Chapter 1: The Blood Oath
The wine was high-quality, but it couldn't dull the edge of Zhou Fan's instincts. He set the porcelain cup down on the wooden table, the light thud muffled by the boisterous laughter of his clan brothers.
"I'm heading out for some air," Zhou Fan said, standing up.
His friends waved him off, too deep into their cups to notice the slight narrowing of his eyes. He stepped out of the tavern, the cool night air of the Yong Clan estate hitting his face. Instead of staying within the lantern-lit paths, he drifted toward the edge of the surrounding forest.
The silence of the woods was too perfect. No crickets, no rustle of small game. Just the faint, rhythmic pulse of hidden breathing.
"Come out," Zhou Fan called out, his voice flat. "The Yong Clan's territory isn't a place for rats to hide."
Silence followed.
Zhou Fan didn't wait for a second invitation. In a single, fluid motion, he unstrapped the heavy spear from his back. His muscles coiled like a mountain tiger's before exploding with power. He launched the spear with a concussive burst of internal energy.
The weapon streaked through the air, a silver line cutting the darkness. A muffled thwack echoed as the spearhead buried itself into a thick oak tree fifty paces away, pinning a masked figure through the chest. The man didn't even have time to scream; the force of the impact had shattered his spine instantly.
Before the body could even slump, Zhou Fan was already moving.
Kunai knives hissed through the air, aimed at his vitals. He twisted his torso, the blades whistling past his ears, but one grazed his bicep. A thin red line appeared. Zhou Fan ignored it, his focus entirely on the shadows. He reached his spear in a blur, ripping it from the tree and the corpse simultaneously.
Three assassins lunged from the canopy.
"Yong Clan Spear Technique: Invisible Yield," Zhou Fan muttered.
He didn't thrust forward; he stepped into their range. The spear moved in a deceptive, circular arc, the tip vibrating at a frequency that made it appear as a shimmering haze. The first assassin tried to parry, but the spear tip bypassed his blade as if it were intangible, reappearing a second later buried deep in his throat.
Zhou Fan yanked the weapon back, a spray of arterial blood painting the grass, and immediately pivoted.
"Who sent you?" he demanded.
The assassins offered no words, only steel. One dove low, his blade aiming for Zhou Fan's hamstrings. Zhou Fan leaped, but as he reached the apex of his jump, a hidden fourth assassin appeared from a pocket of shadow, a dagger flashing toward his face.
Zhou Fan tilted his head, but the blade caught his cheek, carving a shallow red trench.
"Fine. No talking then," Zhou Fan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill.
He landed and drove the butt of his spear into the earth. Internal energy flared from his dantians, surging through the wood and steel of his weapon.
"Yong Clan Secret Technique: Earth-Shattering Desolation."
The ground groaned. A shockwave erupted from the point of impact, tearing up roots and sending massive slabs of soil and stone into the air. The assassins were caught in the chaos, their footing lost. Zhou Fan used the flying debris as a screen. He flickered through the dust, his spear a streak of black lightning.
A single, horizontal slash took the head off the third assassin. The head spun into the darkness like a discarded toy. Without losing momentum, Zhou Fan lunged at the final man, his spear point glowing with a faint, white light. The "Invisible Yield" struck again, this time piercing straight through the man's heart protector and out his back.
Zhou Fan exhaled, leaning slightly on his spear. "At least Martial Masters... and they sent four just for—"
His words cut off. A sudden, searing heat bloomed in his chest. His knees buckled, hitting the dirt with a heavy thud.
"The poison..." He gritted his teeth, trying to circulate his internal energy to flush the toxin, but it felt like pouring water into a cracked jar. The energy simply dissipated. "This isn't standard poison. It's... energy-neutralizing."
Three figures emerged from the deeper shadows. They didn't wear the cheap gear of the previous four. Their robes were high-grade silk, and the pressure radiating from them made the air feel heavy.
Life and Death Realm.
The middle figure wore a grotesque Fox Mask, his frame as massive as an ancient oak. To his left stood a figure in a Crane Mask, tall and impossibly thin, holding a pair of serrated needles. To the right was a figure in a Serpent Mask, whose body seemed to coil and uncoil with every step, a whip-like flexible sword wrapped around his waist.
"Impressive," the Fox Mask rumbled, his voice distorted. "You killed the vanguard even while the 'Soul-Rot' was eating your veins. A pity. The Yong Clan will burn tonight, and you won't be there to see the ashes."
Zhou Fan tried to lift his spear, his vision blurring. 'If I'm ever reborn... I'll hunt every last one of you...'
The Fox Mask didn't wait for a final stand. He drew a heavy cleaver, the blade glowing with a sickly purple light. With a roar of exertion, he swung.
Everything went black.
[ Do you wish to become a Devourer? ]
The voice was cold, vibrating with a metallic resonance that didn't belong to a human throat.
[ Fatal damage detected: Decapitation. ] [ Soul status: Detached. ] [ Searching for suitable vessel for User's soul... ]
"What... what is this..." Zhou Fan's consciousness flickered in the void. "What is a Devourer? Where are you speaking from?"
[ A Devourer is the end of all things. The one who consumes the essence of the heavens to fuel their own ascendance. ]
[ Would you like to be reborn? ]
"I don't understand what you're saying," Zhou Fan shouted into the nothingness. "Answer me!"
[ ...No response. ]
[ Automatically accepted. ]
Zhou Fan's eyes snapped open.
He wasn't in the forest. He wasn't bleeding. He was lying on a hard, stone floor in a room lit only by a single, flickering tallow candle. The air smelled of damp earth and old blood.
"What the... what happened?"
His voice sounded wrong. High-pitched. Weak.
He scrambled to his feet, his limbs feeling strangely short and uncoordinated. On the far wall hung a cracked, grimy mirror. Zhou Fan stumbled toward it and stared.
The man in the mirror was gone. In his place stood a boy, no older than twelve. His hair was a chaotic, ink-black mess that hung down past his shoulders. But it was the eyes that stopped his heart. They weren't the brown of his former life. They were a piercing, predatory crimson, glowing faintly in the dim light like fresh embers.
"Where am I?!" he screamed, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls.
[ Rebirth successful. ]
[ Current Status: Potential Vessel. ]
[ Location: Demonic Cult - Blood Hall. ]
The robotic text floated in the air before his eyes, translucent and glowing. Zhou Fan swiped at it, but his hand passed straight through the light.
"What is this magic? Is this an illusion?"
[ First Quest Initiated: The Foundation of Survival. ]
[ Objective: Gain information regarding your current environment. ]
[ Progress: 0/100 ]
Zhou Fan gripped his head, his small fingers digging into his scalp. He wasn't a spear master anymore. He was a child in the heart of the most ruthless organization in the Murim world.
'Demonic Cult...'
He looked at his small, pale hands. He didn't know what the voice was, and he didn't know why his eyes were red, but the Mask people was still out there. If he had to use this strange "System" to get back to the top, he didn't have a choice