My name is Zhang Mo, an eighth-generation peasant. Yesterday, I was minding my own business, tending the fields, when a local sect forcibly drafted me.
When I arrived at the mountain, I discovered their shocking secret: this wasn't just any sect—it was a demonic cult!
And the worst part? After just one day, they decided to make me their sect leader.
I curse the heavens!
—Excerpt from Diary of the Supreme Dark Saint by Zhang the Great Demon, Chapter One
It was late autumn. Little Saint Mountain, home of the Heavenly Demon Sect, was covered in red leaves. The wind swept away the lingering clouds, leaving behind an air of desolation.
Inside the Hall of Demons, the sect's main assembly room, chaos reigned. The furniture was in disarray, tiles littered the floor, and faint traces of blood stained the walls and ground. The air still carried the metallic tang of battle—it seemed a fierce fight had occurred here not long ago.
The hall itself was modest, about the size of a peasant's house. The Heavenly Demon Sect wasn't a major force, and you could tell just from the name.
Legitimate, powerful sects preferred subtle names, like the Soul Sect, the top demonic sect in the Xia Kingdom, or the Origin Sect, the pinnacle of righteousness. But names like "Heavenly Demon," "Earthly Fiend," or "Invincible" were reserved for small-time sects, trying to compensate for their lack of power.
As the saying goes, the louder the name, the weaker the group.
The Heavenly Demon Sect, for instance, didn't even have a single practitioner at the Heavenly Demon level. Of its members, only three barely managed to surpass the Mortal level—and two of them had fled earlier this morning.
That left just one: Zhao Can, who now stood beside me, Zhang Mo, forcibly pinning me to the sect leader's chair.
The chair, forged from iron and stone, was as cold as it was uncomfortable.
Below, the remaining disciples of the sect lined the room in a pathetic display. Some were blind, others limped, and a few looked more like pigs than people. There were men who didn't seem entirely male, women who barely appeared female, and several who looked on the brink of death.
It was a collection of misfits and rejects, the old, the weak, and the ill. Anyone with even a shred of skill had either died on the battlefield or fled long ago. What remained here was little more than a refuge for the disabled—a pitiful sight that could bring tears to anyone's eyes.
"Silence! Everyone, welcome the new sect leader! Applaud!"
Zhao Can shouted. Sparse, half-hearted claps echoed through the hall, accompanied by murmurs:
"Oh, a new sect leader!"
"More like a new sacrificial lamb."
"Who's shameless enough to take over the sect at a time like this?"
"Let him. Whoever takes the position is doomed anyway."
Listening to their chatter, my eye twitched.
They weren't wrong. Everyone knew the Heavenly Demon Sect was on its last legs. The righteous Origin Sect had organized a massive demon-extermination campaign, vowing to cleanse the Xia Kingdom of all demonic cults.
Our little sect had been surrounded ten days ago. The previous leader, Yang Horned Demon King, had been roasted alive by heavenly lightning. The elders had been chopped into bite-sized pieces, and the sect's elite fighters had perished during an attempted breakout.
Now, with the sect in ruins and morale at rock bottom, someone had come up with the brilliant idea of appointing me, a random farmer, as the new sect leader.
That someone, I thought grimly, deserved to be struck by lightning.
Yesterday, I was a simple farmer. Today, I'm a sect leader.
I sat stiffly on the chair, my face a mask of forced seriousness. With sharp eyebrows and clear eyes, my looks might've been the only reason they picked me. Maybe they thought I looked the part.
Damn it. Being handsome really is a curse.
And admittedly, dressed in the black robes of the sect leader, I did look somewhat imposing—at least from a distance. Up close, though, my trembling hands gave me away.
"Kid, stay calm," Zhao Can whispered, pressing down hard on my shoulders. "Play your part as sect leader. When the righteous sects attack, we'll blow up the mountain and escape through a secret tunnel. You'll have done your duty."
I whispered back, "And what happens to me?"
Zhao Can chuckled, as if I'd told a joke. "Oh, you'll die, of course. But I can promise your family will be safe. If you don't cooperate, though, they'll join you in the afterlife."
I clenched my fists, my teeth grinding in frustration.
"Listen up!" Zhao Can barked, addressing the hall. "Seal off the mountain! Prepare for our last stand!"
The ragtag disciples groaned and shuffled out, their movements as lifeless as their spirits.
None of them even spared me a second glance.
To them, I was nothing more than a scapegoat, a sacrificial pawn to buy time for Zhao Can and the others to escape.
As the hall doors closed, I overheard Zhao Can and his cronies discussing their plan.
"Leave that kid in there. When the righteous sects attack, we'll blow up the hall and bury them all together."
"The magic explosives are ready. They'll take out half the mountain."
"The escape tunnel to the Bamboo Forest is complete. Once the explosion goes off, no one will trace us."
"It's a perfect plan. That kid's presence will distract them long enough for us to disappear."
Their laughter echoed through the door, each word cutting deeper into me.
They weren't even trying to hide it.
I sat there, fists trembling.
I didn't want to die—not like this.
Damn it. I hadn't even gotten married yet!
Screw you, heavens!