Chapter Five: The Demon King

Years later.

Gazing at the bodies of his wife and child, brutally slain before his eyes, at the kin who had perished, at the home he had tirelessly built now reduced to ruins, Yi Xuan once more recalled his father, and the oppressed human slaves. “Again… Is it the Ten Thousand Demon-Slaying Sword?” Only then did he truly understand that in a world where the strong devour the weak, one must never relinquish the will to advance.

Blinded by rage, Yi Xuan lost the last shreds of his reason. The divine abilities he could no longer wield fused together, complexity giving way to unity. What happened afterward, he remembered nothing.

When he awoke, the great shaman before him was already a corpse, surrounded by the dead of the Shaman Tribe. After burying his wife, child, and kin, Yi Xuan retreated into the remote forests, bringing with him the bodies of the shamans.

By this time, he had mastered the integration of numerous divine abilities. Yet, the techniques of the Shaman Tribe remained beyond his grasp; their powers were innate, near perfect, and despite his extraordinary talent, Yi Xuan could not mimic them in the slightest. Still, through repeated dissections, he gleaned some of their weaknesses.

Yi Xuan’s obsession with the study of cultivation methods grew only more frenzied. Not only did he imitate divine abilities, he also stripped flesh and blood from evil demon clans and transplanted them onto shaman corpses, seeking symbiosis, hoping thus to peer into the secrets of both shaman and demon powers.

When these experiments showed initial success, Yi Xuan applied the method to himself, refining the flesh and blood of countless demon clans into his own body, preserving their unique traits. Now, in a single thought, his body could transform into any of the demon races he had assimilated.

In the mountains, where sun and moon were forgotten, a century slipped by. Yi Xuan grew aged and decrepit, yet he could progress no further. Over these years, he sheltered the myriad races within the mountains. Whenever shamanic and demonic strife threatened the forest, he would drive both sides away; those he could not defeat were left to flee. Birds, beasts, fish, and insects all felt his kindness; as his life waned, they brought him their essence blood, assisting in his cultivation.

Half a year later, Yi Xuan regained his youth and ascended to the realm of the Great Demon.

The Great Demon realm conferred the power to rule a territory. Yi Xuan gathered demon clans from all directions and established his own force. Yet, though he excelled at creating cultivation methods, he lacked skill in managing people, and even less in ruling a domain.

It was not long before he was betrayed by his trusted kin. They all coveted his methods, and the other demon clans sought to consume his flesh to advance their own cultivation.

But Yi Xuan knew he could never entrust these techniques to his kin. Their insight was shallow, their hearts unsteady; should they cultivate such methods, they would be easily overwhelmed by the demon blood’s influence.

Disheartened, after a bloody conflict, Yi Xuan abandoned the power he had built with his own hands and wandered to distant lands.

In the years that followed, he witnessed countless demons suffering under oppression, traveled scorched lands ravaged by the war between shamans and demons, and befriended many resolute individuals among the human race. Yet, even among demons, humans remained a weak people—because none had ever achieved the realm of Demon King. In contrast, the Dragon Tribe, mighty among demons, had produced generations of Demon Kings; even the declining Shamans dared not provoke them lightly.

The weakness of the human race lay in the absence of a Demon King. Without such a figure, they were subject to the whims of all others and could never truly carve out a domain of their own.

“If I could ascend to the Demon King realm, perhaps I could create a sanctuary for humanity, so that our children would not suffer as I did in my youth.”

For reasons unknown, memories of his failed first attempt at cultivation resurfaced, his father’s final words, the faces of his wife and child, the betrayal of his friends, and the many hardships endured over the years. In that moment, Yi Xuan finally let go of the past and made a solemn vow: in this lifetime, he would attain the Demon King realm and carve out a sanctuary for the human race.

This reminded Ji Xun of a saying from Flaubert: the most glorious day in a person’s life is not the day of triumph and fame, but the day one rises from sorrow and despair to challenge life, stepping forward with courageous resolve.

In the days that followed, Yi Xuan, in pursuit of his own path, repeatedly plunged into the Abyss of Demons, ventured deep into shaman territory, rescuing countless souls. He eventually discovered the shaman lineage responsible for his father’s death, traveled overnight to their domain, and single-handedly wiped them out, offering their leader’s head in tribute to his father.

As his cultivation grew ever stronger, Yi Xuan’s body was beset by more and more problems: sometimes he lost reason, other times emotion. But the greatest issue remained the mutual repulsion of the various demon bloods and flesh within him.

This most severe of aftereffects was eventually alleviated when he refined the blood of a dragon-blooded salamander. Any flesh that manifested a problem he would simply sever, and the salamander bloodline would regenerate it with alien tissue.

By now, he had long since gained the power to regrow limbs; his flesh and blood, each piece, could transform into a divine ability, weapons to slay his foes. Ordinary Great Demons, upon seeing him, could only flee for their lives, utterly helpless to resist.

Yet, regarding the Demon King realm, he still had not the slightest clue.

“My path has reached its end; my methods can advance no further. With what little life remains and my vitality exhausted, the dream of Demon King must remain unfulfilled.”

Old and frail, Yi Xuan sat motionless amid the mountains. Birds and beasts ignored him, demon beasts fought before him as if his body were but a shadow, passing through him untouched.

Ji Xun could not help but sigh: it was not that Yi Xuan lacked talent, but that the human race simply had no method to reach the Demon King realm. To create something from nothing was beyond the power of any one person.

And so, year after year, day after day, as grass withered and flourished and the seasons shifted, Yi Xuan remained there, pondering the path of the Demon King. But as his vitality ebbed, even the dragon-blooded salamander could no longer suppress the conflict among the various bloodlines.

His body deteriorated further, his mind growing muddled—often he could not even recall his own name. What were demons, humans, the strife of shamans and demons? All these faded from his memory. The only thing he clung to was the desire to deduce the method of becoming a Demon King.

…

One day, daylight suddenly turned to night. Birds and beasts fled the forest, all demons were seized with terror, as a dragon with twin wings descended from the heavens. Under the dragon’s might, monstrous demon energy wove itself into a vast net, enshrouding all the demon beasts of the woods.

Yi Xuan, still sitting in his withered state, was caught within the net. He opened his eyes; they were clouded, no longer possessing the clarity of his youth.

“What is this?” Yi Xuan asked in confusion. His memory was nearly gone, most things beyond recall.

Ji Xun longed to tell him: this was an almost pure-blooded Yinglong, one of the most noble bloodlines of the Dragon Tribe, and by his discerning eye, this Yinglong had already reached the Demon King realm.

But, as before, Ji Xun could not speak to warn him—for all of this had already transpired. Ji Xun suspected he was reliving Yi Xuan’s life through the power of the Demon Refining Gourd, though perhaps, he mused, he truly had reversed time.

Yi Xuan slowly stood and looked at the Yinglong before him.

“My method… it still lacks something to be complete. Have you come to help me perfect it?” As he spoke, Yi Xuan’s skin, once as gnarled as old bark, smoothed out, his flesh swelling with vitality. In an instant, he reversed a hundred years of age, returning to his peak; countless demonic phantoms rose around him, phenomena that connected heaven and earth, eclipsing mountains and valleys.

With his life at its end, Yi Xuan’s essence burst forth, never to be drawn back again. Where he stood, every blade of grass, every tree, seemed on the verge of awakening, ready to transcend the mundane and become demon spirits.

The Yinglong, a hundred yards long with wings that blotted out the sun, exuded a dragon’s majesty that made all beasts prostrate themselves. Its enormous head lowered, glassy dragon eyes studying Yi Xuan with care.

“What is your true form? I cannot discern your origins—a true rarity.” The Yinglong looked at Yi Xuan, interest piqued.

“My method… still lacks something,” Yi Xuan murmured.

The Yinglong peered into Yi Xuan with dragon clan secret arts, growing more astonished the longer he looked. His great maw reverberated with sound:

“Treasure, what a treasure! If your flesh were refined into an artifact and nourished for a hundred years, it could become a spiritual treasure. With you, the Ten Thousand Demon Refining Cauldron could surely be completed.”

Yi Xuan said nothing, only regarding the Yinglong with a cold stare. For a fleeting instant, it seemed he remembered something, but the memory was gone in a heartbeat.