Toward the north, where the Imperial army did not dictate, grey clouds began forming in the sky. Grounds, blanketed by ash and soot, devoid of much greenery, started to break apart by the small droplets of water. Hungry wolves flocked together and howled toward the sky, their voices full of grievances and pain.

The bones on their bodies were practically showing, but they were not the only ones. Plenty of creatures on Blood Mountain could not sustain their lives on the pitiful amount of food in the area. This was especially so for the lesser beasts; most of which had already gone extinct.

Surrounding the dreadful mountain, nothing but death and decay could be seen for countless kilometers.

Despite all of this, at the peak of said mountain, a group of four young boys huddled together inside of a makeshift shack. Their robes were in tatters, and the meat on their bodies was pathetically low. Sunken cheeks, eyes, and even stomachs presented themselves on the malnourished men. More discernible than all of this was the excited expressions that gleamed on their faces.

"Brother, what should we do now?" The one on the far right asked. He was a head taller than the rest, possessing brown hair and ash mauve eyes.

The other two, in the middle, nodded at his words. The three of them glanced at the young man, seated in deep contemplation. Unlike them, he was not particularly tall or eye-catching, but intelligence seemed to exude from his eyes.

"It won't be long before Arlong realizes that his treasures have been stolen, " the intelligent boy commented, "we can either try and leave Blood Mountain, attempting to transverse the decayed plains, or we can hide and build up strength."

One of the two in the middle, a boy with striking blonde hair, couldn't help but tilt his head to the side. "How are we going to gain the power to fight back? He has dozens of bandits on his side!"

The room once again descended into relative silence. Only the sound of heavy rain and occasional thunder echoed out. No one could confidently retort the blonde boy, so they shifted their attention to the medallion that rested in front of them. It was inscribed with a myriad of strange engravings and gave birth to a viscous, red hue. This was the treasure that the four boys had stolen from Arlong.

Greed momentarily flashed across all of their eyes as they continued to observe it. They, who had never owned anything more than a tattered robe and some scraps, were dazed. Even the greatest of brothers and most loyal of friends would be shaken at the prospect of a better life. It wasn't evil, nor petty. It was fundamental human nature.

Then, suddenly, with a clap of his hands, the intelligent boy broke the other three out of their stupor. "Do not forget that although Arlong wields the strongest force on the mountain, he does not own the only group of bandits."

"That may be so," the last man, with short black hair and small stature, said, "but, none of them would help us. And even if they did, it still wouldn't be enough to fend off Arlong's wrath."

With a snort, the intelligent man stood up from the wooden floorboards. He was a tad bit thinner than the others, with even paler skin as well. He could be considered moderately tall, possessing long, black hair that reached his buttocks. His facial structure was angular, and his appearance was decent.

"I'm tired of you imbeciles wallowing in self-deprecation!" He said in a bout of anger. It was exhausting for him to maintain a calm countenance when all of his suggestions were shot down with ignorant fear. Not to mention, they would end up staying there all night just to find a single plan satisfactory for the three boneheads.

Disregarding their surprised reaction, he threw a cracked bowl at a nearby pillar, garnering their attention. It shattered into hundreds of different pieces and ricocheted all over the place. In that same moment, he swept down and grabbed hold of the red medallion, quicky shuffling it inside of his robe. All of this happened within a split second, and none of the three were aware of what had just transpired.

"You three can fix the bowl while I am gone, inhaling a breath of fresh air, " he said while sauntering out of the ragged building. It had taken him three whole years to gain their complete trust, and it finally paid off. They immediately looked down in awe, opting to pick up the mess as soon as their "eldest brother" left. None of them could have even imagined that the man they respected so much had just stolen their precious treasure.

Their brother, Zhao An, who they had trusted with their lives, was currently rushing down the mountains at the quickest speed he could manage to muster. His hair whipped around him, concealing the strange glint in his eyes. Zhao was not particularly evil, but taking the token of blood was essential.

Unlike what his three friends were made out to believe, Zhao was not from Blood Mountain. No, he hailed from a land far, far, away. Where the rivers extended from one continent to the other, and located on the earth blanketed by fallen pine and luscious greenery. He was born in a place which contrasted greatly with Blood Mountain — the polar opposite, so to speak.

However, one day, he abruptly woke up on the desolate mountain. No family, friends, or even fellow companions were present; only darkness. Resting in his hands was a single piece of parchment, an illustration of a strange-looking medallion. The very same ornament that he currently clenched within his hands.

It was not exactly remarkable in any way, shape, or form, but it was the only clue to returning from whence he had come. Additionally, defeating Arlong was pipe-dream and a half, rendering him and his brothers in a rather tricky situation. The only feasible way to survive was to escape, which none of his compatriots would agree with. Therefore, for his and their survival, he decided to steal the treasure.

Of course, warmth flashed across his eyes as he thought about his dear friends. They were ignorant of most worldly matters, and would inevitably die if they were to fight against Arlong by themselves. Even if he greatly desired the medallion, it was also out of his love for friendship that he decided to burden the treasure by himself.

Like this, he passed through the deserted mountain with quick steps. Many different scavengers and other Blood Mountains dwellers observed him with a strange light in their eyes. It had been a long time since someone with so much energy existed next to them.

Zhao was uncaring, and didn't stop moving his feet once. In his head, even if Arlong caught onto him, once he became a disciple of an immortal sect, he was completely safe. And, thankfully, he knew exactly where one was. Blood Mountain itself was just a cover for something much more significant that lay beneath it.

The prerequisite for joining any immortal sect was to form a strand of Qi. And, Zhao had not been lazy in the slightest for the last three years! Although he was not exceptionally talented, he was still capable of forming the smallest bit of Qi at seventeen-years-old. Zhao hit the bare minimum requirements for joining the sect below them, but even then, he was still excited.

After three years of research, he knew that on the darkest moon, every year, the sect would hold their recruitment tests. It also happened to be tonight that the sect full of immortals were recruiting!

With this in mind, Zhao quickened his speed until he reached the base of the mountain. The surroundings were dreary with collapsed trees and decayed brush all around him. No scavengers, nor creatures were nearby, only heaps of bones. An aura of dread and death emanated from the ground below where he stood, stopping all living things from entering.

Suddenly, the earth broke apart, revealing a middle-aged daoist. He strolled out of the ground, climbing up a spiral staircase. Adorning blood-red robes and devilish expression, the man looked Zhao up and down in derision. "Only one person this year, huh?" he said with a voice devoid of any emotion.

Zhao gulped down a mouthful of saliva and quickly bowed down to show his respects. "This little one greets venerable senior!"

A playful smile appeared on the middle-aged man's face as he approached Zhao with steady footsteps, stopping only a few meters away from him. "You're seventeen-years-old with the smallest strand of Qi possible…" he paused, stroking his goatee, "quite pathetic. You have the lowest qualifications possible even to step foot in the Blood Immortal Sect."

Zhao bowed down even further, his eyebrows creased. This one moment would decide his fate. Whether he died or lived. Even though he worked hard for three whole years, attempting to sense the energy exuding from the heavens and earth, only recently was he finally successful in attaining a small amount of Qi.

The middle-aged daoist waved his sleeve, and fifteen steps presented themselves. They broke through the ground and traveled high into the sky, releasing domineering energy. Each step was relatively large, coated in blood, and possessed a dreadful atmosphere. "You must be able to ascend three steps to join our sect as a slave. Five steps to be an outer disciple. And lastly, ten steps to become an inner disciple."

Zhao nodded his head with absolute determination. Never in his life had he succeeded without hardship, nor did anything ever come easy. However, through many tribulations, he had finally stolen Arlong's treasure and formulated a strand of Qi. His will was not to be underestimated.

He heaved a deep breath and walked over to the fifteen towering steps, clenching his fists. He could already feel energy pushing him back, but he gritted his teeth and took the first step.

Boom! Immediately, a strong gale of wind attempted to blast him away, ripping parts of his robe in process. Zhao's face became pale as he gradually managed to land safely on the first step, much to the middle-aged daoist's shock.

Another minute passed, and Zhao moved his foot forward yet again. This time, a torrent of electricity seemed to surge through his body and immobilized his nerves. It was painful, but Zhao had already predicted such a thing. He embedded his nails deep into the stone steps and pulled himself over, landing safely on the second step!

Once again, he waited another minute before attempting the third one. To his side, the doaist was already tongue-tied. Never in his wildest dreams would he have expected the young boy in front of him to transverse one step, let alone two.

Innerly, Zhao was utterly shaken. The electricity numbed his muscles, and the previous gale of wind had seemed to break a few of his ribs. Blood trailed down the sides of his mouth and dripped onto his chest. His face was even paler than before, and his legs were trembling.

Slowly, Zhao managed to stand up. Conflicted emotions could be seen reflected within his eyes as he attempted to move up. Water swiftly fell down the step, an entirely different element from before. Zhao felt his grip faltering and his consciousness fading, but then, unbeknownst to even himself, a small drop of blood landed on the medallion hidden in his robes.

It was only for a moment, but Zhao felt his body invigorated as he quickly stepped forward, finally landing on the third step. His eyes widened, and his mouth broke out into a smile, but all of that soon faded. The power in his body was soon reduced to nothing, and his eyelids refused to open up. He quickly lost consciousness and fell down the three steps he had just painstakingly passed by!

The middle-aged doaist to the side shook his head in disappointment, "so, it's another slave, after all…"

After Zhao fell unconscious, the token, located next to his heart, was slowly absorbed inside of his body. The medallion was no more, but it imprinted a strange-looking tattoo on his chest. It appeared to be a pentagram of some sort, looking mysterious and dangerous all at the same time.