Chapter 11: Echoes of the Crimson Path
The moon hung like a silver eye over Bloodroot Peak, casting pale shadows across the mountain. The night was still—too still. Even the wind seemed to avoid the summit.
Tham Duong stood in the inner chamber of the peak's new hall, eyes closed, surrounded by an array of floating talismans. His breathing was steady. In his hand, Huyết Ảnh pulsed faintly, as if whispering secrets only he could hear.
A faint red glow emanated from the sword.
"What do you seek, master?" the sword whispered.
Duong replied inwardly, "I seek dominion—not of others, but of fate."
And the sword laughed. Not mockery, but recognition.
Outside, Minh Tử burst through the main gate, panting.
"Brother Duong! You need to see this!"
Duong opened his eyes. The talismans dropped, burnt to ash.
They walked together to the edge of the cliff, overlooking the valley below.
A thick mist crawled over the forest like a living thing.
And within it… shadows moved.
At first, Duong thought it might be beasts.
But the energy… was wrong.
It wasn't spiritual. It was resentful.
"A Corpse Mist?" Duong muttered.
Minh Tử shivered. "That only appears when… something ancient dies with hate."
Duong nodded grimly. "Or when something ancient wakes up with vengeance."
At that moment, a bell rang from the central sect grounds.
Low, heavy, and ominous.
The Mourning Bell.
A sound that hadn't been heard in fifty years.
It meant only one thing: A threat beyond the sect's control was approaching.
Hours later, within the main hall of the Heavenly Sky Sect, a meeting was underway.
The Sect Master, clad in silver-blue robes embroidered with stormclouds, stood at the highest seat. Elders, core disciples, and inner representatives sat below.
Tham Duong stood near the back, silent.
"The Corpse Mist is spreading," said Elder Thanh Viên. "Three villages have gone silent. Even talismanic wards are ineffective."
"What's causing it?" asked Core Disciple Yến Tuyết, her voice calm but cold.
The Sect Master frowned. "We believe it to be… a sleeping entity."
A hush fell.
Sleeping entities were remnants from a time before cultivation.
Primordial beings.
Some called them gods.
Others, demons.
But all feared them.
Duong stepped forward.
"I wish to investigate the origin point."
Murmurs echoed through the hall.
"Who is this upstart?"
"Isn't he the one with the blood sword?"
"He beat Hoang Tieu Lạc, but this is suicide!"
The Sect Master raised a hand.
"Tham Duong. You are new to our halls. Why volunteer?"
Duong bowed.
"Because the sword remembers what I do not."
The elders exchanged glances.
Strange answer.
But not unfamiliar — cultivators bound to ancient weapons often spoke in riddles.
The Sect Master nodded.
"Very well. You will lead a scout group. Three others will join you."
By dawn, they departed.
The group consisted of:
Tham Duong, leader, wielder of Huyết Ảnh.
Minh Tử, support cultivator, formation apprentice.
Lan Yên, a silent girl with a frost-element constitution and a short temper.
Phạm Vũ, a rogue cultivator recently inducted into the sect, known for his tracking skills and shady past.
They moved fast, crossing several valleys in a day.
The closer they got to the Corpse Mist, the colder the air became.
On the third night, they reached a ruined shrine — the supposed origin point.
What remained of it was barely stone.
But the aura… was undeniable.
Something had clawed its way out.
Not in rage.
But in purpose.
Duong knelt by the altar.
"There was a seal here," he said. "Broken from within."
Minh Tử shivered. "What was imprisoned?"
Duong traced the cracked stone with one finger. As his spiritual energy flowed, a symbol emerged: a lotus entwined with chains.
He paled.
"I've seen this before. In my past life."
Silence.
Even Lan Yên looked up.
"In your… past life?" she asked slowly.
Duong rose. "Yes. I was a general in the Celestial Empire. I helped bind something beneath this land. A creature of blood and shadow. It called itself… The Red Mother."
Phạm Vũ spat. "That's a myth. A ghost story."
Duong's eyes glinted. "No. She is real. And now, she's awake."
Suddenly, the mist around them thickened.
Shapes emerged — humanoid, twisted, flesh melted like wax. Their eyes glowed with red runes.
Corpse puppets.
Lan Yên reacted first. "Formation: Ice Bloom!"
A field of frost exploded from her palms, freezing the first wave.
Phạm Vũ leapt into action, hurling knives that curved midair.
Minh Tử threw talismans, each one igniting into light barriers.
Duong stood still.
Then drew Huyết Ảnh.
"Come, Red Mother's spawn. Let your echoes feed my blade."
The sword howled.
He became motion.
Every swing cleaved bodies that didn't bleed.
Each slash echoed with ancient chants.
The corpses burned from within — not by fire, but by memory.
After an hour, the battlefield fell still.
Hundreds of corpses lay shattered.
Minh Tử collapsed to his knees. "We survived…"
Lan Yên leaned against a rock, blood on her lip. "Barely."
Phạm Vũ stared at Duong, a flicker of respect — and fear — in his eyes.
"That sword…" he said slowly, "it isn't just feeding on blood, is it?"
Duong sheathed it.
"No," he said. "It's feeding on history."
They returned to the sect the next day.
With proof of the Red Mother's awakening.
The Sect Master declared a High Alert state.
Martial law was enacted across outer sect regions.
And a special division was formed — the Crimson Watch.
Its first captain?
Tham Duong.
But far beneath the earth, where light could not reach…
A figure of crimson silk and bone sat atop a throne of writhing roots.
Her eyes opened — glowing like molten ruby.
"He lives again…" she whispered."Good. Let us dance… one last time."