The moment Jiang Dao opened his eyes, the world was a canvas of white violence. Heavy snow swirled through the air, driven by a wind that screamed like a dying animal. Through the blizzard, five figures emerged, tearing through the storm with a momentum that suggested they were not merely travelers, but forces of nature in their own right.
They landed near the mouth of the valley, their presence immediately displacing the chill of the winter air with waves of terrifying spiritual pressure.
It was a motley but formidable group. The leader appeared to be a scholar in his fifties, dressed in green robes that fluttered amidst the gale. A black lacquer box was strapped to his back, and three long strands of beard gave him an air of antiquated dignity. Flanking him were two elders—one draped in black robes and a tall hat, the other in coarse hemp with a headscarf wrapped tight against the cold. Behind them stood Daoist Qingsong, a man Jiang Dao recognized, and a middle-aged woman of striking beauty, her palace attire radiating a regal, albeit weary, elegance.
"The stench of violence here is palpable," the elder in the black robe remarked, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the depths of Yellow Wind Valley.
From within the valley, a cacophony of screeching and chattering erupted, sharp enough to grate on the nerves. It sounded as though ten thousand restless souls were bickering in the dark. Yet, to the naked eye, the valley was empty. There were only the flickering lights of distant lanterns and the relentless dance of the snow.
" The arts of the Shayao—the Baleful Demons—have been lost to history for years," the scholar murmured, his brow furrowed. "To see them resurface here... we must pray this is not the harbinger of something worse." He paused, scanning the area before turning to the Daoist. "Qingsong, you mentioned a young man of interest was here. Where has he gone?"
Daoist Qingsong looked around, genuine confusion etched onto his face. "Brother Jiang! Brother Jiang, are you there?"
His voice was swallowed by the wind. He darted back and forth, searching the snowbanks, but received no answer. A shadow of concern crossed his face. "Could he have already fallen to the demons?"
"Not necessarily," the elder in hemp robes interjected, his voice raspy. "Based on your description, this 'Jiang' is hardly human. His body is a vessel of Fire Poison and extreme Yang energy. He is likely a Fire Flood Dragon that has taken human form. Even if he couldn't defeat the entity inside, escaping should be trivial for a creature of his nature."
The old man paused, his eyes gleaming with knowledge. "While the Yang energy of a Fire Flood Dragon is a delicacy for those cultivating Baleful Demon arts, it is also poison. Even if the cultist inside has reached the Third Turn of the Dragon Level, digesting such a creature would take months of slow refining, not a single day."
"Let us hope you are right," Qingsong muttered, though he did not sound convinced.
The Scholar sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. "The dynasty teeters on the brink of collapse. When an empire falls, monsters rise to feed on the carcass. Uprisings are one thing, but there are signs that the Evil Gods—dormant for eons—are stirring. I fear the day is coming when even we, the Spirit Removers, will find ourselves the prey."
A heavy silence fell over the group. The mention of "Evil Gods" stripped the arrogance from their postures. These were the true taboos of the world, nightmares that predated history.
"It is terrifying to think they are returning," the woman in palace attire said softly. "Brother Canghai, do you know anything of their nature?"
The Scholar shook his head bitterly. "Even three generations before us knew nothing concrete. We only know that their extinction was linked to the entities we serve. If they return, every bloodline of Spirit Removers will face a reckoning."
"I have heard legends," the black-robed elder whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. "That the Evil Gods are the manifestation of the world's filth—corruption incarnate, immortal and unkillable. In the ancient order, only the City Gods and the Yin Division could keep them in check. But the City Gods have vanished, and the gates of the Yin Division have been sealed for centuries. The balance is broken."
"Enough," the Scholar cut in, his tone hardening. "We cannot solve the riddles of the gods today. Our task is the Baleful Demons. If their High Priest has indeed reached the Third Turn, I will need you all to channel your energy into the Sacred Artifact."
"Agreed."
Without further delay, the five masters surged toward the valley.
Hidden in a shadowy recess some distance away, Jiang Dao watched them through narrowed eyes.
The Yin Division? City Gods?
These were terms from folklore, myths told to frighten children. To hear them spoken of as historical fact was jarring. And the suggestion that he was a "Fire Flood Dragon" in human form? It was so absurd it was almost funny.
He waited until the group had breached the perimeter of Yellow Wind Valley before he moved. His body dissolved into the shadows, circling wide to flank the entrance.
The five intruders were not known for their patience. A deafening boom echoed through the canyon as the entrance to the forbidden grounds was pulverized. The collapse of the rock face was followed immediately by unearthly shrieks. A dozen blood-red shadows burst from the rubble, throwing themselves at the Spirit Removers.
But the intruders were elite. Aside from Qingsong, who seemed out of his depth, the other four were forces of destruction. They tore through the lesser demons like paper, carving a bloody path into the mountain.
Suddenly, a shockwave of pressure exploded from the depths of the cave. The Scholar and his companions skidded to a halt, their faces pale.
"Dragon Level, Third Turn?" one gasped.
"No," the Scholar corrected quickly. "His aura is unstable. He hasn't solidified the rank. We strike together!"
"Insolent children!" A voice boomed from the darkness, vibrating in their very bones. "My sect has never interfered with you. Why do you trespass on my holy ground?"
"Your existence is an affront to Heaven and Earth!" the Scholar retorted, his hands moving to the black box on his back.
"Hypocrites! Every major faction performs blood sacrifices in the dark. You simply choose to see only what suits you!"
"Death to the heretic!" the black-robed elder shouted.
The entity in the dark snapped. Boom! A beam of crimson light erupted from the cave mouth, shattering boulders and melting the snow. Through the haze, a monstrosity emerged—a four-meter-tall nightmare with the head of a bull, the tail of a serpent, and four muscular arms. Two fleshy wings beat the air behind it.
It lunged, a massive hand reaching for the Scholar's skull.
"Seal!"
The Scholar's black box flew open. Seven white bone pens, radiating a sickly, necrotic energy, shot out and slammed into the monster's palm. The collision sent a shockwave that rattled the valley walls. The monster roared, enraged, and threw itself into the fray, forcing the Spirit Removers to unleash their full power.
Snow and blood mixed in the air. The battle was a blur of arcane lights and guttural roars.
From his vantage point, Jiang Dao felt a rare twinge of apprehension. These people were stronger than he had anticipated. If this was what "Dragon Level" combat looked like, he had been underestimating the world.
However, chaos was a ladder.
"The Destiny Artifact," Jiang Dao whispered, pulling a strange, shimmering glove from his robes. "Let's see if the legends are true."
He didn't want to fight these people; he wanted what was inside the cave. He donned a wrought iron mask, hiding his features, and channeled his internal energy into the glove.
The effect was immediate. A strange vibration traveled up his arm. First his hand, then his forearm, and finally his entire body began to fade from the visible spectrum. He looked down; where his chest should have been, he saw only the snowy ground beneath him.
He was invisible.
Time to gamble.
Jiang Dao launched himself forward, a phantom in the wind. He sprinted toward the cave entrance, slipping past the chaotic melee. Just as he crossed the threshold, the Cult Leader—the bull-headed monster—froze.
"Impudence!" the monster roared, spinning around and slashing at the empty air near the cave mouth.
Jiang Dao's heart skipped a beat. He sensed me?
The invisibility wasn't perfect against high-level instinct. But the distraction worked in his favor. The Scholar and his team seized the moment of the monster's distraction to land a devastating combined strike on its back. The monster howled in pain and was forced to turn back to the fight, allowing Jiang Dao to slip into the darkness of the tunnels.
He moved silently, deeper and deeper, past the shattered bronze gates he had visited once before.
The interior was a vast underground palace, ancient and reeking of copper and rot. Eerie green pearls embedded in the walls cast long, dancing shadows. To one side lay the source of the smell: pools of blood, some dried and cracking, others bubbling with a viscous heat. Piles of corpses littered the floor, and among them, Jiang Dao could hear the faint, ragged breathing of survivors who had been tortured to the brink of madness.
He ignored them. He wasn't here to be a savior.
He moved through the stone chambers, smashing locks and scanning rooms until he found it. The scent hit him first—a fragrance so pure and intoxicating it almost masked the stench of the blood pools.
The Purple God Flowers.
In the center of a stone chamber stood a magnificent jade tree. It had once held nine blossoms, but five were withered husks. Four, however, remained in full bloom, glowing with an ethereal light. Beneath the tree, a blood pool boiled violently, looking like molten agate.
Jiang Dao's eyes gleamed. He didn't approach the tree carelessly. Instead, he flicked his wrist, sending a net of poisonous Gang Qi flying toward the branches to snatch the flowers from a distance.
Swish!
Instinct screamed. Jiang Dao didn't think; he vanished from his spot, teleporting a few feet away just as a crimson claw shredded the air where his head had been a microsecond before.
"Hmm?"
A figure stepped from the shadows. It was a humanoid nightmare, its skin the color of fresh arterial blood. Its face was a cluster of seven or eight eyes, blinking independently, crowding out any other features.
The creature didn't pause. It dissolved into a red whirlwind, slashing at Jiang Dao with blinding speed. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Jiang Dao parried, his movements precise, until he saw an opening. With a thunderous boom, he caught the creature's wrists in an iron grip.
"The ambush a few days ago," Jiang Dao said, his voice cold behind the iron mask. "That was you."
"Interesting," the creature hissed, its multiple eyes spinning. "The Master said I couldn't beat you, but I don't believe in fate. In my transformed state, I am a Dragon Level entity. Let's see what you really are!"
The creature smiled—or at least, the skin split where a mouth should be. Its pupils dilated until its eyes were pools of black and red.
Muscles erupted from its frame like tumors. It grew taller, wider, scales bursting from its skin as it transformed into a four-meter beast.
It was expected fear. It was expected that Jiang Dao would struggle.
Instead, Jiang Dao's eyes went dark. Inside his body, a droplet of Extreme Yang Liquid detonated.
The heat was instantaneous. Jiang Dao's body didn't just grow; it exploded outward. His clothes shredded as he expanded to a towering seven meters, his head scraping the ceiling of the cavern. Fire, poison, and a suffocating aura of dominance swirled around him like a physical storm.
The creature looked up, its many eyes widening in unison. The four-meter monster was suddenly a child standing before a titan.
"You..."
This is his true form?
Jiang Dao didn't speak. He opened his massive arms, wreathed in flame and shadow, and slammed them shut around the creature.
It was a bear hug, but executed with the force of a hydraulic press.
Crack.
The sound of the creature's spine disintegrating was louder than the battle outside.
"AAAAHHH!"
The scream was unholy. It pierced the stone walls, carrying all the way to the valley entrance. Outside, the Cult Leader faltered, turning his head in horror. "The Guardian!"
He tried to retreat to the cave, but the Scholar was ruthless. The seven bone pens merged into a giant spear of necrosis, slamming into the Cult Leader's chest and blasting him backward.
"Seal the cave!" someone shouted. A barrier of light snapped into place over the entrance, locking the Cult Leader out of his own sanctuary.
Inside, the screaming stopped. Jiang Dao released his grip. The Guardian, now a shapeless sack of pulverized bone and flesh, slid to the floor with a wet slap.
"Disappointing," Jiang Dao rumbled.
He flicked a finger, sending a bolt of Fire Poison through the creature's skull to ensure it wouldn't regenerate. Then, he turned back to the jade tree.
With a sweep of his energy net, he harvested the four Purple God Flowers.
Holding the glowing blossoms, a problem arose. The fragrance was too strong. The seal on the cave entrance meant the experts were trapping the Cult Leader out, but it also meant they would be coming in soon. If they smelled this, they would hunt him to the ends of the earth.
He needed a hiding place that no one would check.
Jiang Dao looked down at his own massive, heaving torso. He extended a razor-sharp fingernail and, without hesitating, plunged it into his own abdomen.
He carved a slit through muscle and fascia. Gritting his teeth against the searing pain, he took the sealed flowers and the Destiny Artifact glove and shoved them deep into his abdominal cavity, burying them among his organs.
He channeled the Regimen Technique. The flesh around the wound rippled and knit itself back together, leaving only faint scarring that faded within seconds.
Jiang Dao chuckled darkly. A human storage bag.
He willed his body to compress, the fire and mass receding until he was back to his normal, human stature. He tore his clothes further, dirtying his face and skin to look like a victim of the chaos. He crushed the iron mask under his heel, destroying the evidence.
Sprinting back to the main hall, he found the pile of half-dead prisoners and Spirit Removers. He threw himself onto the heap, slowed his heart rate, and waited.
The battle outside raged for half a day. The earth shook, and the sky screamed, but eventually, silence returned to Yellow Wind Valley.
It was a heavy, exhausted silence.
When the barrier finally fell, the five experts stumbled into the cave. They were battered. The elder with the headscarf was missing an arm, the stump a writhing mess of magical trauma. The beauty was pale, blood staining her fine silks. Only Daoist Qingsong, who had stayed on the periphery, was relatively unharmed.
"Is everyone stable?" the Scholar asked, his voice rasping.
"We live," the one-armed elder gritted out. "The limb will grow back in time."
"We were lucky," the woman whispered. "If the Cult Leader hadn't suffered a backlash from his own blood arts, we would be dead."
"Let us secure the prize," the Scholar commanded.
They moved deeper, past the wreckage of the Guardian, straight to the chamber of the jade tree.
They stopped dead.
The stone room was empty. The jade tree stood bare, save for the five withered husks. The four blooming flowers—the entire reason for their crusade—were gone.
The Scholar's face turned a shade of purple that matched the missing blossoms. "Someone else was here."
"The invisible intruder," the beauty hissed. "We felt him pass us."
"Search the complex!" the Scholar barked. "He cannot have gone far!"
Daoist Qingsong, meanwhile, had wandered to the pile of bodies in the main hall, checking for survivors. His eyes widened as he spotted a familiar face amidst the carnage.
"He's alive!" Qingsong shouted, waving to the others. "It's Brother Jiang Liu! He's here!"
The Scholar and the others ignored him, their eyes scanning the shadows, their killing intent spiking. They were looking for a master thief, a dragon in human skin. They never thought to look at the unconscious boy with the terrifying secret hidden in his gut.