The night was a shroud, but for Jiang Dao, the darkness was a sanctuary.
He moved through the shadows of the Yellow Wind Valley like a ghost, his massive, bloated frame already beginning its grotesque retreat. His skin rippled and hissed as the over-extended muscles coiled back, the bone-deep heat of his transformation fading into the cold mountain air. By the time he slipped through the window of his private quarters, the monstrous entity that had just committed slaughter was gone. In its place stood a man of deceptively ordinary proportions.
Jiang Dao knew the value of a mask. In his transformed state, his features were a violent distortion of humanity—teeth like a shark's, temples bulging with raw power, a face widened and warped beyond recognition. Even if that hovering, blood-red eye had caught a glimpse of him, it would be looking for a demon, not a disciple.
Inside the silence of his room, he didn't immediately rest. Instead, he reached into the folds of his robes and pulled out the Heaven-Destined Artifact. It was a heavy, pulse-quickening thing, radiating a power that felt both ancient and predatory. He had kept it meticulously sealed, wrapping its aura in layers of his own inner Qi to ensure not a single whisper of its presence could leak out into the valley's sensitive air.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, the wood creaking under his weight. His breath slowed, his mind sharpening into a razor's edge. He couldn't afford to be subtle anymore. The original plan—slipping in, taking the Purple God Flower, and vanishing—had disintegrated the moment he realized he was competing with a cult of monsters. They weren't just guarding the flower; they were preparing the ground for a blood sacrifice. The recruitment of new disciples wasn't a talent search; it was the gathering of livestock.
He closed his eyes, forcing his inner Qi to permeate the artifact. If he was to survive the coming storm and seize the flower from the heart of a forbidden zone, he didn't just need to be strong. He needed to be unstoppable.
While Jiang Dao meditated in the dark, the forbidden cave was a hive of frantic, murderous energy.
A blur of crimson shadow and a streak of white light tore through the entrance, landing with a heavy thud near the spot where the middle-aged man had been reduced to cinders. The blood shadow hissed, a sound like steam escaping a pipe, as he looked down at the human-shaped pile of ash on the ground.
"We've been compromised," the shadow rasped. The air around him began to thicken with a foul, humid miasma.
"How?" Bai Feng, the short, thin man, stammered. His face was a mask of fluctuating terror and disbelief. "The Cult Leader is at the threshold of his breakthrough. The others are locked in their own meditations. If a master has infiltrated the valley now..."
"It's no master. It's a ghost," the blood shadow replied, his voice dripping with venom. "Lock down the valley. Now. Seal the gates, post the guards, and tell the recruits that no one leaves on pain of death. I'll find him. My Blood Eye caught the residue of the [Blood Dragon Burst] on the killer. It's the same rat who poked his nose into the forbidden zone earlier."
Bai Feng's eyes widened. "The same one? He took a direct hit from the Burst and survived? He didn't just survive—he killed Hu Yun?"
"He's carrying something," the shadow mused, his form flickering like a dying candle. "I felt the hum of a Saint Tool during the clash. That explains his survival. But his luck ends tonight. One of the Four Blood Guards is finishing their seclusion as we speak. Once they are out, we will use the 'old method' to peel the skin from this interloper's bones."
Bai Feng nodded fervently, though his hands still shook. "Good. We've spent years hollowing out Yellow Wind Valley, turning it into our personal slaughterhouse. We can't let some nameless wanderer ruin the harvest. I've already heard whispers that the external Exorcist factions are sniffing around."
"Let them sniff," the shadow growled. "Once this sacrifice is complete, we vanish. We'll take the flower, change our names, and emerge as gods. I am a hair's breadth away from the Dragon Grade. With my [Fiendish Demon Transformation], even a true Dragon Grade warrior wouldn't dare challenge me."
The shadow swept his sleeve, and a gust of unnatural wind scattered the ashes of their fallen comrade into the cracks of the stone. By morning, there would be no evidence that a man had ever died there.
The sun rose over the valley not with warmth, but with a harsh, clinical glare.
The atmosphere among the new disciples was thick with a tension that felt like static electricity. Rumors moved through the ranks like a plague. More deaths. More bodies found in the night—dried out, withered like fallen leaves, their life force vacuumed through their skin without a single drop of blood spilled on the floor.
But it was the announcement that followed that truly broke the morale of the crowd. The valley was under total lockdown. Officially, it was to "protect the disciples" and "identify the evil spirit" responsible for the murders. Unofficially, everyone could feel the walls closing in.
"Have you looked around?"
The voice belonged to Daoist Qing Song, a man with a sharp nose and eyes that seemed to see through walls. He was addressing a small circle of recruits near the training grounds.
"I've been watching the gates. I've been watching the barracks. Where are the actual disciples of Yellow Wind Valley? Where are the veterans? The masters?" Qing Song lowered his voice, his gaze darting toward the shadows. "All I see are us—the newcomers—and a handful of low-level grunts who can't even hold a sword straight. They told us the seniors were away on 'missions.' You don't send every person of rank away at the same time. Not unless you're hiding an empty house."
"Are you saying they're dead?" an old man whispered, his face pale.
"I'm saying this place is a tomb," Qing Song replied. "I suggest we stop acting like rivals and start acting like allies. If something comes out of the dark tonight, a solo fighter is just a snack. We need a pact."
Jiang Dao happened to be walking past the group at that moment, his expression unreadable. Qing Song's eyes locked onto him immediately. He could sense something about Jiang Dao—not his power, which Jiang Dao had buried deep—but a sense of stillness that didn't belong in a frightened recruit.
"Friend," Qing Song called out, stepping into Jiang Dao's path. "I am Daoist Qing Song. We're forming a coalition for mutual survival. You look like a man who knows his way around a fight. Will you join us?"
Jiang Dao didn't slow his pace. "I walk alone, Daoist. It's a habit I don't intend to break. But I appreciate the offer."
"The valley is a maze right now," Qing Song called after him, his voice tinged with frustration. "You won't find the exit on your own!"
Jiang Dao didn't respond. He didn't need to find the exit. He needed to find the flower.
The summons came shortly after noon.
Bai Feng, the thin old man, stood on the roof of the main hall, his gray hair whipping in the wind. In his hand, he held a pulsating, blood-red eyeball. He held it up to the sun, looking through it as if it were a lens, scanning the crowd of two hundred recruits as they filed into the square.
Jiang Dao felt the gaze of the eye pass over him. It was a cold, oily sensation, like a slug crawling over his skin. He didn't resist it; instead, he allowed his Qi to settle into a dormant, stagnant pool.
The eye found nothing. To the artifact, Jiang Dao was just another unremarkable Exorcist with a slightly above-average physique.
Bai Feng's face twisted in a grimace of confusion. He scanned the crowd a second time, his frustration mounting. No reaction. No trace of the [Blood Dragon Burst].
"Very well!" Bai Feng finally shouted, his voice cracking. "It seems we are among friends. No demons are hiding in this square today."
A collective sigh of relief rippled through the recruits, but Jiang Dao knew better. The game was just beginning.
"However," Bai Feng continued, his eyes narrowing as he pointed into the crowd. "I have observed certain individuals among you who possess... exceptional potential. You! And you! You in the black robes—step forward!"
He pointed to thirty people in total. Jiang Dao was one of them. Each of the thirty was a physical powerhouse or a cultivator of significant talent.
Bai Feng led them away from the main square and into a private hall. He sat in a heavy wooden chair, a predatory smile stretching his thin lips. "Do you know why I've called you here? I have a gift for you. A 'fortune' that most men spend lifetimes searching for. I've decided to grant you the opportunity to evolve your bloodlines—to reach a state of power you've only dreamed of."
"What kind of fortune, Elder?" someone asked, their greed momentarily overriding their fear.
"A secret one," Bai Feng whispered. "And it must remain so. If a single word of this leaves this room, I will personally ensure that your death is the most interesting thing that ever happens to you. Gather at the back courtyard at the hour of the Dog. We will ride to the site of your ascension."
The night was bitter. A light snow had begun to fall, dusting the horses' manes as the group of thirty gathered in the courtyard.
Jiang Dao stood at the edge of the group, observing the "senior disciples" who had suddenly appeared to escort them. They were strangers, their faces gaunt and their eyes reflecting the moonlight with a dull, metallic sheen. They didn't speak. They didn't breathe in rhythm with the cold air. They stood like statues, radiating an aura of stagnant blood and old rot.
"They aren't human," Jiang Dao realized. The realization didn't shock him; it merely confirmed his suspicions. These were the husks of the original Yellow Wind Valley disciples, or perhaps something worse.
The group was joined by a new figure: a man as tall and thin as a bamboo pole, dressed in gray robes with skin the color of tarnished bronze. His eyes were the most striking feature—they were a solid, jaundiced yellow, devoid of pupils.
"Is the cargo ready?" the tall man rasped.
"Ready," Bai Feng replied, mounting a black stallion. "Move out."
They rode hard and fast, leaving the valley behind and plunging into the dark woods. For two hours, the only sound was the rhythmic thud of hooves on the frozen earth. The recruits were silent, trapped between the promise of power and the creeping dread of the unknown.
Finally, they crested a hill. Below them lay a sprawling town, its lanterns glowing warmly against the snow. It was a peaceful scene—the smell of woodsmoke and roasting meat drifted up on the wind, a sharp contrast to the cold, clinical atmosphere of the valley.
"Why are we here, Elder?" a recruit asked, his horse shifting uneasily.
Bai Feng turned in his saddle. His neck twisted at an impossible angle, a sickening crack echoing in the quiet night. His mouth began to distend, his jaw unhinging to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. Red scales erupted across his cheeks like a rash.
"To claim your fortune," Bai Feng hissed, his tongue flickering out like a serpent's.
Behind him, the "senior disciples" began to change. It was a symphony of gore—flesh ripping, bones snapping and lengthening, muscles ballooning until their clothes burst like wet paper. In seconds, the thirty recruits were surrounded by a circle of nightmare creatures. Some were covered in coarse black fur; others were slick with scales and slime.
"You're... you're monsters," one of the recruits whimpered, his horse rearing back in terror.
"We are evolved," Bai Feng corrected, his voice now a guttural growl. "We practice the Fiendish Demon Method. We have transcended the limitations of the human frame. And tonight, you will join us."
"The blood sacrifices in the prefecture..." the old Exorcist from earlier gasped. "It was you. You've been feeding on people!"
"A necessary harvest," the tall, yellow-eyed man said, his bronze skin shimmering. "Power requires fuel. And this town is full of it."
Bai Feng gestured toward the sleeping town below. "The rules are simple. Down there are hundreds of lives—blood and essence waiting to be claimed. If you wish to be one of us, go down. Eat. Feast until your blood boils and your scales break the skin. Once you have tasted the life of another, there is no going back. You will be our brothers."
"And if we refuse?" a recruit asked, his voice trembling.
Bai Feng's eyes glowed with a feral hunger. "Then you aren't the guests. You're the appetizers. Choose quickly. The moon is high, and I am very, very hungry."
Jiang Dao stood amidst the chaos, his hand resting calmly on the hilt of his concealed blade. He looked down at the town, then back at the monsters. A cold, dark smile touched his lips. The hunt, it seemed, was finally out in the open.