Chapter 1
Darkness.
It was the first thing he felt. Not the peaceful, dreamless kind—but a suffocating abyss, as though the void itself had hands, dragging him into its depths.
Then, a sudden gasp.
Nyxen's eyes snapped open.
The world around him was alien. A red moon loomed high above, its bloody light spilling over mountains carved into grotesque shapes. Black banners fluttered in the wind, marked with the sigil of a serpent coiled around a sword. The stench of iron and incense mixed with the faint whispers of chanting voices.
"Where… am I?"
His voice was deeper, sharper. Not his. He staggered forward and caught sight of his reflection in a shard of cracked bronze lying nearby. A face stared back at him: pale, thin, with crimson eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight.
Not his own face.
Memories surged like a flood—alien, violent, endless.
The boy whose body he now wore was a disciple of the Crimson Serpent Sect, one of the great demonic factions in this world. His name, also Nyxen, though spelled differently in these memories, belonged to a half-abandoned orphan raised to kill, steal, and obey.
But alongside those memories, his own surfaced—his past life on Earth, the life of a man who had died unnoticed, a mind full of regrets and unanswered questions.
I… transmigrated?
The realization hit him like thunder. He had read of such tales, dreamed of escaping a mundane world—but now that it was real, it felt less like a miracle and more like a curse.
The flood of foreign knowledge didn't stop. The words of this world carved themselves into his thoughts: stages of cultivation, formations of power, avatars, domains, mythical creatures. The grand ladder of power stretched infinitely before him, each step promising both glory and madness.
And something deeper, darker—the Sword Dao World. A trial realm. A test where cultivators were cast into an ancient dimension tied to the essence of swords themselves. Only those who survived could hope to climb higher.
A cruel smile tugged at his lips.
"Fate threw me into another world… and gave me a demonic sect for a cradle."
From the chanting halls of the sect behind him, a voice echoed—harsh and commanding.
"Disciples of the Crimson Serpent Sect! Tonight, you march into the Sword Dao World! Only the strong shall return, bearing fortune and comprehension. The weak will be left as dust beneath ancient blades!"
Nyxen's crimson eyes flickered. His heart should have trembled with fear, yet instead, a strange excitement stirred.
He retreated into the shadows as disciples gathered. Dozens of young men and women, cloaked in black, their faces a mixture of eagerness and dread. Some sharpened their blades. Others clutched talismans close to their hearts.
The Sect Master stood tall at the head, robes as red as blood, serpent eyes scanning his disciples with cold amusement.
Nyxen lowered his gaze, hiding the strangeness in his eyes. He needed time. Time to adapt, time to plot, time to survive.
Sword Dao World… I have no choice but to go. If I survive, I'll gain power. If I don't… well, I already died once.
That night, the disciples were led into a cavern carved with runes. A portal of shimmering steel light pulsed before them, humming with killing intent. It wasn't just a doorway—it was a wound in space, cut open by some ancient blade.
One by one, disciples stepped through. Some trembling, others smiling madly.
When Nyxen's turn came, he pressed his hand against the portal. The energy cut against his flesh, sharp yet inviting. His lips curved into a mocking grin.
"Let's see what kind of hell this Sword Dao World truly is."
He stepped forward.
The world twisted.
Screams of steel filled his ears.
When the light cleared, Nyxen stood in a wasteland of swords. The earth was blackened, cracked, and littered with broken blades. From the sky, countless swords hung suspended as though the heavens themselves had been pierced and left bleeding.
Every breath carried the weight of sword intent. Invisible edges pressed against his skin, slicing, testing, judging.
Some disciples around him collapsed instantly, cut down by the sheer pressure. Their bodies bled without wounds, as if the world itself refused their existence.
Nyxen dropped to one knee, gripping his chest as waves of killing intent slammed against him. His demonic qi roared in protest, lashing out like a beast trapped in a cage.
But something inside him… resonated.
The foreign body he now inhabited, the fragments of its memories, its cruelty, its hunger—they merged with his will. He had lived in despair once already. Death had already claimed him. What was one more battlefield?
He forced his body upright, crimson eyes blazing with defiance.
"Is this your welcome, Sword Dao World?" he whispered, a dark smile spreading. "Then let me carve my place in your graveyard."