The air was still…So still it was almost unnatural, as if the entire forest had lost its voice after the fall of the last beast in the pack.
Tianhan sat on a broken tree trunk, his hand trembling as he wiped away the blood that had splattered across his eyes. There wasn't a single part of his body unscathed—bruises, open wounds, deep bite marks where the beasts' teeth had carved into his flesh.
He did not feel fear.He did not feel anger.He did not even feel pride for surviving.
The only thing he felt in that moment… was weight.
The weight of his body…The weight of his breath…And the heavy, terrifying truth he had just discovered:
He was not the one who had fought.It was the blood flowing inside him.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment… then opened them slowly.
He knew he needed to treat his wounds…But he had no means to do so.No pills.No herbs.No healing technique.
Suddenly…
Deep within his chest…Something trembled.
A pulse.Then another…And then a faint voice rose from within—Not a sound heard by the ears…But by the soul.
"Your time has come… the first step on the Devil's Path."
Heat gathered in his heart, rushing through his veins as though he were drinking living flame.
Tianhan pressed both hands against the ground, but he could not stand.The heat climbed higher…Then exploded all at once.
TUUUUM!!
It was like a giant drum being struck inside his body.
And suddenly, words appeared in his mind…Clear, orderly, carved rather than spoken:
Art of the War Devils – First Stage: Blood PulseA body-tempering art through pain.The foundation of strength… is enduring suffering.
He did not understand how the words appeared.
But he felt them—Felt as if the blood itself was speaking.
"T-this… a cultivation art?"
He tried lifting his head, but a scorching wave flooded his sight.
Then the pain began.
His body glued itself to the ground as he stifled a scream.
Every wound split open again…Every bruise darkened…His muscles twitched violently…His bones shrieked…His skin burned from the inside out.
The cultivation art was ruthless.Savage.Made for men who had no luxury of rest.
Tianhan clenched his teeth until blood filled his mouth.But the heat didn't stop.
It drifted toward his heart…Then toward the tips of his fingers.
That was the moment he understood:
This art was not made for healing.It was made to destroy the body…Then rebuild it stronger.
His muscles stretched.Torn tissue re-wove itself.Broken bones shifted back into place with sharp, cracking sounds.
But…
The art did not heal everything.The surface wounds remained.The scars stayed.
As if the art itself said:
"Strength remembers pain.A body needs scars to become a weapon."
After dozens of minutes of blazing agony, a surge of energy suddenly rose from below his navel.
He felt something being pulled from within him…Then extended…Then burst.
He steadied his breath—and knew.He knew exactly what had just happened.
He had broken through to a new level in the Bone-Tempering Realm.Not through training…But through the demonic art that rebuilt his muscles from the roots up.
Slowly, he stood.
He tested his fist.Tested his legs.Tested his once-frozen shoulder.
Everything was heavier…More solid…More capable of generating force he never imagined.
But one question hammered inside his skull…
He stood in the middle of the slaughter…Looked down at his blood-soaked hands…And whispered:
"How do I measure strength?What does it mean to be strong?How many blows can I kill with?What level have I reached?"
He lifted his gaze toward the mountain swallowed by fog.
He had no measure…No mentor…No testing stone…No elder to guide him.
He didn't know if this breakthrough was remarkable…Or just a small, meaningless step.
But one thing was certain:
The pulse granted to him by the blood…Was only the beginning.
He tightened his fist—and murmured:
"I'll discover my strength… when I meet something I cannot kill."
Then he walked—slowly,but steadily—toward the depths of the mountain.