"I'm curious. From what I know, my reputation in today's world is as terrible as it gets. World Destroyer, Plague Overlord, Herald of the End of Times...in the people's hearts, Son of Heaven is usually at the bottom of that list. Why did you take the news so stoically?" Harun inquired. Though they didn't know of his relationship with the Beast Emperors, to avoid taking responsibility for their misdeeds, Heaven's strongest still blamed the disastrous ordeal on Harun—claiming that he used the power of his eyes to summon Heaven's Wrath on the world and obliterate all existence. Now, many firmly believed that the Son of Heaven represented the end of times, and that anyone with Sovereign Pupils should be killed on sight. Mehran, however, thought otherwise.
"Those events took place decades before my birth. A celestial's words alone are not enough for me to brand someone as evil. To say nothing that back then, my life depended on you. Even if I didn't want to, I'd still have to be stoic," Mehran shrugged, acting as if his reaction was the most natural and rational possible. Harun had to admit that perhaps he was the petty one, and after an approving nod, smashed a palm strike onto Mehran's face. Unprepared and unable to resist the blow, the high king flew backward. A tiny whirlpool of Spiritual Incense formed on his forehead, infiltrated his soul, and spread throughout his body.
By the time Mehran had recovered from the shock, Harun's Spiritual Incense had wiped out his 70 years of cultivation—returning him to a quasi-mortal level. Slashing open his middle finger, Harun extracted 10 drops of golden blood and fused them with Mehran's heart—thenceforth rewriting his bloodline. When the blood merged with his internal organs, Mehran's pupils lost all colors, and he died on the spot. But only three seconds afterward, his eyes regained their light, his heart beat once more, and his pulse now carried the tyrannical strength of a young Primordial Dragon.
How many pairs of blood drops a cultivator could receive from Harun depended on their physique stat. With an eight, Mehran could receive five pairs. One drop killed instantly, the other returned the target to life. So due to the profound mysteries concealed in Harun's Innate Blight Master blood, those that shared his lineage possessed supernatural gifts in Life and Death Essence cultivation. The thicker their bloodline, the easier the Essence cultivation would be once started. But while he could feel the extreme changes his body had just gone through, confusion and mixed feeling took hold of Mehran.
"The Hisyar's clan rule of the Dark Stone country has officially ended. Test your lineage with the tablet, and you will see that you no longer belong to that clan. My blood has rewritten your DNA to make you a member of the Birusk clan—my clan," Harun explained, and without giving Mehran enough time to process the words, went on. "I need one thing from you: 500 fresh corpses and 100 death row inmates—guilty without reasonable doubt of the most heinous crimes possible. Given the Dark Stone city's current state, that shouldn't be hard to find. If you can find 600 heinous criminals, all the best. But don't go below the bottom line," Harun ordered, deepening Mehran's inner turmoil.
Jiyan, however, knew full-well why he needed those offerings. As exemplified by the Golden Silkworms and other species, be it in fauna or flora cultivation, Harun had tremendous achievements. Not only did he create or enhance new species, but he always ensured that they possessed a flawless reproduction system, so that in the long term, a few specimens could produce colonies.
Pens and nests dedicated to those creations abounded in Harun's internal world. So, while not many had reached a high level, their numbers could shock the world. And chief among them was Harun's most sinister project: the Ferocious Corpse Butterfly. Something that Jiyan, with all her wisdom, would rather stay far, far away from.
After the initial hesitation, Mehran's thoughts became simpler. If he could use Harun's cutthroat hands to "discipline" the most crazed of the anarchists, why the hell not? His lips curled into a strange smile, and perhaps more eager than Harun, he gathered his subordinates and dispatched orders to round up the targets.
...
Meanwhile, a 1.85 metres tall youth with a massive frame but reserved look, crossed the sterile fields of the Dark Stone country—wandering aimlessly. Several days had passed since Birandar was taken out of the Dark Stone city by Harun and hurled across the country. The youth crashed in foreign lands, but though surrounded by infertile territories and abused by the dry weather, he held on. Birandar wasn't one to let setbacks hold him down, and though most people couldn't relate to his train of thoughts, he had a clear code of conducts and values he always stuck to.
But despite his overly gentle heart, the giant couldn't help but resent those two celestials that separated him from his relatives, and forced him into this predicament. Neither seemed trustworthy, but the "Lord Birusk" was especially suspicious. "Never trust a man that won't show his face and uses the holy to swindle those he faces," Birandar thought. But recalling the situation, he wondered why those "beyond the king" entities took such a keen interest in him. The answer came in the most unpleasant of ways.
As Birandar reached the first village, a second head identical to his grew out of his left shoulder, with an additional pair of arms sprouting from his sides. Alarmed, Birandar squealed at the head whose eyes remained shut. It didn't seem to have a breath, and its arms had no use for Birandar as well, becoming extra burdens that made his journey more difficult. Breaking into a cold sweat, Birandar turned toward the villagers, desperate and seeking help with the first human beings in sight.
At first, there was a strange pause. The village fell silent, with its emaciated citizens facing the strange youth with the peak of disbelief. That disbelief then turned into sheer terror, with the dozens of faces twisting in hideous grimaces.
"Aaaaargh!" They screamed like a trained choir and ran as far away from Birandar as they could. The men grabbed saws, wooden axes and pitchforks. The fear of the unknown and the hatred of the grotesque drove their every step. They no longer faced a 16-year-old, but one of those monsters of folklore that brought disaster to the helpless.
Yet in Birandar's eyes, those villagers had become the exact thing they hunted—grotesque demons thirsting for his blood. Terrified, the boy squealed and ran. Ran as fast as he could, struggling against his inert head and new arms to keep his balance. But though he wasn't in peak condition, unlike the villagers, Birandar didn't suffer from hunger or thirst, and soon escaped their pursuit. Still, he didn't stop or look back. Only when he lost his footing and tumbled down the road, did he realize that he no longer had anyone on his trails.
Gasping for breath, Birandar crawled to the nearest tree and curved into a ball, trembling uncontrollably. At that time, Harun's previous words echoed in his mind: "From now on, you'll experience waves upon waves of adversity. But regardless of low you fall, remember to sing this mantra:
Undisturbed I am. Undisturbed is my soul." Birandar didn't know why this happened to him and who was to blame. But he didn't doubt that without something to hold on, he wouldn't survive for long. So with chattering teeth, he sang the mantra, "Undisturbed I am. Undisturbed is my soul. Undisturbed I am. Undisturbed is my soul. Undisturbed I am. Undisturbed is my soul…" the more he repeated the words, the more relaxed he felt, and unbeknown to him, a faint-white light hovered around him.
Reinvigorated, Birandar stood up, and thinking that perhaps he would have better chances at another village, tried to find another human settlement. The same treatment awaited him—that spontaneous response of fire and pitchforks. Fortunately, each time hunger, thirst and fatigue played tricks, a purple mist would dispel them, enabling Birandar to always escape the chase. It took him several days to acknowledge...that the world of mortal men no longer accepted him. Though they spoke the same language, there was no room for a dialogue. Birandar didn't let that hold him down, found a place in a hidden grove, and sat in meditation—ceaselessly repeating the mantra: "Undisturbed I am. Undisturbed is my soul."
Immersing himself in the mantra, Birandar didn't see the time pass. The white rays circling him became more pronounced, and after three days of lone cultivation, misty purple filaments also took shape.
"My breath, my steps, my heart, my eyes and will. My past and future. Undisturbed is my being, free from truth and falsehood. At the nexus of the Ultimate Reality…I open my eyes." Unbeknown to him, Birandar completed the missing part of the mantra, and a third eye opened on his two foreheads. The Dual Soul Root matured, the inert head's eyes opened, full of a mind and wisdom separate from Birandar's.
Harun couldn't expect that this nameless mantra widespread in his dreams would have such effects on Birandar. He only gave it because of how helpful that mantra was in calming his own mental troubles. However, his purple mist gift interacted with Birandar's Dual Soul Root to produce this result. And from the shadows of that forest, Harun's avatar, who watched over Birandar, witnessed all the changes.