The demonic scream pierced through the morning like a blade through silk, carrying with it the weight of countless tortured souls. The sound did not just assault the ears; it attacked the cultivation bases of every soldier in the camp. Spiritual energy scattered like startled birds, leaving men gasping as their carefully maintained foundations cracked under the pressure.
Captain Voss, a Foundation Establishment cultivator who had fought in six border wars, dropped to one knee as his dantian convulsed. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. Lieutenant Karr, weaker at Qi Condensation, collapsed, his meridians burning as if filled with molten metal instead of spiritual energy.
These were men who had faced demonic beasts, survived cultivation deviations, and endured the soul-crushing pressure of their enemies' killing intent. Now they cowered like mortals before the shadow that writhed across the ridge.
But Jarek Wan stepped forward, his cultivation base as steady as mountain stone.
The Heavenly Demon Physique that had made him legendary pulsed within his meridians, drinking in the malevolent energy like desert sand drinking rain. Most cultivators would have been crippled by exposure to such pure demonic qi. Jarek felt it flowing through his channels like recognition, like coming home.
His father's war axe, a Heaven-rank artifact that had tasted the blood of immortals, hummed with anticipation in his grip. The weapon's spirit stirred, ancient and hungry, sensing prey worthy of its edge.
The shadow on the ridge writhed like living darkness, its form defying the natural laws that governed even the most powerful demonic cultivators. Where it touched the earth, spiritual energy withered and died. The essence of winter devoured frost, which then screamed.
Behind him, his cultivators were falling apart. Some pressed their faces to the ground in submission, their proud warrior spirits broken by a single taste of true demonic presence. Others vomited blood as their cultivation bases collapsed entirely, years of painstaking progress unraveling in moments.
Jarek raised one hand, and his own killing intent rolled out like a physical force.
The shadow paused.
Show yourself, demon, Jarek called, his voice carrying the authority of someone who had slaughtered his way to the peak of the Nascent Soul realm before his twenty-fifth birthday. Spiritual energy infused each word, causing the air itself to tremble.
The shadow responded by reshaping itself, darkness flowing like water into a vaguely humanoid form. For a heartbeat, it almost looked like a normal demonic cultivator, tall, elegant, radiating the otherworldly beauty that made mortal women weep with longing. Then the illusion shattered, revealing something that made even Jarek's iron waver.
This was not just any demon. This was old. Ancient. Something that had crawled out of the deepest layers of the Netherworld, where even Immortal Emperors feared to tread. Its aura pressed down on the camp like the weight of ten thousand mountains. Jarek felt his own cultivation responding, the Heavenly Demon Physique recognizing something familiar in that crushing presence. His meridians sang with dark ecstasy as demonic qi flooded his system, strengthening rather than destroying.
The creature's form shifted again, and for one terrifying moment, Jarek saw his father's face staring back at him. Not the peaceful mask from the funeral pyre, but the expression of agony and betrayal from the moment the poisoned wine touched his lips. The moment he realized his own brother had orchestrated his death.
Why did you not save me, little prince, the shadow whispered in his father's voice, the words carrying across the battlefield with supernatural clarity. Why were you not strong enough.
Jarek's spiritual energy flared, his killing intent spiking so high that several of his remaining soldiers fainted from the pressure. But he did not retreat. Instead, he smiled, the same cold, beautiful smile that had earned him the name Demon General.
Maybe he was finally going mad from seventeen years of carrying his father's ghost. Or maybe this ancient horror had just made a fatal mistake by showing him the face of the man whose death he had spent his entire cultivation career avenging.
The shadow seemed to recognize something in his expression because it leaned closer, its formless features studying him with the intensity of a master appraiser examining a rare treasure. Waves of demonic qi rolled off its body, turning snow to steam and making reality itself seem to warp and bend.
Then it struck.
Something flew through the air faster than thought, slamming into the ground between Jarek and his men with enough force to crack the earth to its bones. The impact sent shock waves through the spiritual energy of the entire valley, causing cultivation bases to fluctuate wildly across a dozen li in every direction.
When the dust settled, they could see what the demon had thrown.
A corpse. But not just any corpse. This had been Chen Wei, a Core Formation expert who had been leading harassment raids against their supply lines for three months. One of the most feared demonic cultivators in the enemy army, known for his Blood River Technique that could drain a hundred men in minutes.
Now he was nothing. Candle wax melted his body armor, a Soul-rank defensive treasure that had turned aside Nascent Soul attacks, into his flesh. Cracked and blackened skin showed spiritual energy still bleeding from the wounds in wisps of corrupted qi. But it was his chest that made even Jarek's iron stomach churn.
Something tore open the ribcage from the inside, and bones snapped outward like the petals of some hellish flower. Where his heart should have been, where his golden core should have been, there was only an empty cavity that still smoked with residual demonic energy.
Someone had ripped out Chen Wei's cultivation base while he was still alive.
General, Captain Voss whispered, his voice barely audible above the wind. What kind of demon can devour a Core Formation expert's golden core like that.
Jarek kneeled beside the corpse, extending his spiritual sense to examine the wounds. The precision was surgical. Whoever had done this understood human cultivation better than most human cultivators. They had known exactly how to breach Chen Wei's defenses, exactly how to extract his power without damaging the spiritual essence contained within.
A useful one, Jarek said finally, standing and brushing snow from his knees.
The shadow had vanished, leaving only the corpse and the lingering taste of sulfur and burned souls in the air. But Jarek could still feel its presence pressing against his consciousness, sensing its attention like the weight of heaven itself.
This Chen Wei had been bleeding us dry for months, he continued, nudging the body with his boot. Someone just solved our problem. And sent us a message.
He turned and looked at the cultivators who could withstand the demonic pressure with their strong cultivation bases, or those whose minds were broken enough not to care. They looked at him like they were seeing him for the first time. Maybe they were. Maybe the man who could smile at ancient demons and call them allies was someone new entirely.
Break camp, he ordered, his voice carrying the absolute authority of a peak Nascent Soul expert. We march for the capital at dawn. And send word ahead, tell the Emperor that his future son-in-law is bringing wedding gifts.
In the Vermilion Palace, five hundred li away, Princess Mira Li sat in a lotus position within her cultivation chamber and felt the fabric of heaven and earth shiver around her.
She had been meditating on the Thousand Lotus Sutra, trying to advance her stalled Foundation Establishment cultivation, when the disturbance hit. It felt like someone had struck the world itself like a gong, sending ripples through the spiritual energy that connected all living things.
Her golden core, still small, still fragile compared to the monsters who ruled the cultivation world, pulsed with unease. Something had shifted in the cosmic balance. Something that would remake the game she had been playing for seventeen years.
Opening her eyes, she studied her reflection in the polished bronze mirror across from her meditation cushion. Thirty-five years old, with the delicate beauty that made court poets compose odes to her jade-like skin and pearl-like teeth. They saw the flower to be admired and protected.
They had no idea that flowers often bloom brightest in soil stained with blood.
Her fingers traced the jade pendant at her throat, a Heaven-rank spatial treasure that concealed the Soul Devouring Blade within its innocent exterior. Seventeen years ago, that blade had pierced the Dragon King's immortal heart while he whispered sweet promises of shared power and eternal love.
She had been eighteen and naive enough to believe that someone like her could rule beside a being whose cultivation had reached the legendary Immortal Emperor realm. He had been beautiful and ancient and utterly convinced that his ten-thousand-year lifespan made him untouchable.
Right until the moment her blade found the one weakness in his Immortal Dragon Physique, and his golden blood, rich with centuries of accumulated spiritual essence, painted the floors of the Jade Spire.
But immortal emperors do not die easily. Especially not the old ones, the ones who had transcended mortality so thoroughly that death itself was just another obstacle to overcome.
His soul had escaped in the moment of physical death, slipping away like smoke through her fingers. Then it had done what powerful souls always do when their original bodies fail: it found a new vessel.
Princess Xue. Sweet, innocent Xue, who was born when the Dragon King died, was eleven when she started having dreams that were not her own. Dreams of soaring through clouds on wings of golden flame, of hoarding mountains of spirit stones and virgin sacrifices, of burning entire sects to ash for the crime of disrespecting dragon kind.
The palace physicians called it cultivation deviation brought on by breakthrough attempts too early in life. The court called it stress from their father's increasing paranoia about succession. But Mira knew better.
The witch doctor who had helped her plan the Dragon King's assassination had been clear: souls at the Immortal Emperor level do not simply vanish. They adapt. They survive. And they remember who killed them.
Now her father wanted to marry her off to the Demon General. A man whose Heavenly Demon Physique made him as feared as any demonic cultivator, his legendary beauty matched his reputation for violence only. A man who had supposedly killed three wives before they could even complete the wedding ceremony.
Perfect.
Mira rose from her cultivation position and walked to the window, looking out over the imperial capital. Somewhere beyond the horizon, in the frozen wastelands where demonic qi ran thick as blood, Jarek Wan was preparing for his journey home. To claim his bride. To play his part in her father's grand design for peace through political marriage.
But what if the bride he received was not the one he expected.
She turned back to the mirror, and for just a moment, she could swear she saw golden eyes staring back at her instead of her own dark ones. Eyes that burned with the fury of a dragon who remembered being betrayed.
Sister, she whispered to the reflection, her voice carrying just enough spiritual energy to make the bronze surface ripple like water. I am going to save you from a fate worse than death. You should thank me.
But Xue's face, or the Dragon King's soul wearing Xue's face, just smiled back with terrible understanding.
Because that is what predators do in the cultivation world. They adapt. Survive and find new hunting grounds.
And Princess Mira Li had been hunting much longer than anyone suspected.