The Nanling King, a man who had commanded armies and ruled vast territories under the Celestial Dynasty, found himself stumbling backward. His heel caught on a loose stone, but he barely noticed. His eyes were locked on Jiang Dao, terror overriding every instinct of nobility he possessed.
It wasn't just the aura radiating from the man in front of him—a suffocating pressure that felt like the air itself had turned to lead—it was the cognitive dissonance. The King had seen horrors in his life, but he had never felt the urge to avert his gaze from a fellow human being. Yet, looking at Jiang Dao felt like staring directly into the sun, or perhaps into an abyss that was staring back.
"You… you…" The King stammered, his composure shattered.
"What?" Jiang Dao flicked his finger against the empty air. There was a sharp thwip sound, and the space where his finger struck seemed to fracture, the air pressure shattering rocks several feet away. "Is Your Highness unwilling to cooperate?"
"Jiang Dao," the King managed, forcing the words through gritted teeth. "What kind of monster are you, really?"
The air temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Jiang Dao's expression darkened, his brow furrowing in genuine irritation.
"Why does everyone ask me that?"
His voice started as a growl and ended as a roar that shook the surrounding timber. Leaves rained down from the canopy. The vibration rattled the King's teeth in his skull.
"I am a human! Can't you see the obvious traits? Two arms, two legs, a face? I am a human being!"
The roar was bestial, reminiscent of a tiger claiming its territory, yet the words were absurdly defensive. It was a sore spot for Jiang Dao. Every enemy, every rival, every victim asked the same question before they died. It was becoming tedious.
"Human?" The Nanling King's eyelid twitched. He wanted to argue—to point out that humans didn't shatter the atmosphere with a flick of a finger—but the murderous glint in Jiang Dao's eyes silenced him.
"Fine," the King conceded, wiping a bead of cold sweat from his temple. "Gang Leader Jiang, let's assume you are human. What is the price? What must I pay for you to yield the Destined Divine Artifact to me?"
The King's desperation was palpable. The artifact was a legend, a game-changer. For it, he would grovel.
"There is no negotiation," Jiang Dao said, his voice dropping to a cold, flat monotone. "The item is mine. If you disagree, I'll simply crush you to death and take it anyway."
The King's face paled. He weighed his options: dignity or survival. It was a short debate.
"Very well. I yield. I only hope that once you obtain the artifact, Gang Leader Jiang will spare my life."
"Behave, and you'll live," Jiang Dao said dismissively. "Where is it?"
"Follow me." The King sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "We have a preliminary location, though the exact spot requires on-site confirmation."
As the King turned toward the mountain path, he heard a sickening sound behind him—like wet leather shrinking or bones grinding together. He turned back and gasped.
Jiang Dao was deflating.
His massive, hulking frame was compressing rapidly, muscles knitting tighter, bones shifting, until he stood at a normal, unassuming height. He looked like an average man, stripped of his monstrous bulk. He casually ripped the tatters of his clothes off his body, walked over to the corpse of a fallen Spirit Remover, and stripped the dead man of his clean outer robes.
Dressed in the stolen silks, Jiang Dao strode forward. To a distant observer, they would have looked like an odd pair: a nobleman in fine satin, radiating anxiety, walking alongside a wild-haired man in ill-fitting robes who walked with the predatory grace of a jungle cat.
The mountain path was treacherous, a winding snake of jagged rock and roots. The air grew heavier with every step, and a low, rhythmic booming sound began to echo from the peaks, like the heartbeat of the mountain itself.
Crimson light pulsed from the earth, radiating outward in waves. Jiang Dao scanned the terrain, his eyes picking out the broken bodies of Spirit Removers scattered in the brush.
"How much longer?" Jiang Dao asked, his patience thinning.
"Soon," the King replied, breathless. "Just over that ridge."
The King's mind was racing. He stole glances at Jiang Dao, burning with questions he was too terrified to ask. Eventually, curiosity won out.
"Gang Leader Jiang," the King ventured cautiously. "How exactly does a human cultivate to your level? I've studied the martial arts of the mortal realm. Nothing... nothing creates a being like you."
"Why not? I did it, didn't I?"
"But your bloodline... it feels more potent than even the strongest Spirit Removers."
Jiang Dao scoffed. "Spirit Removers? Do you think there are some higher species? Listen to me: there is no such thing as 'high and mighty.' The world is simple. There is the eater, and there is the eaten. The strongest Spirit Remover is just a meal for something stronger."
"True," the King whispered, a chill running down his spine. "You are right."
They crested the ridge, and the world below them changed.
A massive basin stretched out before them, filled not with fog, but with a thick, roiling blood-mist. It glowed with a sickly luminescence, obscuring everything within. The naked eye couldn't penetrate it, but the waves of power rolling off it were enough to make the air vibrate.
"This is it?" Jiang Dao narrowed his eyes.
"Yes. The Destined Divine Artifact is inside," the King explained. "Its nature is parasitic. To approach it, you need 'blood food'—sacrifices prepared in advance. Without them, the artifact will drain the blood of anyone who draws near. It is essentially an evil spirit given form."
"Is that so?" Jiang Dao's interest piqued. An evil artifact meant Yin energy. If he could secure it, perhaps he could squeeze it dry for his own cultivation.
As they watched, figures emerged from the tree line surrounding the basin. Dozens of Spirit Removers were pacing at the edge of the mist, hesitating.
Suddenly, the sky darkened.
BOOM!
Five jet-black coffins slammed into the earth near the mist's edge, falling from the sky like meteors. The impact shattered boulders and sent shockwaves of dust into the air. The lids popped open with a synchronized hiss, releasing billowing clouds of necrotic gray gas.
The Nanling King froze. "Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountain."
Jiang Dao crouched, suppressing his aura until he felt like nothing more than a stone by the road. "I know them," he whispered. "I have a score to settle."
A low, guttural roar emanated from the coffins, a sound wave so powerful it was visible as it rippled through the grass. The Spirit Removers near the basin stumbled back, clutching their ears, faces twisted in horror.
Then, the occupants rose.
They were nightmares made flesh. Four of them were giants, standing nearly ten feet tall. Their bodies were covered in calcified bone scales, and vile, yellow fluids leaked from cracks in their carapace. White maggots writhed on their skin, burrowing in and out of their flesh.
But it was the fifth figure that made the Nanling King tremble.
It was a child.
A boy, no older than seven, with skin as white as porcelain and eyes that were entirely black—no whites, no iris, just a void. He had no scales, no rot, no leaking fluids. He stood amidst the giants like a pristine doll in a slaughterhouse.
"A Spirit Corpse," the King hissed. "They brought a Spirit Corpse."
"Explain," Jiang Dao commanded.
"The Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountain cultivators transform themselves into the dead. Usually, this means rot and decay. But if they become strong enough—Dragon level—they revert. They return to a state of purity. That child... he is likely the deadliest thing in this valley."
One of the giant Corpse Demons stepped forward, its voice sounding like grinding stones. "This is our territory now. Bow, or die."
When no one moved, the creature vanished.
It didn't run; it simply ceased to exist in one spot and appeared in another. With a lazy backhand swipe, heads exploded. Three Spirit Removers were decapitated instantly, their bodies flung backward like ragdolls.
"See?" Jiang Dao whispered, a cruel smile touching his lips. "What did I tell you? No high and mighty. Just the eater and the eaten."
From their vantage point, Jiang Dao watched the subjugation unfold. The Corpse Demon terrified the remaining Spirit Removers into submission. Then, the creature shook its body, and a rain of white, slimy worms fell from its rotting flesh.
"Eat," the demon commanded.
The gathered cultivators, men and women who were considered elites in their own regions, fell to their knees. Weeping, shaking, they picked up the writhing parasites and swallowed them.
"The Three Corpse Demon Worm Gu," the Nanling King explained, his voice hollow. "Once eaten, the worm attaches to the brain stem. Any thought of rebellion, and it consumes the host's mind."
"Useful," Jiang Dao noted dryly.
The enslaved group was forced into the red mist as fodder, walking ahead to trigger any traps. The Corpse Demons followed, grinning, while the pale child walked silently at the rear.
"They are using them to pave the road with blood," the King said. "Tragic."
"It's not tragic," Jiang Dao said, standing up. "It's suicide. They came here looking for treasure they couldn't handle."
Once the monsters had vanished into the fog, Jiang Dao signaled the King. "Let's go."
Elsewhere on the mountain, a lighter, albeit equally tense, scene was playing out.
"This is your fault," Zhao Ziling snapped, hacking at a vine with her sword. "You and your stupid algorithms! 'The stars align here,' you said. We've been walking in circles for three hours!"
"Patience," Xu Zifeng replied, checking his compass. "The artifact requires blood. Let the heavy hitters—the Corpse Mountain, the Heyao Palace—kill each other first. We are here to be the fishermen who catch the鹬 when the clam and snipe fight."
"If we're lucky enough to be fishermen," Zhao muttered.
They burst into a clearing and nearly ran headfirst into a wall of muscle.
Xu Zifeng slammed a hand over Zhao's mouth before she could scream. Standing on the path ahead was Jiang Dao.
Jiang Dao turned slowly. "Ah, Brother Xu. Did you bring blood food?"
"No!" Xu Zifeng stammered, sweating. "We... we are just observers! We have other methods! My master is coming!"
"Is that so?" Jiang Dao looked him up and down, eyes flat. "Good. If you had brought blood food, you'd be dead."
Jiang Dao walked away, disappearing toward the mist.
Xu Zifeng collapsed against a tree, gasping for air. "We wait here," he choked out. "We do not go forward until the Master arrives. That man... he is more dangerous than the demons."
The interior of the red mist was a sensory nightmare.
It wasn't just humid; it was wet. The air tasted of iron and copper. Jiang Dao reached out and grabbed a handful of the fog. Under the heat of his Fire Poison Qi, the mist condensed into a sticky, red liquid in his palm.
"It's aerosolized blood," Jiang Dao muttered, wiping his hand. "The whole valley is drowning in it."
He engaged his internal energy, creating a pressurized barrier around his skin to keep the filth off. Beside him, the Nanling King erected a shield of spiritual light.
They walked blind. Visibility was less than ten feet.
Soon, shapes emerged from the gloom. Corpses. Dozens of them. These weren't fresh kills; they were husks. Their skin was papery and gray, stretched tight over bones. Every drop of moisture and blood had been vacuumed out of them.
"The enslaved Spirit Removers," the King whispered, stepping over a dried-out hand. "Something drank them dry."
"The artifact? Or something else?" Jiang Dao asked.
"Hard to say. In a place like this, logic dies fast."
Suddenly, a scream pierced the heavy air.
AHHH!
It was a sound of pure, unadulterated agony, but it sounded muffled, as if coming from underwater.
Jiang Dao moved instantly. He didn't run; he blurred, tearing through the mist with the King struggling to keep up. They covered hundreds of meters in seconds, but the sound cut off as abruptly as it had started.
Silence returned, heavier than before.
They slowed down, prowling through the bloody haze. There were no bodies here. Just the endless red.
Jiang Dao stopped. He tilted his head, channeling his internal energy into his ears. The world amplified. The rustle of the mist sounded like a roaring river. And then, he heard it—voices, faint and terrified, drifting from a few hundred meters ahead.
"...damn it all. We almost ran right into the Corpse Demons back there."
"I told you we shouldn't have come. We haven't found a single treasure, and we're being hunted."
"Forget the treasure," a third voice hissed. "What about the thing in the mist? It killed the others in a heartbeat. I don't think even the Corpse Demons saw it coming."
"We have to leave. Now."
"Where is the exit? Everything looks the same!"
Jiang Dao looked at the Nanling King, whose face had gone ash-gray.
"Did you hear that?" the King whispered, the hairs on his arms standing up. "They said there's something else in here. There really is a monster."
Jiang Dao cracked his knuckles, a predatory grin spreading across his face.
"Good."