The darkness of the night was thick, a suffocating velvet draped over the world, broken only by the sudden, violent eruption of fire. Cries of alarm shattered the silence, rippling outward to startle the various entities—monsters, spirits, and rogue cultivators—that had gathered in the shadows like vultures circling a carcass.
Xu Zifeng and Zhao Ziling pressed forward toward the blaze, their hearts hammering against their ribs. The heat grew oppressive, carrying the acrid scent of ozone and charred earth.
"The Huangquan Zhang family?" Zhao Ziling whispered, her voice trembling. "That was a Spirit Remover faction that controlled the Path of the Yellow Springs. Their experts… they were wiped out? Just like that?"
"My calculations were correct," Xu Zifeng said, his face grim in the flickering orange light. "Black Mountain Town is a deathtrap."
Around them, brave—or foolish—souls were rushing into the inferno. Some sought to extinguish the flames; others, driven by morbid curiosity or greed, hoped to salvage the corpses of the prestigious Zhang family. But as the smoke cleared, hope turned to revulsion. Jiang Dao's field of fire poison had done its work thoroughly. The bodies were no longer recognizable as human; they were twisted, melted effigies of suffering.
Not far from the epicenter, a figure emerged.
Jiang Dao stood amidst the ruin, his silhouette cut sharp against the dying embers. His eyes were cold, sweeping over the faces peering from the darkness. He exhaled slowly, a breath of turbid, heated air escaping his lips.
"Monsters and freaks," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "The rats have certainly come out to play."
Hearing his voice, Xu Zifeng and Zhao Ziling froze. Jiang Dao's gaze locked onto them for a heartbeat—heavy, assessing, terrifying—before he pulled his black robe tighter around his broad frame. He turned and walked away, vanishing into the night as if he were a part of it.
"It's him! The Leader of the Blazing Flame Gang!" Zhao Ziling exclaimed, recognition dawning.
Xu Zifeng grabbed her arm, his grip urgent. "Ziling, listen to me. Do not approach that man. His background is a void, a complete mystery. He obliterated an expert from the Union of Demon Palaces in a single move. That is not a mortal man. That is a calamity in human skin."
"Tch." Zhao Ziling rolled her eyes, shaking off his hand, though she didn't chase after the figure. "Do you think he has the strength to make the Mutant Rankings?"
"It's hard to say," Xu Zifeng replied, watching the space where Jiang Dao had stood. "I've never seen him go all out. But for your own sake, pray you never do."
The night dissolved into a gray, uneasy morning. Jiang Dao had long since returned to the sub-branch of his gang, sealing himself in his quarters.
In the center of the room sat the Blood Demon Armor. It was a massive, foreboding piece of equipment, dark red and forged from iron plates that overlapped like the scales of a prehistoric beast. It radiated a cold, gloomy energy, its surface etched with vein-like patterns that seemed to pulse in the low light.
Jiang Dao sat cross-legged before it. This was his crucible.
He began to channel his internal energy, pouring it into the armor. His power was a roaring ocean of fire, boundless and crushing. As it slammed into the cold metal, the armor reacted, regurgitating streams of pure, refined Yin energy.
This was different from the sharp, tearing energy of the Heavenly Demon Heart-Shattering Claw. This Yin energy was heavy, permeating his skin and sinking deep into his marrow.
Pain exploded through him. It wasn't the sharp sting of a cut, but the dull, grinding agony of reconstruction. His muscles and meridians tore and knit back together in rapid cycles, tempered by the clash of fire and ice. It was a rebirth through agony.
As the Yin energy flooded his system, his mind expanded. Abstract principles of violence and structure flooded his consciousness, fusing with his Ultimate Heavenly Demon Body. It felt as though a massive, rusted door in his mind was being forced open, hinges screaming.
He had thought his physical form had reached its apex. He had believed that no amount of cultivation could squeeze another drop of power from his frame. But now, amidst the pain, he saw a path forward—a potential second metamorphosis. He was no longer just practicing a technique; he was inventing a new physiology.
Hours bled away. By the time the sun was high, Jiang Dao's blood was thrumming so loudly it drowned out the world. His brain felt scrambled, assaulted by a chaotic torrent of information, auditory hallucinations whispering at the edge of his hearing.
Finally, he stopped.
Jiang Dao exhaled, the breath hissing through his teeth. He frowned. The metamorphosis hadn't completed. Every time he reached the precipice, a sense of deep unease pulled him back. The environment of Black Mountain Town—saturated with dread and hidden eyes—was too hostile for the meditative state he needed.
He turned his attention inward, assessing his meridians. They had widened significantly, as riverbeds were carved deeper by a flash flood.
He summoned the Interface.
The translucent blue panel flickered into existence before his eyes.
Modification Chances: 30
He scanned his available arts. Regimen Manual. Congenital Fire Demon Gang. Heavenly Demon Poison Sand Palm. His eyes settled on the Black Demon Malefic Heart Mantra.
"Malefic Aura Soul Seizing," he mused, reading the description. "Legend has it that at the peak, a single glance can tear a soul from a body."
More importantly, the technique cultivated Black Demon Malefic Qi—a supreme, masculine, hard energy that acted as a natural repellent to the supernatural. It was the perfect counter to the ghostly atmosphere of this cursed town.
"Modify," he commanded mentally.
Swish.
The numbers blurred. Thirty years. One hundred years. Five hundred years.
Jiang Dao felt his meridians groan under a sudden influx of tyrannical power. It was thick, domineering, and black as pitch. His muscles swelled, his skin tightening as his body underwent an invisible, terrifying restructuring.
Black Demon Malefic Heart Mantra: 630 Years.
Status: [Cannot be modified]
Traits: Strangling, Oscillation, Malefic Aura, Soul Seizing, Black Demon Heart Devouring.
Jiang Dao opened his eyes. In the dim room, his pupils seemed to carry a localized darkness, a swirling vortex of malefic intent. He didn't just look dangerous; he looked like a predator that had evolved beyond the need for stealth.
He checked his stats.
Strength: 32
Speed: 27
Spirit: 3.5
"Spirit increased to 3.5?" He nodded slowly. It made sense. To seize a soul, one needed a soul of iron.
He stood, packing away the Blood Demon Armor with deliberate movements. It was time to see the sun.
"Guo Dutian," he called out as he opened the door.
His lieutenant snapped to attention in the courtyard. "Gang Leader. Du Feng and Branch Leader Chen have already departed."
Jiang Dao nodded. Last night, he had ordered a payout of one thousand taels of silver to the families of every fallen gang member. It was a fortune, but loyalty was bought with blood and silver.
"Let's go," Jiang Dao said, stepping into the sunlight. "We're going to inspect the town. I want to make sure the locals aren't giving our men any trouble."
"Yes, sir!" Guo Dutian gestured to the stable hands.
A moment later, several magnificent steeds were led into the courtyard. But as they approached Jiang Dao, chaos erupted.
Neigh!
The horses reared back, eyes rolling white with terror. They screamed—a high, frantic sound—and scrambled for traction, desperate to flee. The stable hands were dragged across the dirt, shouting for control.
Guo Dutian's face paled. He lunged forward, grabbing two reins and using his martial strength to wrestle the beasts down. "Steady! Damn you, steady!"
The horses trembled violently, frothing at the mouth, their wide eyes fixed on Jiang Dao as if he were an apex predator about to tear out their throats.
Jiang Dao realized immediately. The aura.
He was leaking Malefic Qi. To these animals, he didn't smell like a human; he smelled like death incarnate.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He visualized the terrifying energy swirling around him and pulled it inward, compressing it, locking it away deep within his core. When he opened his eyes, the pressure in the courtyard vanished. He looked like a man again—albeit a massive one.
He walked forward and mounted a trembling horse. "Move out."
Guo Dutian wiped cold sweat from his forehead, glancing at his leader with a mixture of awe and fear. For a moment, even he had wanted to run.
The streets of Black Mountain Town were wide, empty, and dead.
A cold wind howled through the alleys, carrying dust and the scent of decay. Corpses littered the corners, ignored and unburied. White funeral banners snapped in the wind from almost every courtyard. Some doors hung wide open, revealing dark interiors where the dead sat rotting in their chairs.
Jiang Dao rode at the head of the column, his expression freezing into a mask of indifference. But beneath the mask, a volcano was priming to erupt.
These "Spirit Removers," these supernatural entities... they treated humans like cattle. Less than cattle. The town wasn't just damaged; it had been harvested.
As they rode, Jiang Dao felt them. The eyes. From behind shuttered windows, from the shadows of eaves, from the darkness of sewers. The town was teeming with lurking cultivators and spirits, watching him.
He snorted, a sound like a cracking whip.
He turned his head, letting the suppression on his aura slip just a fraction. He focused his Malefic Qi into his eyes and swept his gaze across the hidden observers.
Look at me, his eyes seemed to say.
In the shadows, hearts stopped. Cultivators gasped, their blood freezing. The sheer weight of his intent washed over them, a physical pressure that triggered their lizard brains to scream DANGER.
"What the hell is that?" a hidden observer whispered, trembling. "A mortal gang leader? That's a monster."
"The rumors were true," another murmured, shrinking back. "The Corpse Dao Sect fled because of him. The Tuoba family was uprooted by him. He's not human. He's a demon wearing a man's face."
One by one, the gazes retreated. They looked away, terrified of attracting his attention.
Jiang Dao sneered and turned back to the road. Fear was a language they understood.
"Whoa."
He pulled on the reins, bringing the column to a halt.
Ahead, Du Feng and the others were clustered in the street. They looked defeated. Du Feng, a hardened warrior, had red rims around his eyes.
"Report," Jiang Dao commanded, riding closer.
"Gang Leader..." Du Feng's voice cracked. "We've searched half the list. We haven't found a single living relative. They're all gone. Either missing or... slaughtered."
Behind him, a burly gang member suddenly collapsed to his knees, burying his face in the dirt. "Gang Leader! My mother... she's inside rotting! I'm an unfilial son! I let her die alone!"
His wails cut through the silence. The other men looked down, fists clenched, tears streaking their grimy faces.
Jiang Dao stared at the weeping man. White steam began to vent from his nose and mouth, a byproduct of the extreme heat building in his gut.
"Stand up," Jiang Dao said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of a decree. "You will not kneel in despair. Listen to me. I will avenge you. I don't care if it's a ghost, a demon, or a god. If they touch a hair on the head of a Blazing Flame Gang member, I will hunt them to the ends of the earth. I will drag them back and crush them into paste. When you joined this gang, you took my label. Whoever touches you, touches me."
The men looked up, their grief transmuting into a fanatical resolve.
"Gang Leader!" they shouted, falling to their knees in unison, not in despair, but in loyalty.
"Get up!" Jiang Dao roared. "If you can't find the families, distribute the silver to the survivors. Double the shares."
"Yes, Gang Leader!"
"Hehe... how touching."
The laughter was light, airy, and utterly mocking. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, drifting on the wind.
"A tragedy of the human world. A beautiful speech to win hearts. Truly interesting. You say if anyone touches your gang, you'll hunt them to the ends of the earth? I don't believe you. Hehe. If you're so capable, why don't you try to find me?"
The wind picked up, howling like a banshee.
Jiang Dao turned slowly. His eyes were twin furnaces. He looked down the empty street.
"Hehe," the voice continued, "I've never heard of this 'Blazing Flame Gang.' So, let's make a bet. If you can't find me, I'll kill ten of your men every day. Just ten. A slow bleed. What do you say?"
The gang members looked around frantically, gripping their weapons.
"Are you done?" Jiang Dao asked. His voice was muffled, deep, like tectonic plates grinding together.
"Oh? Have you decided to play my game?"
BOOM.
There was no buildup. One millisecond, Jiang Dao was on his horse; the next, the cobblestones where the horse stood exploded into powder.
Jiang Dao was a blur. He moved with such terrifying velocity that he seemed to fold space, closing the fifty-meter distance in a fraction of a heartbeat.
He didn't stop. He slammed through a brick wall as if it were made of paper, exploding into a courtyard.
Heat. A wave of scorching air blasted outward, incinerating the grass.
Jiang Dao launched himself at a massive, dead locust tree in the corner of the yard. Perched on a branch, dressed in black feathers and holding a gourd of wine, was a sallow-faced man. He had been mid-sneer.
The sneer vanished.
The man turned, his eyes widening as he saw a wall of superheated copper skin flying at him.
"You—!"
CRACK.
Jiang Dao didn't use a technique. He used raw, unadulterated violence. His palm slammed into the tree trunk. The ancient wood vaporized. The force traveled through the tree and hit the feathered man like a freight train.
The man was launched into the air, flailing. He tried to twist, to use a movement art, to escape.
He was too slow.
Jiang Dao was already there. He caught the man in mid-air, his hand forming a claw.
The Heavenly Demon Heart-Shattering Claw.
Snap.
Extreme Yang. Extreme Malice. Extreme Poison.
The three energies surged from Jiang Dao's fingers into the man's chest. It was an invasion of destruction. The man screamed—a sound that shredded his throat—as his clothes disintegrated. His bones shattered. His meridians burst.
Black blood sprayed from every pore in his body, turning him into a convulsing, gory mess.
Jiang Dao landed heavily, the ground cracking under his boots. He held the man by the throat, then slammed him into the earth.
Thud.
The man was a puddle of broken meat. Blood gushed from his eyes, nose, and mouth. He twitched helplessly, his cultivation ruined, his body destroyed.
"You... you..." The man gurgled, his eyes bulging with absolute terror. He couldn't comprehend it. A mortal? This speed? This power?
Jiang Dao stood over him, steam rolling off his shoulders. He leaned down, his shadow swallowing the broken man.
"Found you."
The voice slammed into the man's mind like a hammer.
"Don't worry," Jiang Dao whispered, his voice dripping with malice. "I won't let you die easily. I'm going to have you cut. One hundred times a day. Every day. Until I carve you down to white bone."
He grabbed the man's hair and dragged him across the ground like a sack of garbage, walking back toward his stunned men.
"Gang Leader!" Guo Dutian and Du Feng ran forward.
Jiang Dao tossed the limp body at their feet.
"Get a chain," Jiang Dao said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Pierce his Pipa bones. String him up behind a horse and drag him back to headquarters. One hundred cuts a day. Keep him alive as long as possible."
"Yes, Gang Leader!"
"Cough... spare... spare me..." The feathered man wept, blood bubbling from his lips. "I was wrong... please..."
Jiang Dao looked down. He flicked a finger.
Crack.
An invisible bullet of air struck the man's jaw, shattering it instantly. A bloody tongue flew from his mouth, landing in the dirt.
The man convulsed, eyes rolling back in agony, but his unnatural vitality kept him awake. He was trapped in a hell of his own making.
Guo Dutian returned with a rusted iron chain and a long sword. Without hesitation, he drove the sword through the man's shoulder blades—the Pipa bones—locking his cultivation and his body. He threaded the chain through the weeping wounds.
"AAAAHHH!"
The muffled scream echoed through the dead town, a warning to every watching eye.
The Malefic Saint of Black Mountain had arrived, and he was not playing games.