A month passed.
Gone were the days of hiding in ruined caves and cold stone chambers. The mountain fortress—once a blood-soaked ruin—now pulsed with life. Training fields stretched across the upper ledges. New cultivation chambers glowed faintly with rune arrays. Supply lines were organized. Patrol routes mapped.
What once was a refuge had become a kingdom in the making.
At the heart of it all stood Xuan Long, unmoving.
He stood alone in the central courtyard, black robes fluttering lightly in the wind, eyes locked on the sky. The distant sun filtered down through a veil of mist. Around him, sparring echoed—wooden blades clashing, bursts of spiritual pressure slamming into stone dummies, the occasional shout or grunt of pain followed by laughter.
But within his stillness... there was weight.
A silence that swallowed joy.
Cultivation Progress
The transformation of the army was undeniable:
Hei Mo had broken through—Foundation Establishment Realm (Early Stage)—his control over darkness tighter, deadlier.
Mu Chen had risen to Qi Vein Level 9, his poisons now laced with spiritual virulence.
The Demi-human twins stood at Qi Vein Level 9, their illusions so lifelike they could deceive a mirror.
The twenty new recruits, once ragged prisoners, now stood proud at Qi Vein Level 5, their discipline carved by daily drills and ruthless guidance.
It was fast—blisteringly so.
But to Xuan Long, it wasn't enough.
At the Courtyard – Doubt in Progress
Mu Chen approached, wiping sweat from his brow, a wide smile on his face.
"Master," he bowed respectfully, "we've made great progress. The soldiers are stable. The demi-humans can now mask their presence fully. Even I feel I'm nearing a bottleneck."
"But… you don't seem pleased."
Xuan Long remained silent for a long while.
Then he spoke—his voice quiet, yet sharp.
"I am happy… but not satisfied."
Mu Chen's smile faded.
"At this pace," Xuan Long continued, "it will take decades to reach Golden Core."
"And the enemies we will face… they won't give us that long."
His gaze shifted from the horizon to the sparring fields—where swords danced and shadows blinked.
"They'll come faster. Stronger. We must be ready."
Blood Needs Blood
Hei Mo, overhearing from nearby, stepped forward. He wore a cloak of violet flame stitched from demonic essence, his eyes reflecting an abyss that once held despair—now filled with purpose.
"Master… you're right."
He paused, voice low.
"But to rise faster… we need better resources."
"Low-grade spirit stones and shallow techniques won't carry us beyond Foundation. We need something stronger. Something darker."
Xuan Long turned his gaze to him. "What do you mean?"
"Blood Pills," Hei Mo said.
Mu Chen blinked, startled.
Hei Mo nodded grimly.
"They're used in demonic cultivation—especially for those on the darker paths. I've read of them in the forbidden archives. They force spiritual evolution by consuming the essence of others."
"My five subordinates are also demon path cultivators. They'll benefit the most from it."
Xuan Long's voice cooled.
"Explain."
"There are two ways to obtain them," Hei Mo said. "First: Blood Refinement—a technique used to craft blood pills from slain cultivators. It's brutal… but pure."
He hesitated.
"The second is through cursed sacrificial rites—faster, yes, but unstable. The user often loses their mind or their soul."
Xuan Long didn't even blink.
"We do it the right way."
"No shortcuts. No corrupted souls."
"Find me the blood refining method."
Hei Mo bowed. "Understood, Master."
Xuan Long's eyes narrowed slightly. "Where do I find demonic cultivators?"
Hei Mo looked up.
"The Southern Territories," he said. "A lawless frontier. Black markets, wandering demon sects, rogue cultivators—they all gather there. If the blood refining method still exists, it's there."
Xuan Long turned his back to them.
"Then I'll go alone."
Mu Chen stiffened. "But Master—"
"You don't need me to hold your hand," Xuan Long interrupted. "You are all strong enough to repel a Foundation Level One enemy. That's enough."
"Now prove it."
Trial of the Army
That night, under the pale light of a full moon, the entire army gathered on the plateau at the back of the fortress. The sky was quiet, filled with stars, the mountain winds still.
Xuan Long stood at the center of the field—motionless.
His presence alone made the torches flicker.
"Everyone," he said, voice calm. "Attack me."
Silence.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
Mu Chen blinked. "M-Master?"
Hei Mo's eyes widened. "We… we can't—"
"I said," Xuan Long's voice sharpened, "attack me. Now."
The command hit like a hammer of will.
They hesitated only for a moment.
Then—twenty-four warriors surged forward.
Blades shimmered. Poisons flew. Illusions flared. Flame talismans burned the air. Fists of spiritual force slammed from all sides.
FWOOOOOSH!
The entire field lit up with a deadly storm of combined power.
And yet—
Everything vanished.
Every technique, every blast, every illusion—devoured.
The air rippled. Dust settled.
And Xuan Long still stood.
Unmoving.
Untouched.
Not a single thread on his robe was disturbed.
He looked around slowly.
"Good," he said, almost softly. "You've grown."
He turned away.
"Now I leave."
"Train. Protect what we've built. And grow stronger… until you no longer need my shadow."
They stood frozen, breaths shallow, eyes wide.
They had unleashed everything they had.
And he didn't flinch.
Southbound
That same night, Xuan Long stood at the highest edge of the mountain.
His cloak whipped behind him. The moon glistened over his shoulder like the eye of judgment. Wind howled, but he didn't feel it.
His energy pulsed—quiet, steady, dense like molten core.
He looked toward the south.
"Blood refining…"
"Demonic sects…"
"I will find them."
He leapt into the sky.
Like a spear made of vengeance and silence, he tore through the clouds. The world blurred beneath him—forests, rivers, villages—none of them mattered.
"I will make something new…"
"A force this world cannot understand…"
"A righteous army…"
"Born of shadows."