The village square fell silent, thick with tension. The flickering lanterns cast long shadows over the gathered villagers, their eyes gleaming with greed and malice. The old man—the village chief—stood before me, his cane tapping lightly against the dirt, the only sound breaking the hush of the night.
"I am Old Zhao, the one who ensures order in this village." His voice carried the weight of authority, but his tone dripped with arrogance. He studied me with a condescending smirk. "You must understand, Mo Wuyuan… we have certain customs here. A man without strength has no right to hold onto wealth."
He motioned to the crowd. "These people? They work hard to survive. Why should an outsider—a failed cultivator—walk into our home and hoard silver when we could put it to better use?"
The villagers nodded, some grinning in anticipation.
I met Old Zhao's gaze, unflinching. "I see. So, your definition of 'hard work' includes scamming travelers, stealing from drunks, and preying on the weak?"
A ripple of unease spread through the crowd. The smiles faded.
Old Zhao's brow twitched, but he recovered quickly, forcing a chuckle. "What do you know? You just arrived. Outsiders have no right to judge us."
"Oh?" I took a step forward. "Then tell me, Old Zhao… if your village is so righteous, why were so many people exiled over ridiculous accusations?"
The murmur returned—this time, among the villagers themselves.
I continued, my voice cutting through the night like a blade.
"The man who was cast out for 'disrespecting his elders'—when all he did was refuse to hand over his life savings to you."
"The widow who was exiled for 'adultery'—when all she did was reject the advances of your son."
"The boy who was accused of theft, when we both know the real thieves are still living here."
I turned my gaze to the pickpocket from earlier. He flinched, taking a step back.
Old Zhao's fingers tightened around his cane. The village's facade was crumbling before him.
"You—"
I didn't let him finish.
I laughed.
Not out of amusement, but out of sheer disgust.
"This village isn't filled with the weak and innocent," I said, my voice cold. "It's filled with parasites."
The anger in the crowd turned to something darker. Hatred.
I saw it in their eyes—the shift from mockery to murderous intent.
A single nod from Old Zhao, and they pounced.
A Storm of Blades and Blood
The first attacker was fast, lunging at me with a rusted cleaver.
I stepped aside—just barely—feeling the wind of his strike brush past my cheek. In the same motion, I caught his wrist, twisting it until the bones snapped with a sickening crack. He screamed, but I had already moved on.
Another came from behind, wielding a wooden club.
Too slow.
I ducked, my leg sweeping under his stance. He fell, and before he could react, my fist crashed into his jaw, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
They kept coming.
Ten.
Twenty.
More than thirty people rushed at me with makeshift weapons, fueled by desperation and rage.
But I was not the same Mo Wuyuan from before.
The Crimson Veil had awakened something inside me—a sensation sharper than instinct. My body moved on its own, gliding through the battlefield like a shadow.
A dagger aimed for my ribs—sidestepped.
A spear thrust toward my chest—I caught it, twisting it free and reversing the strike.
Blood sprayed across the dirt.
I was dancing through their attacks, each motion precise, effortless. My strikes landed like thunderclaps, breaking bones, sending bodies flying.
One fool swung a sword at my head.
I leaned back just enough to let the blade pass over my nose, then countered with an elbow to his throat. He gagged, dropping to his knees.
The villagers—who moments ago had been so confident—were now hesitating.
Their hands trembled. Their breaths grew ragged.
Some of them were afraid.
And then, amidst the chaos, I heard it.
Laughter.
Not mine.
It came from deep within my soul.
A voice—low, smooth, filled with hunger.
The spirit within the Crimson Veil.
"Yes… this is what you were meant to become."
For a brief second, I saw my own reflection in a shattered market stall.
And in the darkness of my own eyes—something red flickered.
The laughter in my mind did not fade. It grew louder, wrapping around my thoughts like a whispering storm. The spirit within the Crimson Veil—its presence seeped into my veins, igniting a cold, suffocating hunger.
"Yes… break them. Spill their blood. Let their screams be the first notes of your new path."
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head to push the voice away. But the damage was already done.
The villagers hesitated, their weapons trembling in their hands. The ones I had already struck down groaned in pain, their bodies crumpled in the dirt. Blood pooled around them, soaking into the cracks of the worn-out village road.
The stench of fear filled the air.
"Impossible…" Old Zhao's face twisted in disbelief. "You were supposed to be broken! You lost your cultivation!"
I met his gaze, stepping forward. The weight of my movements felt different, lighter yet stronger. My body—my very existence—was adapting, shifting. The Crimson Veil had erased my old spiritual foundation, making room for something far darker.
Something stronger.
"You're right," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I did lose my cultivation."
I vanished from sight.
A heartbeat later, I was in front of Old Zhao, his breath hitching as I grabbed his wrist.
"But I was reborn."
I twisted. The sickening pop of his joint dislocating echoed through the square. He screamed, staggering back, clutching his limp arm.
The villagers surged forward again, but this time, they weren't attacking—they were fleeing.
Their confidence had shattered. The so-called "weakling" they had planned to rob was now hunting them down like vermin.
One by one, they fell.
A man ran—only for my fingers to catch the back of his skull, slamming his face into the ground.
A woman raised a knife—too slow. My foot snapped her wrist, sending the weapon clattering onto the dirt.
Another tried to beg—but the moment he dropped to his knees, his own comrades trampled over him, desperate to escape.
I watched them scramble.
For the first time, I understood.
"This world doesn't care about the weak."
The sect abandoned me. The righteous looked away. The very people who dared to mock and insult me were now pleading for their lives.
A hollow laugh escaped my lips.
"So this is what power feels like?"
My hands were drenched in blood, my heart pounding with an intoxicating rhythm. The voice inside my mind coiled around my thoughts, murmuring like a lover whispering sweet promises.
"This is only the beginning, Mo Wuyuan…"
"Take one step deeper. Let the darkness embrace you."
I turned back to Old Zhao, who was crawling backward, his wrinkled face twisted in sheer terror.
"P-please," he stammered, his once-authoritative voice reduced to a pathetic whimper. "I—I was just following tradition… We—we can offer you wealth! Women! Anything you desire!"
I crouched down, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look into my eyes.
"Anything?" I repeated softly.
His head bobbed furiously. "Yes! Yes! Just spare me—"
I leaned closer, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Then tell me…"
A sharp glint flashed in my gaze.
"How does it feel to beg like the people you've exiled?"
Old Zhao's breath hitched. The realization struck him like lightning—this wasn't mercy. This was humiliation. The same treatment he had inflicted on others was now his own fate.
He wailed, trying to pull away, but my grip was unrelenting.
The villagers were gone. The square, once filled with shouting and arrogance, now lay silent—nothing but the soft crackling of lanterns and the moans of the fallen.
And yet… something was still missing.
The Crimson Veil pulsed inside me, urging me forward.
"Not enough. Not yet."
"To truly step onto the path of demonhood… you must devour."
A wave of dark hunger washed over me.
A new instinct. A craving.
I tightened my grip on Old Zhao, feeling his pulse through his frail skin. His life. His essence.
If I took it… if I consumed it…
I could finally awaken.
My fingers twitched. My vision blurred. The demonic power inside me called out—and for the first time…
…I was tempted to answer.