Bestial Change

Zheng had expected their search to be difficult and dangerous—but they found their quarry with unsettling ease. From the ruins of Cloud Hammer City, they had headed south until they merged with the Red Valley Road. He and Lord Qing flew above it for half a day before veering left, diving deep into one of the many valleys that scarred the land.

There, they found what they had been searching for. Had they been any less careful, any less cautious, they might have gone from hunters to hunted.

For it was not a mere band of Yuan they had tracked down, but something far more sinister.

A golden carriage floated serenely in the heart of the valley, just large enough for two horses to pull—though there were no horses. It was a magical artifact, needing no animal nor servant. Hidden behind the Azure Moon Mirror, Zheng and Lord Qing watched as the carriage served as a gateway. Yuan warriors merged into it, vanishing from sight, and reemerged hours later. At one point, fifty Yuan had exited from within—a vehicle seemingly large enough for no more than five.

It was a spatial artifact, capable of folding space, perhaps even rendering the Wall impotent. With it, the Yuan could strike with impunity and flee without consequence. And now, Zheng and Lord Qing could do nothing but watch. Their enemies were too strong, and without reinforcements, revealing themselves would be suicide. Only the concealment granted by the Mirror kept them safe. Without Lord Qing's Eye, they would never have found the Yuan in the first place.

Yet as they watched the patrols leave and return, Zheng's dread deepened. Were they on missions like the one they had followed? Slaughtering defenseless cities and towns? Butchering innocents in the name of their Khan?

The thought sickened him—but what could he do?

"Our message should have reached the others by now," Viscount Qing said, worry clear in both his tone and expression. He gnawed at his thumb absently, seemingly unaware of the habit. "Once the Duke arrives, we'll crush these vermin as they deserve."

Zheng's thoughts weren't far from that—though they lacked the same edge of fury. His mind was on something else entirely.

"What troubles me is the artifact," he said quietly. "The Yuan rarely use magical tools. That's something our empire's cultivators rely on, not theirs. If they're starting to emulate us, that's a dangerous shift. If there's one artifact, there could be more. And if, somehow, this is the only one… then who built it? The Khan? If so, he might be close enough to intervene if we strike. Even with the Duke at our side, that's not a battle we can win."

Lord Qing shook his head. "No Khan has ever shown the skill to refine something of that power. More likely they found it—relics like that turn up in the old ruins sometimes. Now they're just twisting it to suit their own ends."

He paused, then added, "And the Khan being here? Highly unlikely. You've seen the reports—constant assaults on the Wall. He wouldn't abandon his main forces just to sneak through our territory. Not unless he's truly indifferent to their fate. He's the Khan. He'll be on the battlefield, not lurking in the shadows."

Zheng wanted to say, No, he likely doesn't care. He'll do whatever he must. He's not just a Khan—he's the avatar of the Immortal of Slaughter. But he kept that to himself. There was no way to voice something like that. Not here. Not now.

So, they just waited and watched. Every passing hour wore their patience thinner, their strained calm fraying at the edges. Yet they held their vigil.

Bands of Yuan continued to emerge from and vanish into the golden carriage. Each time, Zheng and Lord Qing observed as closely as they dared, hoping to glean some insight into the enemy's purpose. But their efforts yielded little. The movements of the Yuan remained a mystery. Based on how quickly they returned—and how unscathed they looked—Zheng allowed himself a measure of cautious optimism. At least they didn't seem to be engaged in battle.

Then, roughly four hours after they had arrived in the valley, something changed.

A group of Yuan emerged from the carriage—but instead of departing on another of their enigmatic missions, they remained, forming a loose perimeter around the artifact. More followed. And then more still.

Soon, the skies above the valley were thick with them—draconic chimeras of half-horse, half-human form, with twisted flames dancing along their limbs. They wheeled and circled in the air without any concern for stealth, their flames turning mountaintop stone into blackened glass as they landed on the surrounding peaks.

Zheng and Lord Qing withdrew to a safer vantage, exchanging tense glances. Whatever this was, it was clearly not good for them. The real question now was—should they intervene?

But even as they considered it, the window of opportunity closed.

Another group stepped out of the carriage—only a dozen this time. But their number was irrelevant.

Every one of them radiated power in the Golden Core realm.

Lord Qing hissed through his teeth, a sharp oath slipping past clenched jaws. Zheng didn't speak. He only tightened his grip on the Azure Moon Mirror and refocused his attention, double-checking that their concealment held firm.

They could not afford a single mistake now.

The Golden Core Yuan took up positions around the carriage and began channeling their qi into it. The artifact responded at once, glowing with an intense brilliance—like a second sun. The entire valley was bathed in its golden radiance, erasing every shadow as though none had ever existed.

Zheng had to turn his gaze away from the blinding light, shielding his eyes with one arm. Still, the Yuan continued, pouring more and more of their power into the artifact.

Then, a sound—soft and crystalline—rang out. A single crack appeared on the carriage's surface, gleaming like a hairline fracture in glass. Another followed. And then another. Soon, a spiderweb of glowing fissures spread across the artifact, its once-smooth form fractured like shattered porcelain.

The Yuan accelerated their efforts, forcing the last reserves of their qi into the structure. With a final, unified surge, the carriage exploded.

A pulse of golden light burst outward in a wide, rippling wave. Grass flattened in its wake. Wind howled through the valley, stirred up by the force of the blast. Where the carriage had once hovered, only drifting fragments of gold remained, tumbling through the air like broken pieces of gilded pottery.

But none of that mattered. A man now floated in the empty space above the ground—suspended in midair, as if he had always been there, simply waiting to be revealed.

Zheng recognized him instantly.

Tall, wiry, compact. Eyes that burned with ruthless intensity. Rich, flowing robes that shimmered with layered qi. And in place of pins, long white fangs adorned his hair.

Ogedei Khan.

Zheng and Lord Qing began to retreat immediately, cloaked in the concealment of the Azure Moon Mirror. The situation had shifted dramatically; they had to warn the Duke and alert the Empire's forces that the Khan had broken through and was now free to wreak havoc.

But before they could put any real distance between themselves and the valley floor, an overwhelming surge of spiritual power flooded the air. The Khan's immense presence spread like a tidal wave across the valley, reaching far beyond its borders. The pressure was suffocating, and for a moment, both men froze, hoping their concealment would hold.

It didn't.

In an instant, the Khan's eyes snapped open, locking onto their position with terrifying precision—high above, where invisibility should have kept them hidden.

The shroud of the Mirror dissolved in a heartbeat.

In a blur too fast for Zheng to track, the Khan was upon them. His presence slammed into them like a physical blow.

Lord Qing unleashed a golden blade of qi in a desperate strike, but it splashed harmlessly against the Khan's robes, not leaving so much as a scuff or tear. At the same time, the Azure Moon Mirror fired a beam of light, only to have it instantly swallowed by a ring of golden fire that exploded into a cage around them, trapping the Mirror as well.

Panic surged through them. Without hesitation, they split—Zheng racing one way, Lord Qing the other—pouring every ounce of their qi into the escape.

But it was futile.

Suddenly, massive fingers loomed in Zheng's vision, like iron bars closing around him. A brutal hand clamped over his face, squeezing with unyielding force before yanking him back and slamming him hard against the valley floor.

The impact stole the breath from his lungs. Dust and dirt exploded around him, and the ground cracked beneath his body. Pain radiated in sharp waves, spreading from his ribs through his limbs.

Beside him, Lord Qing hit the earth just as violently, the fight drained from him almost as quickly as it had begun.

Zheng lay there, breath ragged and body trembling, unable to move. Above him, the Khan levitated, unyielding—an unstoppable force incarnate. The Khan raised his hand, and two pea-sized fireballs bloomed to life around him. They were small and fragile-looking, like embers, but Zheng's instincts screamed at him as soon as they appeared. They were dangerous. Not that he could do much about them. With an almost paradoxically gentle motion, the two small fireballs fell upon him and Lord Qing, settling upon their chests. Zheng couldn't feel any heat from them, and they didn't burn him either. Instead, they just passed right through his clothes, entering his body like ghostly wisps.

Immediately, the pain slammed into him. It was like an ember lodged in his heart. It felt like molten metal running through his veins. His back arched, and Zheng screamed, unable to control himself. A thousand hot knives were slicing his flesh, and his insides were burning apart from the pain. Beside him, Lord Qing thrashed similarly, buried under the Khan's power.

The Yuan in the valley watched as the two cultivators screamed, bucking and thrashing, their cries ringing through the valley in echoes. There was no respite.

However, it wasn't torture. Little by little, the flame consumed their bodies, leaving behind scales. Their legs gave way to a horse's body and claws. Golden fire rippled out of every orifice until it gathered into a raging mane around their backs. Their faces were the last to go, skin blackening and sloughing off in sheets until a draconic snout burst forth, fangs gleaming in the sun and stretched wide in a manic roar. The two cultivators were transformed into Yuan; chimeric and maddened.

It was obvious that neither of them was in possession of their faculties. They growled and twitched like wild beasts, showing no intelligence. Suddenly, the Yuan who had been Lord Qing, a chimera of green scales and golden fire, leaped into the air, struggling and snarling to maintain his flight. It got its balance back soon after, becoming better at flying the longer it stayed in the air, and then departed, ignoring everything. The Yuan that had been Zheng, with blue scales and silver fire, copied its actions, choosing to head in the other direction. The Khan watched them go, not bothering to stop either.

Another Yuan, red-scaled and covered in twisting lengths of crimson fire, came to hover next to the Khan respectfully. "My Lord, shouldn't we stop them? They are both at the Golden Core realm, and we can add their strength to ours now that you have turned them into our glorious forms."

Ogedei shook his head, his spiritual sense trained on something distant. "Don't bother. Their minds are permanently gone, so it'll take longer than we can afford to train them properly. Instead, let them rampage like the beasts they have become and distract the Empire's forces. We, on the other hand, have a war to win, and can't afford to waste time. Make preparations. We depart at once. The final battle will come soon, and I will water this land with the blood of our enemies."

.............

Zheng woke with a pounding headache, his skull feeling as if hammered relentlessly from within. His body ached, heavy with exhaustion. Blinking against the darkness, he struggled to focus. How had he ended up here? The last thing he remembered was… the Khan.

His heart slammed against his ribs at the memory. He shot upright, scanning the shadows around him. Reaching out with his spiritual sense, clarity struck him in two waves: first, he was utterly alone in the night; second, he was no longer the man he'd been.

Staring at his hands in disbelief, Zheng saw scales where skin had been, claws instead of fingers. Moving his legs tentatively, he twisted his head in shock—four limbs now, his lower body transformed into the powerful shape of a horse. His hands rose to his face, trembling as his fingers brushed the unfamiliar contours of a snout.

He had become a Yuan.

How? Zheng tried to focus, digging through the shadowed recesses of his mind until a dim memory from the novel surfaced: during the climax of the war, the Khan had transformed several cultivators into bestial Yuan. It had been mentioned only briefly—just another way to highlight how special Ye Chen was after resisting it. But now, that memory carried a far darker weight.

Could Ogedei Khan truly transform even Golden Core cultivators into Yuan? And how was Zheng still retaining his mind, his intelligence? Surely, that wasn't supposed to happen. Unless the Khan had been unaware of the full limits of his power—accidentally transforming Zheng without gaining control over him.

And what about Lord Qing? Zheng's memories grew hazy toward the end, but they had fallen together. What had become of Lord Qing? Had he suffered the same monstrous fate?

Zheng's breath quickened as questions churned in his mind. His new body felt alien and powerful—but it was a cage. He clenched his clawed fists, willing himself to stay grounded, to hold onto the last remnants of who he was. He had to stay calm and collected. He forced himself to focus, to think of the next steps instead of falling apart.

The night around him was deathly silent, the only sounds his ragged breathing and the distant rustle of wind through leaves. He forced himself to rise, testing the strength of his unfamiliar legs. The Yuan form granted him incredible power, but it came with unfamiliar instincts and abilities. Could he control it? Or better yet, suppress it completely?

If Qing had fallen like him, then there might still be hope—a chance to fight back, to reclaim what they had lost.

Concentrating, Zheng summoned the Azure Moon Mirror. It emerged from his body as a pale blue orb of light before solidifying into its familiar form. Relief surged through him at the sight; he had feared the transformation might have damaged it. He examined himself in the mirror's surface.

Blue scales covered his skin, a mane of silver fire flowed down his back, and his centaur-like lower body was adorned with draconic features—he resembled a Yuan in full. Zheng then focused inward, tracing the flow of qi through his meridians and dantian. To his shock, his cultivation had advanced—his qi surged like a roaring river, powerful yet perfectly controlled, pooling in his dantian before looping through his primary meridians. The sheer volume of qi had increased dramatically.

In fact… he hadn't realized it in the initial shock of transformation, but he was no longer in the Early stage of the Golden Core realm. He had progressed to the Middle stage.

Zheng was speechless, stunned beyond words. He forced himself to calm his racing thoughts and checked again—only to find the same result. He had somehow climbed from the Early to the Middle stage of Golden Core cultivation.

But that was impossible. In over a millennium, no one had naturally advanced past Foundation Establishment in this world. There were methods, but all involved inheriting or stealing power from others. The only exception was Ye Chen—a person much like himself. Ye Chen was also a reincarnator, though not from another world like Zheng. He was the reincarnation of an immortal who had died a millennium ago, reborn to face his fated enemy.

Zheng, on the other hand, was a modern man trapped in what had been to him a fictional world. Could they both share this rare ability to rise in cultivation because of their reborn status? If so, then everything changed. Suddenly, all his plans felt useless—obsolete.

First things first: he had to gain control over this new power. If he could find a way to reverse the transformation, that would be ideal.

Zheng closed his eyes and took a deep breath, drawing in the night air as he centered himself. He extended his spiritual sense inward, reaching for the threads of his qi that now surged violently through his meridians. The Azure Moon Mirror's pale blue glow pulsed faintly beside him, a beacon of hope. He concentrated on the shape of his original body, recalling every detail—the feel of flesh and bone, the rhythm of his human breath.

At first, nothing happened. His limbs still felt foreign, heavy with unfamiliar power. The snout twitched involuntarily, and his horse-like legs itched with restless energy. Doubt crept in, whispering that this new form was permanent, that the beast had won.

But Zheng refused to surrender.

Summoning all his will, he began to channel his qi in reverse, guiding it to reshape and reorder the form it had taken. The golden core within him flared brightly, sending waves of warmth through his body as his consciousness tethered tighter to his humanity. The scales receded, melting like morning frost under the sun. Claws softened, fingers lengthening and regaining their familiar dexterity.

A deep, agonizing pull seized him as the horse-like limbs contracted and folded, bones cracking and reshaping until two legs stood firm beneath him once more. The snout shrank, his face returning to its human contours, though traces of silver fire still flickered faintly in his eyes.

He gasped, collapsing to his knees as his body convulsed with the final throes of transformation. Then, as abruptly as it had started, the change ceased.

Zheng opened his eyes to find himself staring at his own hands—human hands, worn but unmistakably his own.

Exhausted but triumphant, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He was human again. And though he had reverted to the Early Stage of the Golden Core realm, Zheng was too relieved to be human once more to care about the setback.

Now what? He had no idea how much time had passed or what had happened since his defeat. The Khan was deep in the heartlands of the Empire. How much damage had he wrought? Had the Empire's cultivators rallied to push him back? His mind buzzed with questions, each one more urgent than the last.

Finding answers was now Zheng's top priority. A voice transmission talisman was far too risky—who knew where the enemy might be listening? Instead, he had to rely on the Azure Moon Mirror and its clairvoyant power.

Focusing his qi, Zheng poured energy into the mirror's surface. Images flickered and shifted in a continuous stream—scenes from across the Empire unfolding before his eyes. Cities, battlefields, forests, and fortresses—all passed by in rapid succession. He studied them intently, slowly putting together a picture of what had happened. Once thing was obvious from the start: he hadn't woken up immediately. Numerous days must have passed since his transformation, and he must have been roaming like a bestial animal in the wilds until today, given the state of the empire.

Half a dozen cities lay smoldering, their charred ruins whispering tales of ruin. Two massive battles had torn through the heartlands, their scars deep and unmistakable. But most striking was the Demonfall Valley—a roiling maelstrom of spiritual power and qi. There, two colossal forces gathered, each comprised of hundreds of cultivators, their energies swirling and clashing as they prepared for an earth-shattering confrontation.

Pushing that turbulent image aside, Zheng searched the mirror for Lord Qing. But the surface only rippled with blurred, chaotic swirls of color—no clear form, no answer. A grim knot tightened in his chest. Reluctantly, he moved on.

He rotated through names—The Duke: again, Demonfall Valley. Lady Qiao: Demonfall Valley once more. Prince Feng Roushan: the valley again. Then his aunt, Liu Zifan. This time, the image shifted—she was in Green Bamboo City, haggard and exhausted, bent low over a cluttered desk, painstakingly working on a scroll.

Zheng let the mirror's images fade into stillness, a heavy silence settling over him. With his head bowed in deep thought, he lingered in the quiet for a long moment. Then, resolve hardened within him. He had to go to Demonfall Valley—the site of the Empire's final, desperate battle against the Yuan. If he wanted to make a difference, that was where he needed to be.