Chapter 1: The Heart of a Demon Never Has Regret Even in Death
Translator: Skyfarrow
Editor: Skyfarrow
"Damien Gray, quietly hand over the Spring Autumn Cicada and I'll give you a quick death!"
"Old bastard Damien, stop resisting! Today all the major factions of justice have gathered to destroy your devil lair. This place is surrounded — this time, you will definitely be beheaded!"
"Damien Gray, you damn demon! Just to cultivate the Spring Autumn Cicada, you killed thousands. You've committed countless unforgivable sins!"
"Demon, 300 years ago you insulted me, stole my purity, killed my family and my nine generations! Since that day I've hated you! Today, you must die!"
...
Damien Gray wore deep green robes torn to shreds. His hair was disheveled, and his whole body was covered in blood. He looked around.
His blood-soaked robes waved lightly in the mountain breeze, like a war flag.
Fresh blood flowed freely from his wounds. A pool of blood had formed under his feet just from standing.
Enemies surrounded him completely — there was no escape.
Death was certain.
Damien understood this clearly. Yet his expression remained calm even in the face of death.
His gaze was serene, his eyes like deep wells — silent, endless.
Around him, the elite warriors of justice stood: veterans and young talents. Some roared, some sneered. Some looked fearful, holding their wounds. But none dared to attack first.
They knew — Damien's final strike could be deadly.
This tension held for six long hours until the evening sun bathed the mountain in fiery gold.
Then, Damien moved.
The warriors instantly tensed and stepped back.
The stone beneath Damien's feet had long been stained dark red. His face was deathly pale from blood loss, yet under the fading sunlight, it shimmered strangely.
Looking up at the sky, Damien softly chuckled.
"The sun sets above the blue mountain,
The autumn moon rides the spring wind.
Mornings are fine as hair, nights like snow.
Whether success or failure, in the end — it's nothing."
His mind wandered back to his former life on Earth.
He was once a scholar in China who accidentally entered this world. He endured hardship for 300 years — then another 200. Over 500 years flashed by in a blink.
Memories long buried returned to life.
"I failed." Damien sighed inside, but felt no regret.
This outcome, he had foreseen. When he chose this path, he was ready to accept the end.
To become a demon is to embrace cruelty, blood, and hatred — to stand against the world.
"If the Spring Autumn Cicada works… I'll still be a demon in my next life!"
He laughed out loud.
"Wicked demon, what are you laughing at?!"
"Be careful! He's about to attack!"
"Surrender the Spring Autumn Cicada!!"
Just then — BOOM — Damien was swallowed by a blinding wave of energy.
Spring rain fell softly over Greenmist Mountain.
It was late night, a gentle breeze carrying light drizzle.
Yet Greenmist Mountain wasn't dark. From its sides down to the foot, countless lights glowed — homes lit like stars.
These lights came from tall buildings. Though not numbering ten thousand, there were at least several thousand.
At the center of the mountain sat Graystone Village, a symbol of civilization amid the wild mountain.
In the middle of the village, a grand ceremonial hall glowed brightly.
"Ancestors, please bless us! May this ceremony bring us talented, intelligent young men, and new hope for our families!" The Graystone Clan chief, a middle-aged man with greying sideburns, knelt in white ceremonial robes. Eyes shut, hands clasped, he prayed devoutly.
Before him stood a tall black shrine with three layers of ancestral tablets. Incense burned beside them, smoke curling in silence.
Behind him knelt over a dozen people — elders and key members of the clan, all dressed in white, heads bowed.
When prayers ended, the clan chief knelt forward and kowtowed, his forehead thumping gently against the floor. The rest followed, creating a solemn rhythm.
Afterward, they rose and quietly exited the shrine.
In the corridor, they sighed in relief. The air became more relaxed. Talk began.
"Time passes quickly. A year already?"
"Feels like the last ceremony just happened."
"Tomorrow is the start of the annual ceremony — I wonder what new talents we'll see."
"Hopefully some true geniuses. It's been three years since we've had one in the Graystone Clan."
"Yeah. Meanwhile, Bearford Village and others had promising talents. Especially that Blake Frost from the Bai family — terrifying natural talent."
As the name Blake Frost was mentioned, the elders' faces darkened.
The boy had stunning talent. In only two years, he became a Level 3 Gu Master — stronger than most adults.
It was certain: he'd become the pillar of his clan, possibly even an elite master one day.
"Still, this year's ceremony holds promise."
"Indeed. Zane Gray's branch produced a genius. He could talk at three months, walk at four. At five, he wrote poems. Truly extraordinary."
"And he's humble, driven. I heard his early works — David, Emily, John — they're brilliant!"
The Graystone Clan chief was last to leave the temple. He closed the door and listened quietly to their talk.
He knew they were speaking of Damien Gray — the young star of their juniors.
Such early brilliance often meant strong talent in cultivation.
"If he shows A-grade potential, he might rival Blake Frost. Even B-grade would make him a major future pillar. But odds are high he'll be A-grade."
The clan chief smiled.
He turned and said, "It's late. Rest well tonight, everyone — save your strength for the ceremony."
The elders exchanged cautious glances.
They understood: tomorrow, they'd compete fiercely to mentor the best youth.
Especially Damien Gray — orphaned, one of only two descendants of Zane Gray's bloodline. Whoever recruited him could ensure their branch's glory for a century.
"But I'll say this now," the chief warned. "No tricks or underhanded schemes. Maintain the clan's unity."
"Of course."
"We understand."
"Good night, then. Take care."
The elders left, silent and thoughtful.
Soon, the corridor fell quiet again.
The chief walked to a window. Cool spring air blew in.
From the third floor, he saw much of Graystone Village.
Despite the late hour, many homes still glowed with light.
"Tomorrow's ceremony affects everyone's future. No wonder they can't sleep."
He sighed.
At that moment, another pair of eyes looked at the same lights — thoughtful, full of emotion.
"Graystone Village… this is 500 years ago?" Damien stood by a window, letting rain sprinkle onto his face.
The Spring Autumn Cicada was a rare, mystical Gu — ranked 7th among the Ten Great Mystical Gu.
Its ability: rebirth through time.
"It worked. I've been reborn — 500 years in the past!" Damien stared at his young, pale hands. Slowly, he clenched them. This was real.
The sound of soft rain tapped the window.
He closed his eyes for a long moment… then opened them again.
"500 years of experience… it really feels like a dream."
But he knew it clearly: This was definitely not a dream.