Chapter 5: The Birth Of The Demon Swordman

The world around me dimmed. The crackling lanterns, the bodies scattered across the ground—none of it mattered anymore.

All I could hear was the pounding of Old Zhao's heart beneath my fingers.

His life was in my grasp.

And for the first time, I understood the hunger.

"Yes… take it… embrace what you are becoming."

The spirit within the Crimson Veil whispered, its voice dripping with satisfaction.

I exhaled, tightening my grip. Old Zhao screamed, his frail body convulsing as the air around us shifted. A thick, black mist seeped from his pores, twisting and curling as if resisting the inevitable.

It was his essence.

His life force.

I could feel it struggling against me, desperate to return to his body. But I wouldn't let it.

I pulled.

The mist rushed into my palm like water down a whirlpool. The moment it touched my skin, a wave of ecstasy shot through my veins—raw, unfiltered power. My body burned, but it was not pain. It was awakening.

Old Zhao's body shriveled, his once-wrinkled face sinking into itself. His eyes, which once held arrogance and cruelty, now reflected only terror as his final breath left him.

The hunger did not fade.

It only grew stronger.

"More."

I turned to the fallen villagers, those still groaning and gasping for breath. They weren't just victims—they were stepping stones.

I walked forward.

One man tried to crawl away, his nails scraping against the dirt. He turned his head, his bloodied lips trembling.

"P-please…" he whispered.

I placed my hand on his head.

He let out a horrified shriek as his essence was ripped from his body, his flesh turning gray and lifeless in an instant.

Then the next.

And the next.

With each life I devoured, my body grew stronger, my senses sharper. The dull ache in my limbs from the battle faded, replaced by a vitality I had never felt before. My blood ran thick with dark qi, swirling in my meridians like an uncontrollable storm.

"Good… good…" The spirit purred. "You are no longer shackled by righteousness. You are no longer bound by weakness. This… is freedom."

The hunger persisted, but something inside me shifted.

A new sense of clarity.

My hands trembled—not from hesitation, but from power.

A sudden pressure built in my core. A violent, explosive surge of energy. The air around me crackled, and for a brief moment, my vision went black.

Then—BOOM.

The ground beneath me splintered, cracks spreading outward. A wave of dark qi erupted from my body, sending debris flying. My veins burned, but I welcomed the pain.

I could feel it.

I had reached the peak of the Mortal Stage.

The first step toward demonhood had been taken.

And I was never turning back.

The hunger still burned within me, yet something had changed. My veins pulsed with dark qi, my body humming with newfound power. I had reached the peak of the Mortal Stage—but the Crimson Veil was not satisfied.

A deep, guttural chuckle rumbled in my mind.

"Ah… finally, you are ready to see."

A pulse of energy erupted from the mask, and suddenly, the world around me shifted. The shadows deepened, the wind howled with an eerie whisper, and in the distance—beyond the crumbling village—something called out to me.

A resonance.

It was faint, yet undeniable.

The Crimson Veil stirred, its voice laced with anticipation.

"Do you feel it? The slumbering beast, waiting… buried beneath the earth, forgotten by time. An ancient demon's fang, sharpened by centuries of hatred. It hears my call, and it wants to be found."

I clenched my fist. A weapon like that…

"No," the spirit interrupted my thoughts. "Not just a weapon. A sword that once bathed in the blood of saints. A blade that knows only slaughter. It will reject the weak, but you… you have already taken the first step."

The air suddenly shook. A deep, thrumming resonance echoed through the land, as if something beneath the earth had awakened.

I looked toward the outskirts of the village, where the ruined temple stood in the distance, its walls half-collapsed, its existence long forgotten.

The ground rumbled.

A low, unnatural howl carried through the wind, not of any beast, but of metal longing for war.

The ancient demonic sword had heard the Crimson Veil's call.

And it was responding.

A slow smirk tugged at my lips.

"Then let's go get it."

The village lay in ruin, the ground soaked with blood, the air thick with the stench of death. Bodies—broken, drained, and lifeless—were strewn across the dirt paths, their essence now fueling my transformation. The Mortal Stage had been conquered, but my journey into darkness was just beginning.

Yet, even in my newfound power, the hunger remained.

"Good… You are starting to understand," the Crimson Veil whispered, its voice laced with satisfaction. "You were never meant to follow the righteous path. You were meant to consume, conquer, and dominate."

Then it called to me again—that resonance, deep and ancient, reverberating from beyond the village, just beyond the collapsed temple ruins.

The demonic sword awaited.

I moved.

Each step felt heavier, as if something in the air was resisting me. The further I walked, the more the whispers of the dead echoed in my ears. The temple was old—centuries, perhaps millennia forgotten—but the moment I stepped onto its cracked stone path, a forbidden presence pressed against my soul.

It was watching me.

The Crimson Veil laughed darkly.

"This place reeks of fear. They thought they could bury it, but power never stays hidden for long."

I continued forward. The ruins of the temple were nothing but shattered pillars and a massive stone altar, half-consumed by overgrown vines. At its center lay a massive slab of rock, and buried within—the sword.

My breath slowed.

The weapon was enormous, its blackened blade stabbing deep into the stone, veins of crimson light pulsing beneath its surface. But what caught my eye were the talismans—dozens, maybe hundreds—plastered across the rock, each inscribed with ancient sealing runes, radiating faint golden light.

A holy seal.

Someone had gone to great lengths to imprison this weapon.

I stepped closer, feeling the weight of its presence, the raw hatred sealed within its metal. The Crimson Veil purred in amusement.

"They were terrified of this sword… Terrified of what it did, of what it could still do. But it has been waiting, bound in silence, starving… just like you."

I reached out, fingers grazing the edge of one of the talismans. A shockwave of divine energy lashed against my skin, burning as if rejecting my very existence. But I did not flinch.

Instead, I smirked.

"Whoever sealed you here…" I murmured, eyes fixed on the weapon that once bathed in the blood of saints, "…they are long gone. And I am not afraid."

The Crimson Veil shuddered, its demonic presence reaching out—calling to the blade.

The sword responded.

The earth shook.