Ten Thousand Beasts Mountain Range. The Spirit Beast Immortal Sect.

A procession of figures walked slowly along a mountain path paved with blood-patterned stones. The path wound its way up the slopes of Crouching Dragon Cliff, a massive crag shaped like a slumbering beast.

The red veins in the stone seemed to connect into a single, pulsating web. If one stared down for too long, the patterns seemed to ripple like liquid blood—an eerie sight that prickled the scalp.

Leading the group were two Outer Disciples of the Spirit Beast Sect. One bore a roaring beast head tattoo on his cheek; the other had the same mark branded on the nape of his neck.

Between them walked twenty robust young men, their muscles taut with vitality. Bringing up the rear were two more disciples, ensuring no one strayed.

The young men looked around with wide eyes, clicking their tongues in wonder.

“Once we ascend Crouching Dragon Cliff, we’ll truly be members of an Immortal Sect!” one whispered, unable to contain his excitement.

“It wasn’t easy,” another murmured, his face flushed. “Day and night we cultivated that technique the Immortals gave us. Finally, we’ve something to show for it.”

“The Immortal Masters of the Spirit Beast Sect truly keep their word,” a third man said reverently. “They promised to take us in, and here we are. It’s a pity about the condition—severing all ties with our families.”

“For the sake of immortality, of course we must—”

“Shut up,” one of the rear guards barked, his voice dripping with impatience. “Another word, and I’ll gut you right here.”

The men fell silent instantly. They exchanged nervous glances but kept their heads down, following their guides further up the mountain.

Halfway up, the group halted at a wide, open plateau.

A deacon with hair the color of fresh blood and eyes that glowed with a crimson light strolled over, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze swept over the twenty men like a butcher inspecting cattle. He licked his lips.

“Another batch?”

“Yes, Deacon Xue,” the lead disciple replied deferentially.

Deacon Xue stared at the men, his throat bobbing as he swallowed a mouthful of saliva. “Good. Send them over.”

The greed in his eyes was naked. His tongue was wet, slick with drool, and the way he swallowed was audible and grotesque. The twenty men felt a primal chill seize their hearts—like a flock of sheep that had never seen a wolf, yet instinctively knew they were staring into the maw of a predator.

“Excuse me…” one man stammered, his courage faltering. “Are we going for the induction ceremony? Where are we going?”

“That isn’t for you to worry about,” Deacon Xue said with a twisted smile. “Come, Gray Cranes. Dinner is served.”

The men jerked their heads around as two massive gray cranes, each standing as tall as a man, stepped out from the shadows. Before anyone could scream, the birds opened their beaks and spewed a thick, gray mist.

It washed over the group in seconds.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Twenty robust bodies hit the stone floor, unconscious.

Deacon Xue swallowed again, the sound wet and loud. He leaned in close to one of the unconscious men, his tongue darting out to taste the man’s cheek.

“Fragrant,” he moaned. “So fragrant.”

He looked up at the disciples, his eyes wild. “If I could just take one sip… just to quench the thirst… surely you understand?”

The four disciples felt a cold sweat break out on their backs.

A year ago, Deacon Xue had been stern and rigid, a man of discipline. He was unapproachable, yes, but he was human. Now, he looked like a rabid beast in human skin. It felt as if one wrong word would see them devoured alongside the mortals.

“Deacon Xue,” one disciple ventured cautiously. “These twenty are marked for the Blood Tempering Pool.”

“The Blood Tempering Pool…” Deacon Xue sneered, his face contorting. “What a waste! They just mix all the essence blood together and call it ‘removing impurities.’ Bah! What impurities? The best way is to crack open the skull and drink it straight from the source—”

As he spoke, his fingernail traced a line down the unconscious man’s neck, drawing a bead of blood. He stared at the red droplet with intoxicated eyes, drool dripping from his chin.

“Deacon Xue!” the disciples cried out in unison, panic rising. “These cannot be touched!”

“Fine! Fine! Can’t touch them, can’t touch them!”

Deacon Xue snarled, his face flushing with rage and shame. He let out a roar like a starving animal and blurred into a blood-red shadow, sprinting away into the depths of the Ten Thousand Beasts Mountain Range.

There were over a hundred thousand relocated mortals in there. Snatching one or two snacks wouldn’t ruin the grand plan.

Once the madman was gone, the disciples let out a collective breath. They quickly loaded the twenty bodies onto a floating artifact and transported them to a restricted formation ten miles behind the cliff.

Entering the formation was like walking into a slaughterhouse. The thick, metallic stench of blood was suffocating.

The twenty men were offloaded and dumped into a massive blood pool, floating alongside the carcasses of various spirit beasts.

The scene was a hive of gruesome industry. Deacons with blood-red hair and eyes patrolled the perimeter. Elders sat cross-legged on elevated platforms, meditating amidst the crimson vapors. Disciples shuttled back and forth, carrying buckets and jars.

Beneath the central pool, intricate conduits funneled the processed blood into jade basins, drop by precious drop.

“Hurry!” an Outer Disciple sprinted past, panting. “Deacon Li is on the verge of a breakthrough! He needs pure blood, now!”

A supervising deacon sneered and tossed a beast-skin bag to the runner. “Breaking through again?”

“That outsider has tried five times already. He hasn’t even reached Foundation Establishment, yet he has the gall to occupy a deacon’s seat in our sect!”

The runner caught the bag and dashed off without a word, disappearing through the formation’s exit to deliver the blood to “Deacon Li.”

“Don’t be so harsh,” another deacon chuckled, watching the runner go. “The Sect Master promised the Demon Blood Sect he’d nurture that guy to the ninth layer of Foundation Establishment. A man keeps his word.”

“Besides, the Demon Blood Sect is currently drawing Ye Guxing’s attention over in the Donghai Kingdom. They’re doing the heavy lifting. We have to treat their envoy well.”

The conversation drew the attention of nearby elders.

Since cultivating the Blood Refining Technique, none of them felt they had changed. But the symptoms were there—irritability, impulsiveness, a casual thirst for violence. In the past, openly gossiping about an allied envoy would have been unthinkable. Now, they did it without a second thought.

“Who is this Li Quan anyway? Why does the Demon Blood Sect value him so much?”

“Who knows? Apparently, he’s the only person the ‘Saint Blood Perfected One’ personally entrusted to us. The reason remains a mystery.”

“Can the Demon Blood Sect really stall Ye Guxing?” another asked skeptically.

“In a head-on fight? No. Even two more Golden Core cultivators wouldn’t be enough to stop that killing machine. But the Demon Blood Sect doesn’t fight fair. They incite rebellions, spread plagues, create shadows for Ye Guxing to chase… In the last hundred years, no one has been better at surviving than them.”

“True. If they ran any slower, they’d have been exterminated long ago. They’re like roaches.”

While the disciples gossiped in the blood-mist, the runner exited the formation and traveled several miles south to a secluded hut.

“Deacon Li… I’ve brought the pure blood!”

“Give it to me!” A hoarse, desperate voice rasped from within.

The disciple tossed the bag through the door and retreated. From inside came the wet, frantic sounds of gulping.

Moments later, a boom of laughter shook the hut.

Li Quan strode out, his long hair dyed a crimson red. His aura surged with unstable power.

“Good! Foundation Establishment! Finally!”

But as the initial rush of triumph faded, his smile withered.

The Blood Refining Demonic Technique was a double-edged sword. It promised speed, but the bottlenecks were brutal walls of iron. He had consumed the lives of countless mortals and beasts, piggybacking on the Spirit Beast Sect’s atrocities, just to barely scrape his way into Foundation Establishment.

Without this evil path, he knew he would have died a mediocre Qi Refining cultivator.

And he owed it all to Hong Liang.

Years ago, Li Quan had saved Hong Liang in the Wanchun Valley market. Hong Liang had repaid him with absolute loyalty. Later, when the ancient monster known as the Saint Blood Perfected One possessed Hong Liang’s body, it was Li Quan who had guided them to safety, using his old hideouts in the Nanli Kingdom to evade pursuit.

Two lives saved. This was his reward.

Li Quan sighed, looking at his blood-stained hands.

He wondered if the current Saint Blood Perfected One retained even a shred of the simple, loyal boy named Hong Liang.

Or perhaps, that old friend was truly gone, devoured by the monster wearing his skin.