to echo through the valley.
"He's there. The fight has started."
Jiang Dao cracked his knuckles, the sound like gunshots in the quiet woods.
"Good."