Within a vesara-style stone temple that stood in the middle of the village, a four-year-old sat crossed-legged, with his brown eyes intently staring at a large book-carrying altar. Dressed in a spacious, gray linen robe, the boy held his chin in one hand, and stroked the altar with the other. At his right, a golden jar engraved with incomprehensible markings stood.
Six months had passed since Harun first appeared in the village. Needing a resting place accessible to his worshipers, Harun erected this stone temple. It didn't take him one hour, and the feat only strengthened their faith. The attachment-stage of the Human Realm was a wondrous state. Harun could now feel all the emotions and desires of those attached to him, and even direct their thoughts and trends. As for others, he could connect to their minds, and attempt to overwhelm them with an apparition of himself. Mortals could, of course, not resist it.
Relying on those abilities, Harun had made a thorough assessment of the villagers, and learned what he could about the country he found himself in. The people around these parts were rather straightforward and simpleminded, more focused on survival than any plot or scheme. Harun's appearance didn't kindle any cultivation-hope in their hearts. As far as they were concerned, those were distant topics best left to those sects and clans.
Their prayers toward Harun remained simple. Mainly revolving around health and bountiful harvests. Some asked for success in some romance, or not being scolded for some mistake. Isolating their voices with his Divine Sense, Harun focused on the Scripture Drafting Altar—wondering how he should proceed.
Over the past six months, the majority of Harun's time went between breeding new poisonous beasts, comprehending mysteries, and conceptualizing his sect's fundamental art. But regardless of how he racked his brain, Harun made very little progress. This didn't disturb him. He'd created new techniques before and knew the process was distressing. If anyone could come up with a top-level cultivation method within a few months, Monarchs would be everywhere.
With his current talent, experiences, and the altar that enabled him to multiply his focus and cultivation knowledge, Harun could easily come up with a six or seven-star cultivation method, and from it evolve a shallow path. But how could he settle for that? To say nothing of his future disciples, if only for Jiyan, he had to come up with an unprecedented road. The twelve-star grade was the least he'd accept.
Jiyan's cultivation talent was off the charts. Although she lost all her skills after helping Harun against the 33 Heavens, with the proper path and tools, she'd quickly regain all she lost—and go far beyond. Keeping a strand of Divine Sense bound to the altar, Harun summoned the Life and Death stele, holding it on his lap. True to its name, the stele enabled him to cultivate the mysteries of Life and Death. With just an elementary comprehension, Harun could hide his Sovereign Pupils. But over the past six months, his understanding grew deeper.
Poisonous arts existed between Life and Death; the stele couldn't stay out of the equation. Rolling up his sleeves, Harun gashed his right arm, letting his blood flow on the stele.
His body no longer housed any poisonous beasts, yet the toxins in his blood had never been stronger—courtesy of the Innate Blight Master Physique. Coated in a deceitfully honeyed scent, Harun's golden blood was like a nectar for savage and monstrous beasts, reaching and luring them across several kilometers. To prevent them from interrupting his work, Harun condensed an invisible barrier—preventing the scent from leaking out.
"A myriad of toxins, of lethal and debilitating diseases, hide in that blood. One sip can kill a celestial guard, and there is no cure besides the blood itself. Ironic that the world's deadliest poison...is its own medicine." Unless Harun came up with another antidote, only by giving the victim the same dosage of the blood infecting them could Harun cure their condition. Recent testing made that much clear. Better, the test subjects all grew noticeably stronger.
"Killed by one sip, revived by the next. Dead in one breath, alive in the next. Withering to bloom. This is the principle of rotating life and death rooted in the Art of the Decaying Flower. In the Heavenly Dream Land, the twelve-star grade is the highest. Yet, the Art of the Decaying Flower goes beyond.
Chances are that it comes from the outer world. The Ancestral Land, perhaps. How then did it appear in an inheritance ground of the Noxious Flame World? Why did Golden Cicada claim that unless he broke through to the next realm, the Serpent Emperor could never truly leave this world?" Questions abounded in Harun's mind, but knowing that many of them wouldn't find answers anytime soon, he focused on his trickling blood—breaking down its components.
In Harun's mind, a link formed between his blood, the stele, the altar, and the Decaying Flower in his Sea of Consciousness. The link became a dark-green quadrilateral, and on its surface, a myriad of poisonous herbs, toxins, pills and beasts known to Harun took shape, merging into one tall flame pillar. Meditating on its mysteries, Harun lost all notion of time, and months flew by.
Post-reincarnation, Harun mostly remained in the temple, but often left to seek beasts and interact with the villagers. Thus, as the weeks passed, their hearts gradually grew fearful—dreading that their new bastion of faith had abandoned them to the cruel and ever changing world.
Concerned, some villagers planned to dive into the temple, but the apparition of a bulky, clawed serpent that coiled around the stone building stopped them all. At the same time, blinding light surged, soaking the village in its glow. Reassured, and now believing that their Spiritual Lord was most likely in communion with other deities, the villagers no longer probed the case.
As the sixth month of seclusion neared its end, Harun���s eyes sprang open, with dark-green flames burning in his pupils.
"First step:
-Quench the flesh with toxic ponds.
-Quench the organs with noxious fumes.
-Quench the blood with poisonous pills.
-Quench the bones with Withering Essence. The better the quality, the stronger the physique.
When they complete those four stages, the cultivator obtains the Hundred Poisons Physique, impermeable to most toxins, extreme offensive and defensive power, the ability to melt physical matter upon touch and control Noxious Flames. Here, they can slay Celestial Kins.
Second step:
Cultivate Yin Essence of the pure grade or above. Strengthen the soul, find the Inner Truth, and refine countless poisonous beasts to condense three Noxious Yin Cores. Completing these steps will give them the strength of an Ascending God, explosive physical abilities, a Noxious Yin Domain, and control over Elemental Yin.
I name this path the Myriad Poisons Bridge, and will give it three other steps," Harun declared—laying down the foundation of his sect's cultivation path. Little did Harun know that without comprehending the mysteries of Life and Death and getting enlightenment in reincarnation principles through the stele's Remembrance Chants, even with 100 years, he could not develop a unique path.
Of course, creating the path was one thing. Preparing the resources for the disciples to cultivate it, another. Besides his own abilities, Harun would have to rely on the system's Second Door and the Hundred Insect Altar.
Satisfied, Harun stood up, and after half-a-year of seclusion, opened his temple doors. A marvelous sight awaited him. Across the pastures and farmlands, golden light surged, swirling around hundreds of spiritual herbs that grew under the auspicious light's care.
The cows and pigs that grazed the pasture, the farm insects that usually damaged the villagers' work, all benefited from the spectacular herbs—falling into torpor as their bodies experienced unprecedented changes.
With the temple as the center, the village grounds and everything across one square kilometer received blessings from those surges of auspicious light. Confused, Harun swept the farmlands—making the count of all the miraculous herbs he lost to pigs and cows—the results clutched at his chest, forcing him to restrain a blood spurt.
At that time, the villagers gathered at the temple door, and with bright smiling faces, kneeled before Harun.
"Spiritual Lord, thank you for these months of graces! One leaf from the herbs you blessed us with can feed a grown man for three months and restore 30 years of lifespan! Thanks to them we no longer have to fear hunger and diseases!"
"Spiritual Lord, thank you for your generosity!"
"You are our Evergreen village's pillar!" The villagers said in tandem, overflowing with zeal and devotion.
Harun's body wobbled, but while his mind screamed one million curses, he forced his lips to curve into a radiant smile—suppressing the murder urges and grievances rising within him.
"If I do not bleed for the people's wellbeing, who will?" Harun spoke against his heart. How could he expect that his Mythical Idol Incarnation would turn him into a walking Holy Land battery? To think that he cheated Gods to get taken advantage of by mortal villagers. If the news spread, the Plague Overlord's dignity would sweep the floor.
Worse, thanks to the attachment stage, Harun could feel the vigor and bliss fueling all those villagers. And though he couldn't sense their sufferings yet, he didn't doubt that they no longer had any.
"No sufferings? Wait a second…" Harun's jaw dropped, and his eyes widened in enlightenment.