At the very top where the nine colossal peaks twisted and converged lay a vast Crimson Pool. From it poured nine thousand feet of cascading blood, forming scarlet waterfalls that splashed down upon the gigantic floating ritual array below.
The blood filled every groove and hollow of the intricate formation, until its runes pulsed with a living crimson glow. At its very center stood a violet-red palace, magnificent and vast beyond imagination.
Beneath the nine peaks stretched wide open grounds, lined with countless ancient-style buildings. Not a single one was made from plain stone or timber—every structure gleamed with golden bricks, white jade walls, and eaves carved with dragons and phoenixes.
The scene was elegant, grand, and impossibly refined—nothing like the gloomy, monstrous image Wang Yu had imagined of a demonic sect.
Even the City Lord's Mansion back in Stone Lake City would look utterly ordinary here.
Only the figures streaking across the sky fit his preconceived notions—streams of cultivators flying amidst roiling black mist and surging blood light.
Their flying tools were grotesque and varied: skulls, rib-bone swords, clouds made of corpse qi, paper effigies carrying sedan chairs, coffin-shaped artifacts… innumerable Foundation Establishment cultivators traversed the skies.
The Qi Refining disciples were simpler; most flew on uniform black cloth talismans—standard-issue implements of the Reverse Blood Sect.
Yet Wang Yu's heart burned with excitement. As long as he could touch cultivation techniques, what did it matter if they were demonic? He bore no prejudice toward any path—power was power, and usefulness was all that mattered.
And since these people had bribed the guards at Black Mountain Pass, he reasoned they wouldn't simply kill them. At the very least, they'd want to extract some value first.
The caravan didn't stop.
The black-robed cultivators escorted them toward the third peak from the left, an area distinctly different from the others. It was fenced off, guarded at every corner by patrolling disciples.
"Brother Xu, you're finally back! Only a hundred this time?" someone called out as they arrived.
The leading black-robed elder removed his hood, revealing a face lined like cracked earth.
"No helping it," he rasped. "Stone Lake City's spiritual vein is too poor. Naturally, its seeds of cultivation are few. If I'd gone to Qianqiu City, I'd have brought back at least five hundred Spirit Slaves."
"Count them. Take them all below."
Spirit Slaves?
Wang Yu frowned, unable to catch more of their conversation before his carriage was hauled before a row of stone houses. The shackles were unlocked, and the captives herded out.
A plump, round-bellied middle-aged man greeted them with a cold smile.
"I am Steward Duan," he announced, voice dripping with false cheer.
"From this day forth, you are all Spirit Slaves of the Reverse Blood Sect. Until you've repaid your purchase debt, none of you will take a single step beyond these walls.
"Behave well, and perhaps one day you'll shed your slave status and become Outer Sect disciples. Work hard!"
With that perfunctory speech, Steward Duan turned and left.
None of them were cultivators yet, only mortals—they could do nothing but obey.
According to the roster, Wang Yu was assigned to Stone House No. 83.
Inside was a bed, a table, chairs, and even a small latrine. The bedding and cushions were of fine silk—luxurious, nearly on par with his old life in the Wang Clan.
However, the windows and doors were barred with thick iron grates—wide enough only to extend one's arm through. It was, in essence, a gilded prison.
Before long, a Reverse Blood Sect disciple made rounds, tossing a cloth bag into each stone house. When he reached Wang Yu's, he did the same—wordless, expressionless.
Wang Yu opened the bag.
Inside were food and a water pouch. Twenty steaming buns, still warm to the touch. His stomach growled; he hadn't eaten all day. He devoured five in one sitting.
The fillings were both meat and vegetable—savory, rich, and seasoned to perfection. The thin, delicate skin put even Stone Lake's finest pastry chefs to shame.
Such treatment… made him reevaluate what it meant to be a Spirit Slave.
Perhaps things weren't as grim as he'd imagined. Cultivators—even demonic ones—weren't the mindless monsters described in mortal tales.
They were still human.
They had desires, cravings, and ambitions—only expressed more openly. The Demonic Path was simply the path of those who dared to indulge and pursue power through extremes.
Even the lowest here—their slaves—lived better than most commoners outside.
Besides the food, there were two books in the bag—one thin, one thick.
The thinner volume contained basic cultivation knowledge—rules, customs, and explanations of the Spirit Slaves' duties.
Every individual had a recorded "purchase debt", the amount they needed to repay before earning the right to become an Outer Disciple.
Wang Yu read through it carefully, committing each detail to memory.
The first section described the Stone House District's rules:
Rule One: Every day from Mao hour to Si hour (5:00–9:00 a.m.), Spirit Slaves may leave their houses. Twenty Qi Refining cultivators will be present to answer questions.
Whether on cultivation, reading, or comprehension, all queries will be answered.
It is the only time slaves are permitted outside their rooms.
Rule Two: After breaking through to the First Layer of Qi Refining, each Spirit Slave must sacrifice a portion of their cultivation every month to condense Spirit Sand, submitting one or two taels to any appointed steward.
That, clearly, was where their true value lay.
Spirit Stones were condensed essences of spiritual energy, born naturally from veins of power deep within the earth. They existed in four tiers—Low, Mid, High, and Supreme—and served as universal currency in the cultivation world.
But supply never met demand.
Thus came the role of the Spirit Slave.
A cultivator could damage their own foundation to refine Spirit Sand, essentially minting raw energy into usable currency.
Early Qi Refining cultivators could only produce Spirit Sand, two taels of which equaled a single Low-Grade Spirit Stone.
What was pure and potent to Qi Refiners became turbid and weak to Foundation Establishment cultivators—hence why higher-grade stones commanded vastly higher prices.
Rule Three: Once a Spirit Slave has repaid one hundred Spirit Stones' worth of "purchase debt," they may apply to become an Outer Sect Disciple.
Naturally, this referred to Low-Grade Spirit Stones.
By calculation, one tael of Spirit Sand equaled one Spirit Stone; thus, the most optimistic repayment rate was a hundred months—over eight years.
Add in the time needed to study and break through to Qi Refining… ten years at minimum.
"Twenty-six years old before I'm free…" Wang Yu murmured, closing the booklet.
He drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
The accommodations were good, yes—but when spirit stones were involved, no demonic sect would be so kind. Ten years was theory; in practice, it could easily stretch to twenty.
The thicker tome was their cultivation manual—the Qi Refining technique of the Reverse Blood Sect.
It was shockingly generous, containing all nine layers, enough to reach the Peak of Qi Refining.
A perfect illusion of hope, dangled before the desperate.
Still, hope was hope.
The mountain gates of the Reverse Blood Sect were heavily guarded; the Stone House District, though remote, was far from unmonitored. Escape was impossible.
The only road forward was through the sect's rules—repay the debt, become an Outer Disciple, and seize freedom through obedience.
Even if it was no more than a mirage—
He would chase it with everything he had.
There was no other choice.
(End of Chapter 3)