Chapter 3: The Awakening

A frigid silence hung over the battlefield. The snow, once pristine, was now stained in deep crimson. The lifeless bodies of the Azure Cloud Sect assassins lay scattered around me, their blood seeping into the frozen earth. Their deaths had been swift—far too merciful.

Yet, despite my victory, I felt no elation. Instead, a foreign sensation stirred within me, an unfamiliar hunger gnawing at my soul. It was not merely a desire for vengeance. It was something primal, something all-consuming.

And then, the voice spoke.

"Do you feel it?"

A chilling whisper echoed through my mind, slithering like a serpent through my thoughts. It was the spirit within the Crimson Veil. Its presence had fully merged with me, no longer just an external force, but a part of my very being.

I stood still, my breath steady, my heartbeat strangely calm despite the carnage around me. My fingers twitched, the sensation of power coiling within them.

"What is this feeling?" I murmured.

The voice chuckled, a sound both ancient and cruel.

"You have begun your first step toward true power. The world of mortals can no longer contain you. You stand at the precipice of demonhood."

The words sent a shiver down my spine. I had always known of demonic cultivators, of those who abandoned the righteous path for the allure of forbidden power. They were spoken of in whispers, feared by sects, hunted by righteous cultivators.

And yet… standing here, feeling this strength coursing through me, I understood.

Power was neither righteous nor evil.

It was merely power—and the weak had no right to dictate how it was used.

"Tell me…" I said, my voice steady. "What comes next?"

A ripple of dark energy coiled around my body as the voice responded, its tone rich with amusement.

"You are now at the low-rank of Mortal Stage , the lowest step toward demonhood. But even at this level, you have already surpassed the limits of an ordinary cultivator. Your body is now absorbing demonic qi, reshaping itself to withstand the power that will soon flood your veins."

I exhaled slowly. A deep warmth—or perhaps something colder than ice—spread through my limbs. My once shattered meridians were gone, replaced by something new, something different.

I could feel it. The energy of the assassins I had slain was seeping into me, their lingering resentment and fear devoured by the Crimson Veil. My once fatigued body now felt invigorated, my wounds sealing without effort.

But it was not enough.

The voice inside me continued, its whispers laced with temptation.

"This is only the beginning. To truly awaken the demonic core, you must complete the First Blood Ritual."

First Blood Ritual…

I frowned. My fingers flexed, and a surge of dark qi crackled between them. The assassins I had killed—did they not already serve as my first offering?

The spirit of the Crimson Veil seemed to sense my thoughts and laughed softly.

"No, Wuyuan. Those who cultivate must choose to step onto the path of darkness. They were already enemies—killing them was survival, not an offering."

A realization dawned upon me. The First Blood Ritual was not about simply killing—it was about choosing to kill, to take a life not out of necessity, but as an act of ascension.

"Then who must die?" I asked, my voice carrying neither hesitation nor fear.

The voice purred in satisfaction.

"Anyone."

A pause. Then, a deeper whisper.

"But the more they resist… the more they struggle… the sweeter their essence will be."

A strange sensation curled inside me. A flicker of hesitation, perhaps, but it was drowned beneath the weight of my resolve. I had already been cast aside, already been marked as a demon in the eyes of the righteous world.

Why should I deny my fate?

I turned my gaze toward the distant horizon, where the dim lights of a village flickered against the night sky.

A quiet village, untouched by sect conflicts, filled with merchants, farmers, and travelers.

Weak. Helpless.

The first stepping stone on my path.

I took a step forward, the snow crunching beneath my feet. Dark qi coiled around me, thick and intoxicating, sinking into my flesh, reinforcing my newfound strength. My transformation had only just begun.

And before the night ended, the world would bear witness to the birth of a true demon.

The cold night wind howled as I descended from the mountain path, my figure barely visible under the cloak of darkness. The village lay ahead, nestled within the valley like a sleeping beast. From a distance, it seemed peaceful—warm lanterns flickered against wooden houses, and the faint murmur of voices carried through the air.

But there was something wrong about this place.

As I neared the entrance, I noticed a group of ragged figures huddled beneath a dying tree just beyond the village's borders. Their clothes were torn, their faces gaunt, and their eyes filled with resentment and despair.

Exiles.

Their presence was strange. A small village like this would rarely have people cast out—especially not in such numbers. Unless…

I slowed my steps, my gaze piercing through the darkness. One of them, a man with sunken cheeks and a deep scar running across his throat, noticed my approach and raised his head.

"You…" His voice was hoarse, as if his throat had been damaged long ago. "You're not from the village."

I said nothing, waiting.

Another, an elderly woman with frail hands, let out a dry chuckle. "If you're thinking of seeking refuge there, you best turn around now. That place is cursed."

"Cursed?" I repeated, tilting my head.

The scarred man sneered, his expression twisted with hatred. "Not by spirits or gods, no. That place is cursed because of the people inside it. The village is nothing more than a den of vermin who have no place in righteous society. Thieves, slavers, murderers… criminals with no cultivation ability but still dangerous in their own right."

I narrowed my eyes, glancing back toward the village. "Then why do you linger here?"

The old woman spat into the dirt. "Because we were cast out for ridiculous reasons. Some for speaking out against the village chief, others for refusing to partake in their filth. They made us out to be the sinners while they indulge in every vice imaginable."

A younger man, barely past his teenage years, clenched his fists. "I was thrown out because I refused to hand over my sister to them." His voice trembled with rage. "They—those animals—took her and others like her. And if we try to go back, they'll kill us like dogs."

His words settled heavily in the cold night air.

So this was the truth.

This was no village of innocent farmers, no settlement of helpless mortals. This was a festering wound upon the land, a gathering of the worst kind of people—those who had no power, no cultivation, yet still thrived in wickedness.

And I had hesitated?

A dark chuckle rumbled in my chest.

The hesitation that once lingered in my heart evaporated.

This was no longer a mere First Blood Ritual.

This was a purge.

The spirit of the Crimson Veil stirred within me, its voice rich with satisfaction.

"Ah, Wuyuan… do you see now? This is the world. A place where the weak become prey, where justice is but an illusion. You were right to abandon hesitation. Now, go forth… and claim your first offering."

A slow exhale left my lips, my eyes glinting with cold resolve.

The exiles watched me warily as I turned toward the village.

"You should leave," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "You don't want to be here for what happens next."

The scarred man studied me, his instincts screaming that something had changed within me. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

Because in that moment, the air shifted.

A thick wave of demonic qi coiled around my body, rising like a living shadow. My once-restrained power was now unshackled, flowing freely through my veins.

The exiles shivered as the night itself seemed to deepen, as if the world had just realized that something monstrous had stepped forward.

And then, without another word, I walked into the village.

Tonight, the wicked would meet their reckoning.