The second day of the Furnace Path was worse than the first.
The beasts came in packs now, fangs glinting in the torchlight, eyes glowing with hunger. Their claws scraped against stone in a cacophony that rattled his skull.
The MC fought with desperation. His blade of blackfire cut, burned, consumed, but each strike drained him. And each time he faltered, the system demanded more.
[System Prompt: Host's stamina depleted.]
[Emergency Protocol: Sacrifice required to continue.]
The list of memories grew shorter. More precious. More intimate.
His father's stern hand on his shoulder before he left home.
The first time he held a brush and copied Sect scripture.
The voice of a childhood friend who wished him safe travels.
Tears stung his eyes. His hand shook. But when a beast's jaws closed around his arm, he screamed and chose.
[Memory Offered: The voice of a childhood friend.]
[Confirmed. Power allocated.]
The sound of her voice vanished. He remembered her face, but not her laugh. Not her warmth. She was a ghost in his mind.
With renewed strength, he tore the beast apart.
The cavern floor was slick with blood and ash. His breathing came ragged, his body covered in wounds. But his eyes… they were darker now, less human.
Above, in the throne hall, the Demon Lord sat in silence. His silver eyes glowed faintly, as though staring into depths no one else could perceive.
His daughter entered quietly, her presence soft against the oppressive shadows. She stopped at the edge of the hall. "You're watching him again."
The Demon Lord did not answer immediately. He traced one clawed finger along the arm of his throne, gaze never leaving the misty projection in the air, an image of the Furnace Path, where the disciple staggered onward.
"His growth is… unusual."
The daughter raised an eyebrow. "Unusual? You've taken disciples before. All of them struggled. All of them bled. Some survived. What makes this one different?"
The Demon Lord tilted his head, studying the image. "Most men grow through discipline, through instruction, through repetition. But this one… something is carving him hollow and filling him with fire."
The daughter glanced at the projection. The MC struck again, his blade roaring with unnatural black flame as another beast fell. His face was twisted with pain, but also something else.
"He burns himself to shine," the Demon Lord murmured. His voice was unreadable, admiration, curiosity, and faint caution blending together.
The daughter folded her arms. "You think it dangerous?"
The Demon Lord's silver gaze flickered to her, and she fell silent.
"Dangerous is not the word. Intriguing."
In the cavern, the MC collapsed against the wall, blade sputtering.
[System Notice: Day 2 Complete.]
[Reward: Strength increased. Willpower hardened.]
[Penalty: Emotional erosion severe. Host stability at risk.]
His mind throbbed with absence. The more he sacrificed, the more hollow he became. He could no longer recall his friend's voice. He couldn't remember the warmth of his father's hand.
What remained was rage, and an endless, gnawing hunger for strength.
The third day dawned.
The path stretched forward endlessly. New beasts emerged, larger, more cunning. They circled, coordinated, attacked in patterns. His body screamed with every movement, his wounds only half-healed.
Again and again, the system demanded sacrifice. He gave it. Memories of laughter, warmth, hope, all stripped away. His blade burned brighter, stronger, but his heart grew heavier.
At the end of the third day, he collapsed on the cavern floor, blood pooling beneath him. His vision swam. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps.
For a moment, he thought he might not rise again.
But then, faintly, he heard a voice, not the system, not the Demon Lord, but his own.
Stand. If you fall now, their betrayal was for nothing.
With a guttural cry, he forced himself up, staggering forward into the darkness.
High above, the Demon Lord's silver eyes narrowed.
"He should have broken by now," he said softly, almost to himself. "His spirit was fractured when he came here. Each trial carves deeper. And yet… he endures."
The daughter glanced at him. "You sound almost impressed."
"Impressed?" The Demon Lord's lips curved faintly. "No. I am… wary."
He leaned back against the throne, shadows coiling tighter around him.
"There is a silence within him that is older than my flames. A hollow that does not ask to be filled. It does not feed him; it consumes what he offers and asks for more. It isn't remaking him... it is unmaking him, and what is emerging from the void is... new"
The daughter frowned. "Then why let him continue?"
The Demon Lord closed his eyes. "Because I wish to see what emerges."
His silver gaze opened again, piercing and unfathomable.
"And because if he survives, he may become something… unprecedented."
In the cavern, the MC dragged himself onward. His body was broken, his soul hollow, but his blade burned brighter than ever.
[System Notice: Day 3 Complete.]
[Trial Progress: 3/7]
[Warning: Host's humanity degrading. Monitor stability.]
He gritted his teeth, clutching the blackfire blade.
"I will endure," he whispered, voice hoarse but unbroken. "I will live."
The shadows stirred. The furnace awaited.
And above, silver eyes watched, calculating, cold, and curious.