The pain did not emanate from torn flesh, but rather from the very foundation of existence itself.
Atop the summit of Mount Tai, shrouded in crimson clouds, Ryu Shin—known to millions as the Heavenly Demon—stood defiant amidst a cataclysmic lightning storm. His black robes, embroidered with golden dragons, had been reduced to tatters, revealing skin that was cracking like fractured porcelain. Beneath his feet, the corpses of elders from the ten orthodox sects lay piled, serving as silent witnesses to the absolute dominance of the Demonic Cult's leader.
He had achieved everything. He had conquered the lands of China, united the warring factions, and held the secrets of eternal breath. Yet, one milestone remained beyond his reach: the Divine Realm.
"Only one step remains..." he murmured, his voice hoarse from the thick blood pooling in his throat.
Suddenly, the heavens split asunder. Instead of the golden gates he expected to welcome him, an endless black void emerged, spewing forth bolts of purple lightning—the Heavenly Tribulation. The Heavens would not permit a demon to ascend to their throne.
"Do you fear me, Heavens?" Ryu Shin laughed wildly, raising his cracked black blade. "If you will not grant me a path, then I shall carve one myself!"
BOOM!
The explosion obliterated the mountain peak. Ryu Shin's consciousness shattered into a million fragments. He felt his soul being pulled and twisted through a cold, hollow corridor of time, before finally being thrust into a vessel that was cramped, frail, and... decaying.
Awakening in Disgrace
Cough! Cough!
A thick liquid smelling of rusted iron sprayed from his mouth. Ryu Shin attempted to draw breath, but his lungs felt as though they were being pierced by thousands of heated needles. His eyes opened slowly, yet the sight that greeted him was not the blue sky of Murim, but a pale white ceiling with flickering neon lights that pulsed painfully.
Where is this? Is this the hell reserved for those who have slaughtered thousands?
He tried to move his arm, but the limb felt entirely foreign. It was too thin, too pale, and trembling violently. He looked down at his body. This was not his physique, forged and tempered by a thousand battles. This was the body of a fragile youth, clad in expensive silk garments that were drenched in cold sweat.
Foreign memories began to surge in like a deluge.
Lucian Moretti. The youngest son of the Moretti Mafia family in Italy. A useless wretch. A shameful cripple.
Ryu Shin clutched his throbbing head. He saw fragments of Lucian's memories: the insults from his siblings, the disgusted glares from his father, and the constant pain in his chest for the past three years.
"Poison..." Ryu Shin hissed, his previously dull eyes suddenly flashing a sharp crimson.
As a high-level master of medicine and toxins in his former world, he immediately recognized the sensation. This body was not ill by birth. Someone had been systematically administering small doses of a neurotoxin—a substance this world might label as an advanced chemical, but to Ryu Shin, it was merely a cowardly method to destroy one's meridians (energy pathways).
"How dare they..." Ryu Shin attempted to sit upright, only to fall back against his pillow. "They treated this body like a waste disposal site."
The Prison of Flesh
The heavy oak door of the room opened with a sharp click. An elderly man in a tidy black suit entered. His hair was white, yet his posture was erect, showing remnants of youthful strength. This was Silvio, Lucian's personal valet.
Silvio paused at the threshold, his eyes widening at the sight of Lucian awake.
"Young Master Lucian? You... you are conscious?" Silvio's voice trembled, caught between shock and relief.
Ryu Shin stared at the man. In Lucian's memories, Silvio was the only individual who had never spat on his face. However, to Ryu Shin, the Heavenly Demon, he did not see Silvio as a mere servant, but as a warrior hiding his fangs.
His footfalls are light; his breath is controlled. This old man has killed many, Ryu Shin thought.
"Water," Ryu Shin uttered curtly. His voice was raspy, yet it carried an undertone of authority that made Silvio momentarily freeze.
Silvio quickly poured water into a silver glass and assisted him in drinking. "The doctor said you would not survive after the heart attack last night, Young Master. Valerio mentioned that your heart was too weak to sustain the burden..."
"Valerio," Ryu Shin interrupted. The name triggered a profound hatred from the remnants of Lucian's soul. Valerio Moretti, the eldest brother who had always provided the "strengthening medicine" that was actually the Silent Death poison.
Ryu Shin returned the glass to Silvio. His gaze was now fixed directly upon the old valet, making Silvio feel as though he were being watched by an apex predator that had lived for millennia.
"Silvio," Ryu Shin called.
"Yes, Young Master?"
"From this day forward, do not allow anyone to enter this room without my permission. And dispose of all the medications sent by Valerio."
Silvio frowned, bewildered by the change in his young master, who was usually timid and tearful. "But Young Master, that medicine is vital for your heartbeat—"
"It is not medicine," Ryu Shin's voice turned cold, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "It is a one-way ticket to the grave. If you are loyal to me, you will do as I say. If not... leave now."
Silvio fell silent. He saw something different in Lucian's eyes. It was no longer the gaze of a desperate youth, but the eyes of a sovereign capable of rending the world apart. He bowed deeply—deeper than he ever had before.
"I understand, Young Master Lucian."
The First Meditation: Gathering Fragments of Qi
Once Silvio exited, Ryu Shin immediately crossed his legs atop the luxurious bed. He had to act swiftly. This body was on the verge of collapse. If he did not perform Cultivation immediately, his Heavenly Demon soul would reject this vessel, and he would truly perish.
He closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the Dantian (energy center) below his navel.
Empty. Completely void.
This world felt vastly different from the Murim world. The air here was not rich with natural energy; it was polluted by the smell of gasoline, factory smoke, and electronic noise. Nevertheless, energy was still energy.
"Demonic Reverse-Flow Breathing Technique," Ryu Shin whispered.
He began to draw breath in a very specific pattern. Every inhalation felt like breathing in shards of glass. His lungs revolted, and his heart hammered against his ribs as if trying to leap out of his chest.
It was a pain that pierced to the marrow.
Ryu Shin ignored the agony. He had endured thousands of wounds far worse during the great wars of his original world. He began to force, bit by bit, particles of energy from the air into his pores, directing them to attack the blockages in his meridians.
CRACK.
He could hear a faint sound within his body. The layers of poison that had crystallized in his energy pathways began to erode. Black blood started to seep from his pores, emitting a pungent, foul odor.
Sweat mingled with blood soaked his silk sheets. Yet, Ryu Shin did not stop. He needed at least a single drop of Qi (internal energy) to stabilize his heart.
An hour passed. Two hours.
Suddenly, a small pop occurred within his chest. A very thin sensation of warmth began to flow. It was minuscule, no thicker than a strand of hair, but for the Heavenly Demon, it was enough.
He opened his eyes. The original dark brown of his irises now held a faint crimson hue at the edges.
"This body... is utterly ruined," he murmured, observing the black stains on his skin. "But the foundation is not poor. If I can cleanse all this poison, I can construct an 'Eternal Demon Body' more perfect than the one before."
The Patriarch's Gaze
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. These were not the light steps of Silvio. These were the strides of someone who held great power, someone accustomed to trampling others.
The door swung open without a knock.
A middle-aged man entered. He wore a suit crafted by Italy's finest tailors, and his hand held a smoldering cigar. Don Marco Moretti, the head of the Moretti family, the Mafia Patriarch feared throughout Europe.
He looked at Lucian, who was still sitting cross-legged with black stains on the sheets. His face showed no fatherly affection, only a cold revulsion.
"You're still alive, it seems," Marco's voice was heavy and gravelly. "The doctor said you only had the night. You are always a nuisance, even in the matter of death."
Ryu Shin stared at the man before him. In Lucian's memories, this man was an untouchable god-like figure. But to Ryu Shin, Marco was merely a mortal with a modicum of authority. The oppressive aura Marco released had no effect on him.
Ryu Shin did not lower his head. Instead, he returned Marco's gaze coldly, his chin slightly upturned.
"Death is a difficult matter for those with unfinished business, Don Marco," Ryu Shin said in a flat tone.
Marco Moretti recoiled slightly. This was the first time Lucian had addressed him by a formal title instead of a trembling "Father." Moreover, the boy's gaze... it was too sharp, as if he were looking straight through Marco's mind.
"What business?" Marco asked, narrowing his eyes.
Ryu Shin offered a thin smile—a smile that looked entirely out of place on the face of such a fragile youth. A smile that carried a promise of bloodshed.
"The business of ensuring that the Moretti throne does not fall into the hands of rats who can only play with poison."
Marco remained silent for several seconds. He felt something alien in the room. The atmosphere around Lucian felt heavy and suffocating. He released a cloud of cigar smoke, trying to conceal his shock.
"Recover yourself within three days," Marco said finally, turning to leave. "There is a grand family meeting. If you cannot stand there, I will personally escort you to the cemetery. The Moretti family has no need for trash that can only lie in bed."
The door slammed shut.
Ryu Shin looked back at his trembling hands. He slowly clenched his fists.
"Three days," he hissed. "Enough time to gather the strength to break a few necks."
He closed his eyes again, focusing the newly born Qi energy into his cardiac meridian. Outside the window, the dark Sicilian sky began to be illuminated by lightning, as if the world itself were trembling to welcome the return of the Heavenly Demon in a new form.
The journey to conquer the underworld had only just begun. And this time, he would not let the Heavens stand in his way.