For three days, the world had been nothing but a white, howling void.
The blizzard that had gripped the heavens and the earth was finally beginning to lose its breath, the screaming winds dying down to a mournful whisper. But Jiang Dao had not rested. For seventy-two hours, he had been a blur of motion, tearing through the snowdrifts, racing at full speed toward the borders of the Daye Dynasty.
Paranoia was a heavy cloak, and Jiang Dao wore it well. Despite his lengthy conversation with Daoist Master Qingsong before his departure, the knot of unease in his chest refused to loosen. He couldn't shake the memory of the Forbidden Grounds—specifically, the strange, shifting expressions of the middle-aged scholar and his entourage. Whether they harbored ill will or simply greed, Jiang Dao had decided long ago that such men were best left in his wake.
Ahead, the white monotony was broken by a structure. A small, roadside tavern sat buried under a heavy blanket of snow, looking for all the world like a slumbering beast. A wisp of cooking smoke curled lazily from the chimney, defying the cold. Outside, a wine banner, frozen solid into an abstract ice sculpture, swayed stiffly in the breeze.
Jiang Dao's massive frame came to an abrupt, skidding halt. He didn't turn his body, but his head snapped back, his gaze piercing the distance.
A window on the side of the tavern, previously shut against the cold, had been silently pushed open. Inside, framed by the darkness of the interior, sat an old man in black robes. He was missing an arm. He sat with the stillness of a statue, quietly sipping a cup of warmed wine.
Elder Sun.
Jiang Dao's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Was this a tracking attempt? Or had fate simply played a cruel joke to bring them together on this desolate road?
"Little friend," the old man's voice drifted out, calm and detached, carried by the wind. He didn't look up from his cup. "The weather is merciless, and you have been running for days. Why not sit? Have a cup to warm your bones."
Jiang Dao scanned the perimeter. The snow was undisturbed; the horizon was empty. Satisfied he wasn't walking into an army, he turned and strode toward the tavern. He moved with the heavy, unconstrained confidence of a predator entering a new territory.
"Is Senior waiting for me?"
He swept the heavy curtain aside and stepped into the dim warmth. He sat directly opposite the one-armed elder.
Between them lay a worn, scarred table. A pot of old wine boiled on a small stove, bubbling rhythmically. A few dishes of cold appetizers sat untouched. Outside, the wind whistled against the window frame, a high-pitched keen that underscored the silence inside.
"Little friend, have you ever heard a story?" Elder Sun asked. His eyelids were heavy, drooping as if he were fighting sleep.
"Humor me," Jiang Dao said, his muscles coiled beneath his clothes.
"Once, there was a weak, pathetic rabbit," Sun began, swirling his wine. "By some stroke of sheer, dumb luck, this rabbit found a dragon's horn. From that day on, the rabbit believed it was the chosen one. It was believed fate smiled upon it. So, it hid the horn."
Sun took a sip, savoring the heat. "The tigers, the lions, the jackals of the forest—they all came to the rabbit. They asked, politely, if they had seen the horn. The rabbit lied. It said it knew nothing. But every night, in the safety of its burrow, it would take out the horn, stroking it, admiring it. It did this until one day, a fierce tiger discovered the truth."
The old man finally opened his eyes fully. His gaze was sharp, locking onto Jiang Dao.
"Guess," Sun whispered. "What happened to the rabbit?"
Jiang Dao leaned back, a smile stretching across his face that didn't reach his eyes. "Hehe. The senior tells a vivid story. But I'm afraid I'm a bit slow... I don't quite understand the moral."
"No?" Elder Sun's eyes narrowed, a flash of invisible, crushing pressure radiating from his thin frame.
Boom!
The violence was instantaneous.
The table between them disintegrated, exploding into splintered wood and ceramic shrapnel. Boiling wine and cold vegetables sprayed the air like mist. Through the debris, Elder Sun's withered palm shot out, striking Jiang Dao's chest with the force of a battering ram.
A dull, heavy thud echoed, the sound of a sledgehammer striking a solid mountain of copper.
Jiang Dao's upper body swayed violently. His tunic disintegrated, shreds of fabric fluttering away to reveal the skin beneath. But he did not fly backward. He did not cough up blood. Instead, his eyes erupted with a chilling, murderous light.
"With just this little bit of strength..." Jiang Dao's voice dropped an octave, heavy with contempt. "Who is the rabbit? And who is the tiger?!"
Elder Sun's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock cracking his composure. The boy had taken his palm strike—a strike meant to shatter organs—with his bare chest.
Bang!
Jiang Dao moved. He was faster than a man his size had any right to be. His five fingers stiffened into a spear-hand, stabbing viciously toward the old man's throat.
Elder Sun twisted. His body seemed to lose its bones, bending at an impossible angle like a nether serpent, letting Jiang Dao's strike pass through empty air. In the same breath, Sun's eyes turned icy. He countered, launching another palm strike, heavy and dense, aiming for Jiang Dao's heart.
"You have some skill," Sun hissed. "No wonder you dared to hoard the Purple Spirit Flower. You might fool the world, boy, but you cannot fool me!"
Thud!
The second palm connected. The sound was terrifying, a wet, dense impact.
Jiang Dao stumbled, nearly knocked off his feet. The pain was sharp, but the anger was hotter.
"Fine!" Jiang Dao roared. "Die!"
He abandoned defense. His two palms, carrying the weight of a landslide, swung toward the old man. Simultaneously, his body began to change. Muscles did not just tense; they inflated. They coiled and writhed beneath his skin like living things, squeezing out, expanding, transforming him into a hulk of vascular destruction.
Crash!
The air pressure in the room spiked and burst. The tavern could not contain them. Walls splintered, and the roof groaned as the shockwaves of their clash tore the structure apart. It sounded less like a fight and more like two prehistoric beasts warring in a cage.
But Elder Sun was fast. Unnaturally fast. Even with Jiang Dao entering his Extreme Path Hegemon Body state, the old man was a wisp of smoke, impossible to pin down.
"Fire Poison Field! Open!"
Whoosh!
A terrifying heat erupted from Jiang Dao. The Fire Poison Field expanded like a miniature sun coming to life. It was a zone of death, distorting the air, twisting the light. The snow that drifted into the ruined tavern didn't melt; it sublimated instantly, flashing into steam.
Inside Jiang Dao, a drop of Extreme Yang Liquid detonated.
His body, already monstrous, surged past the four-meter mark. He roared, a sound that shook the remaining timber of the tavern, as his musculature became jagged, armored, and grotesque.
Elder Sun's expression shifted from arrogance to concern. The field was suppressing him, the heat and poison weighing down his limbs, but he was a veteran. He weaved through the steam, blasting Jiang Dao's massive frame with heavy strikes, each one sounding like a cannon shot.
But the tide was turning.
Jiang Dao had fully transformed. A hand the size of a grain shovel swept through the air. Elder Sun used a movement technique to blur out of the way, but the Fire Poison Field had sapped his agility. Jiang Dao's speed, multiplied by the Extreme Yang Hegemon Body, was overwhelming.
Sun dodged the first swipe, but Jiang Dao's second hand was already there, waiting.
Slap!
It was the sound of a fly being swatted, magnified a thousand times.
Elder Sun was launched. He flew through the air, crashing into the snowdrifts a hundred feet away. His robes were tattered, his hair wild, blood streaming from his mouth. He scrambled up, eyes bulging with rage and terror.
He stared at the thing Jiang Dao had become.
This was not a martial artist. This was a demon. Sun had tested Jiang Dao's blood—it wasn't the blood of a Spirit Remover, nor a monster. It was human. Yet, looking at this towering nightmare, Sun's conviction wavered.
"Good... good! What a Jiang Liu! To think you hid so deep—"
Whoosh!
Jiang Dao didn't let him monologue. His massive form blurred, closing the distance instantly. A terrifying palm descended from the heavens.
"You lost an arm, you didn't heal, and yet you came here to find your death? You want the Purple Spirit Flower? Here! Take it!"
Boom!
Elder Sun dodged the first blow, rolling frantically. But he couldn't dodge the second. The slap caught him mid-roll, disordering the space around him, sending him tumbling like a ragdoll.
Jiang Dao pressed the advantage. His right palm turned pitch black, igniting with a somber, terrifying black flame. It was a fire that seemed hungry, ready to consume all filth in the world.
"Black Evil Heart-Devouring Palm!"
The voice was cold, mechanical. The black fire engulfed Jiang Dao's arm and shoulder.
Elder Sun vomited blood, his brain rattling in his skull. He crashed into the frozen earth, nearing madness. Two falls. He had been humiliated twice by this brute.
And terrifyingly, he realized Jiang Dao's strength was approaching the Second Turn of Dragon Force.
"Eight Extremes Gathering Astral Kill!"
Desperate, Elder Sun flipped to his feet. He planted his stance, his single arm raised high.
Boom!
A blinding azure light exploded from his body. Veins on his neck and face bulged, writhing like serpents. Behind him, a massive phantom avatar materialized, fusing with his flesh, wrapping him in a coat of pure Astral Energy. He launched himself at Jiang Dao like a human missile.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
There was no more dodging. No more technique. Just violence.
Fist met palm. Flesh met armor. They stood toe-to-toe, trading blows that shook the ground deep beneath the permafrost. It was a contest of raw durability.
But endurance has a limit.
After thirty thunderous exchanges, Elder Sun faltered. He groaned, blood spraying from his eyes, nose, and ears.
Crack.
The azure phantom around him fractured. With a final, shattering bang, it exploded, leaving him defenseless.
Jiang Dao grinned, a savage tear in his monstrous face. He drove a fist straight into the center of Sun's face. The skull caved. Jiang Dao grabbed the old man's limp body and slammed him violently against his own chest.
Jiang Dao's chest was harder than iron. It was a copper mountain.
Crack!
"Ahhh!"
Elder Sun screamed as his ribcage disintegrated. His remaining arm snapped in three places.
Jiang Dao didn't stop. He grabbed the old man by the head and slammed him again. And again. The screams grew weaker, wet and gurgling.
Finally, Jiang Dao stopped. He held the gruesome, caved-in head of the elder in one massive hand. Black fire licked at his skin, heat waves distorting the air around them.
"Hey," Jiang Dao rumbled, bringing the bloody mess of a face close to his own. "Who is the tiger? And who is the rabbit?"
"Cough... cough... Little friend... st... stop. This old man... had no ill intentions."
Elder Sun was a ruin of a man. Drenched in his own blood, dangling from Jiang Dao's grip, he wheezed out the words.
"I'm asking you," Jiang Dao shouted, shaking the body like a rag, "who is the tiger? Who is the rabbit?"
"I am! I am the rabbit! Spare me..." Sun coughed, shards of bone grinding together with every movement.
"Hehe. The old rabbit tries to kill me, then claims no ill intent?" Jiang Dao sneered. He slammed the body into the ground. The earth cratered. Sun wheezed, unable to scream anymore.
Jiang Dao loomed over him. "How did you find the Purple Spirit Flower on me? How did you track me?"
Sun twitched, regret flooding his dying mind. Greed had killed him.
"My... my bloodline," Sun gasped. "My sense of smell... it is dozens of times stronger than others. I smelled your blood... and in it, the scent of the flower. That is how I followed."
"And the others? Are they coming?"
"No... just me... only me..."
Jiang Dao smiled coldly. The old fool had wanted the treasure for himself. He had come alone to avoid sharing, and now he would die alone.
"What does the flower do? Why does a man of your level want it?"
"It calms the mind... purifies the bloodline..." Sun whispered, his life fading. "The Cult Leader... he used it to strip the impurities from his power. To keep his sanity."
Jiang Dao nodded. Information acquired.
"Spare me!" Sun cried out one last time.
Squelch.
Jiang Dao's palm descended. It was not a strike; it was a crush. Sun's body exploded like overripe fruit, reducing to a paste of blood and mud. Jiang Dao summoned the black fire, incinerating the remains until nothing was left but ash and silence.
Slowly, the monster receded. Jiang Dao's body shrank, muscles condensing, bones realigning, until he looked like a man again—albeit a man in tattered rags.
He scavenged the ruins of the tavern, finding clothes on the corpses of the unfortunate travelers Elder Sun had murdered. He dressed quickly.
But as he adjusted the tunic, a sharp, twisting pain flared in his abdomen.
It felt like a knife rotating in his gut.
Realization hit him. He ripped the shirt open. His finger elongated, turning into a sharp, calcified blade, and without hesitation, he sliced his own stomach open.
Rip.
Blood welled, but Jiang Dao ignored it. He plunged his hand into the open wound, rummaging through his own viscera. He pulled out the four Purple Spirit Flowers he had hidden there.
But when he reached for the Heavenly Fate Artifact—the glove—it was gone.
Or rather, it was moving.
The scarlet, eerie glove was melting, dissolving into his flesh, fusing with his internal organs. The pain was blinding, a cold, needle-like agony that radiated from his core.
Jiang Dao grabbed at the energy, trying to rip it out, but it was like trying to grab smoke. It had become intangible, a virtual force seeping into his very existence.
"Roar!"
He couldn't hold it back. A bestial scream tore from his throat, echoing for miles, shaking the snow from the trees.
The pain lasted for an eternity, then slowly receded.
Pale and sweating, Jiang Dao checked his body. He closed his eyes, looking inward.
The glove was there. It had migrated. It was now residing in his left arm, overlapping perfectly with the bones and flesh of his hand. It wasn't fully fused, but it was embedded.
He tried to push it out with his internal energy, but it was like pushing against a wall of steel. As he applied more pressure, the glove reacted.
It shuddered. And then, it wept a single drop of blood.
Boom!
Jiang Dao's mind was blasted open.
A vision assaulted him. A mountain of corpses reaching the clouds. A sea of blood. A giant, standing with his back to the world, screaming defiance at the heavens. The sky opened, and divine lightning, thick as cities, crashed down, obliterating the figure.
A hand, severed, drifting through the eons. Forged into a glove. Sealed. Waiting.
The vision snapped off.
The drop of blood from the glove entered Jiang Dao's system. It was contradictory—the glove was ice cold, but the blood was liquid fire. It was pure Extreme Yang energy, a volcanic eruption inside his veins.
Jiang Dao gritted his teeth, dropping into the lotus position. He activated his Regimen Technique, frantically circulating his qi to manage the scorching heat threatening to cook him from the inside out.
What is this thing?
Minutes passed. The heat subsided.
Jiang Dao gasped for air, his body steaming in the cold air. He checked his internal status. The familiar mental projection of his attributes flickered into view.
[Name: Jiang Dao]
[Strength: 58]
[Speed: 41]
[Spirit: 6.8]
His eyes scanned down the list of martial arts. Extreme Path Demon Saber. Regimen Technique. Innate Fire Demon Astral Energy.
And there, under [Extreme Demon Overlord Body], the text shimmered: [Modifiable].
"It worked," he whispered, disbelief coloring his tone. "A single drop of blood broke the limit."
He looked down at his stomach. The Regimen Technique was already knitting the flesh back together, the wound closing before his eyes.
He re-wrapped the Purple Spirit Flowers and tucked them into his chest pocket.
Just then, the crunch of snow broke the silence.
Jiang Dao whipped his head around. A thousand meters away, two figures were creeping through the white landscape, looking terrified. Behind them, further back, was the silhouette of a trade caravan.
"Careful," one of the men whispered, his voice carrying over the wind. "That scream... it had to be a monster. I told you we shouldn't scout this far."
"Shut up," the other hissed. "Just our luck."
Jiang Dao blurred.
He crossed the kilometer in a heartbeat, appearing directly in front of them.
"What are you doing?"
"You!" The men jumped, weapons half-drawn, faces pale.
But as they looked at him—a human man, dressed in travelers' clothes, not a ten-foot demon—their shoulders dropped.
"Senior!" one stammered. "There was... a terrible sound. Did you hear it?"
"Oh, that," Jiang Dao said, his face a mask of calm. "I heard it. I chased the beast away."
"You chased it?" The men exchanged looks of awe.
"Yes," Jiang Dao said, smoothing his tunic. "Where are you headed? I see a caravan. Could you spare a seat?"
"Of course! If Senior is willing to join us, it would be our honor!"
"We are heading to the Daye border for trade," the second man added eagerly. "Is that your path?"
Jiang Dao looked toward the horizon, a small smile playing on his lips.
"It is," he said. "We are on the same road."