The air in the clearing crackled with malevolence. The cultists, their eyes glowing an unnatural red, were not just waiting; they were a living barrier, their forms rigid, their movements unnervingly precise and synchronized, almost as if controlled by unseen strings.
"They're not just fanatics," Eric muttered, drawing his Wyvern-blade, its edge humming faintly. "Their movements are too coordinated. Like puppets."
"Ready!" Kord roared, his massive fists already glowing with an earthen spiritual energy. Anya, Lysa, and Lady Lysandra likewise braced themselves, their Qi flaring.
With a guttural roar, the cultists surged forward. The battle was instant and brutal. These cultists were different from the rabid, disorganized ones they had faced in Blackwood manor. Their attacks were methodical, their defenses surprisingly disciplined. Eric parried a heavy staff blow, the impact jarring his arm, and countered with a swift, horizontal slash that disarmed his opponent. The cultist, despite being disarmed, continued to lunge, unfeeling.
"They're not reacting like normal people!" Lysa shouted, unleashing a torrent of ice shards that shattered two cultists' arms. "They're just moving on instinct!"
"They're being controlled!" Anya deduced, a blur of motion as she wove through the cultists, her daggers finding vital points with chilling efficiency. "Like extensions of a single mind!"
Among the crimson-eyed horde, Eric noticed several individuals who moved with far greater speed and power, their Qi signatures reaching Foundation Establishment Stage 7 or 8, easily a match for his own publicly displayed cultivation. These were the true threats, their movements fluid and deadly, directing the tide of lesser cultists like experienced commanders.
As Eric engaged one of these powerful cultists, a hulking figure whose blows rattled his bones, he saw it. One of the stronger cultists, a slender man whose movements were eerily fluid, detached himself from the main battle and moved towards the ominous cave entrance. He glanced back, his red eyes meeting Eric's for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something almost like smugness in their depths, before he slipped into the darkness.
He's leading me somewhere. Eric's instincts screamed. This wasn't a retreat; it was an invitation.
"Team! Handle them!" Eric shouted over the din of battle, parrying a heavy sword strike. "Don't let any escape into the forest! I'm going after him!"
"Be careful, Team Leader!" Kord roared, already engaging three powerful cultists simultaneously. Anya gave a quick, sharp nod, trusting Eric's judgment.
Eric broke away from his current opponent, a surge of suppressed draconic Qi propelling him forward. He shot past the remaining cultists, ignoring their frantic lunges, and plunged into the inky blackness of the cave, chasing the fleeting shadow of the cultist.
The cave descended steeply, a winding, natural tunnel that seemed to swallow the light. Rough-hewn stairs had been carved into the damp, uneven stone, leading deeper and deeper into the earth. The air grew heavy, thick with the cloying scent of ancient dust, damp earth, and an increasingly potent, malevolent spiritual energy. It got darker with every step, the faint glow from the clearing receding into an unseen point above. Eric had to rely entirely on his enhanced draconic senses, his internal vision perceiving the slightest shifts in air currents, the faint echoes of the cultist's footsteps ahead.
The descent felt endless, a journey into the very heart of the earth. Finally, the stairs leveled out, opening into a vast, cavernous chamber. The air here was suffocating, heavy with an almost palpable sense of ancient malice.
At the very end of the immense cave, bathed in an eerie, faint crimson glow emanating from unseen sources, stood a grotesque altar. It was carved from rough, black stone, stained with what looked like dried blood, and pulsed with a dark energy so dense it seemed to warp the air around it. It was clearly the source of the malevolent Qi Eric had been sensing.
Eric took a step forward, his hand gripping his Wyvern-blade, ready for anything. The ground beneath his feet felt unnaturally cold, resonating with a faint, unsettling hum. He could sense the dark energy from the altar, a primordial power simmering just beneath the surface.
Then, without warning, a sudden, blinding flash of crimson light erupted from the altar. It wasn't an attack, but an overwhelming burst of spiritual energy that slammed into Eric's mind, a wave of pure, dark power. His vision swam, his head reeled, and a searing pain lanced through his temples.
He gasped, staggering backward, before the darkness swallowed him whole.
Eric blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim, pulsating crimson light that now filled the cavern. His head throbbed, a dull ache behind his eyes. He tried to move, but found himself bound. Thick, heavy spiritual chains, forged from an unknown, dark metal, constricted his wrists and ankles, binding him to an invisible force. He tried to channel his Qi, but found it sluggish, barely responding. Looking down, he saw that he was standing in the center of a complex, glowing circle etched into the cavern floor. Its intricate details pulsed with the same crimson light, and he could feel its chilling effectiveness: it was a suppression array, designed to shackle his spiritual power.
Standing before him, directly in front of the massive altar, was a figure. He was tall, his form completely obscured by a dark, hooded cloak. Eric couldn't see his face, but he could feel the immense, chilling power radiating from him – easily Nascent Soul Stage 8 or 9, far more powerful than Lord Gareth. This was no ordinary cultist. This was a true master of the Crimson Veil.
"So, you finally awaken, Young Master Eric," the cloaked figure rasped, his voice ancient and resonant, echoing eerily in the cavern. "You have caused us a great deal of trouble. Interrupted our rituals, destroyed our vessels, even turned one of our pawns against us." He gestured vaguely towards the chains. "A frustrating nuisance, truly. But now, your interference finally comes to an end. You will meet your destiny here."
"Who are you?" Eric demanded, testing the chains, trying to subtly channel his Qi through the suppression array. The Dragon Spirit remained silent, its own power within him seemingly dulled by the ancient array.
"That matters not, for your time is short," the cloaked figure replied. "But since you are destined to become a part of our glorious future, I shall humor you. I am merely a humble servant of the Crimson Veil, preparing the way for true order."
"Order?" Eric scoffed. "You sow chaos, corruption, and death! What is your goal?"
The cloaked figure chuckled, a dry, rustling sound that seemed to carry the weight of millennia. "Order, Young Master. Simple, yet profound. The Empire, as it stands, is a decrepit, decaying husk. Its Emperor is weak, complacent, unworthy to sit upon the throne. He rules over a façade of peace, while true potential and ambition are stifled. He deserves not to rule."
He raised a gloved hand towards the altar, its crimson glow pulsing in response. "When our true Lord arises, he will bring true order to this fractured world. He will cleanse it of weakness, ushering in an era of absolute discipline and unchallengeable might."
"Your Lord?" Eric pressed, his mind racing, trying to buy time, trying to understand. "Who is your Lord? What is his name?"
The cloaked figure paused, a chilling pride in his voice. "Our Lord, the very source of our being, the one who will reshape this world in his image, is none other than the Crimson King, Valerius Malakor!"
"ERIC! NO! WE MUST NOT ALLOW THEM TO REVIVE THIS MAN!" The Dragon Spirit's voice, though faint due to the suppression array, was laced with an urgency and terror Eric had never heard before. "He is an ancient evil, a true fiend from the age of shadows! His awakening would herald an age of unimaginable despair!" The Dragon's warning sent a chilling dread through Eric's heart.
"It is time, Young Master Eric," the cloaked figure declared, his voice rising, his attention returning fully to Eric. "Time for your sacrifice. Your powerful spiritual essence will be the final catalyst. The Crimson King will rise again, and all the Empire will tremble before his might!"
He raised both hands, and the intricate lines of the suppression circle around Eric began to glow more intensely, drawing more power from him. Eric felt his Qi being forcibly drained, pulled towards the altar.
"Not yet!" Eric roared, refusing to yield. He channeled every ounce of power he could muster, ignoring the pain, ignoring the suppressing array, pulling on the deep, primal reserves of his draconic Qi. He focused on the Scorching Dragon Breath technique, visualizing the searing flames, pouring everything into a single, desperate surge.
The spiritual chains, meant to hold a Foundation Establishment cultivator, began to groan under the strain of his true, nascent draconic power. With a mighty roar of defiance, Eric unleashed a concentrated burst of Qi from his core. The chains, unable to withstand the sudden, overwhelming surge, shattered with a metallic shriek, sending fragments of dark metal clattering across the floor. The suppression array flickered violently, momentarily shorting out.
The cloaked figure gasped, reeling backward in shock. "Impossible! You shouldn't have been able to break those chains! No Foundation Establishment cultivator, no matter how gifted, could possibly—"
Eric didn't let him finish. He lunged, unleashing a powerful punch imbued with the fully channeled force of his Scorching Dragon Breath. A burst of concentrated, searing fire Qi erupted from his fist, aiming directly at the cloaked figure.
The man reacted with shocking speed, sidestepping the initial burst, a faint scorch mark appearing on the stone where he had stood. His aura flared, revealing an even greater depth of power than Eric had initially perceived. "An unexpected, intriguing power," he hissed, his voice now laced with genuine anger. "But ultimately futile!"
The cloaked figure retaliated with a barrage of dark spiritual projectiles, forcing Eric to weave and dodge. The fight was intense, the powerful Nascent Soul cultivator far more skilled than Gareth. Eric pressed his attack relentlessly, channeling more and more of his Scorching Dragon Breath technique, unleashing focused bursts of fiery Qi that hammered at the cultist's defenses. The cultist, caught off guard by Eric's sudden burst of concealed power and the sheer ferocity of his elemental attacks, began to struggle. The pure, destructive nature of the fire Qi was something he clearly hadn't anticipated.
Eric pushed through his opponent's defensive maneuvers, overwhelming him with a relentless torrent of elemental power. With a final, decisive surge, Eric unleashed a concentrated blast of Scorching Dragon Breath that slammed directly into the cloaked figure's chest.
The cultist cried out, a sound of pain and disbelief. He reeled backward, his dark cloak singed, a visible scorch mark on his chest where the force of the draconic fire had impacted. Black blood oozed from beneath his tattered robes. He stumbled, collapsing against the very edge of the ancient altar.
With a final, desperate gasp, the cloaked figure, his face still hidden, used his last vestiges of strength to pull himself onto the chilling, blood-stained surface of the altar.
As his body made full contact, the dark stone pulsed. The crimson glow intensified dramatically, and a terrifyingly potent pillar of dark energy erupted from the altar, shooting upwards into the unseen ceiling of the cavern.
Eric felt a profound shift in the very fabric of spiritual energy within the cave. The overwhelming power he had just witnessed, the life force of the cultist, didn't dissipate. Instead, he felt it being drawn, pulled, absorbed by the altar, funneling into something, somewhere, unseen. A chilling sensation washed over him – the ritual wasn't stopped. It had merely changed course. And the power, instead of being used on him, had just been sacrificed. The "Crimson King, Valerius Malakor," was one step closer to awakening.