The day of the hunt.
Merin wakes as sunlight slips through the crack in his window, warm across his face.
He gets up and freshens himself like always, but today he doesn't step outside to train.
Instead, he dresses in his hunting clothes—thick, padded, durable—and holsters a gun at his side.
He's a martial artist, yes, but if a bullet can get the job done, there's no need to waste True Energy.
He'll need every drop of it when the real fight begins.
After a final check, he glances at his watch: 5:45 AM. Fifteen minutes until the convoy leaves the town.
He steps outside, locks the door behind him, and starts walking through the slowly waking streets.
Martial artists like him rise at dawn, and the town is already stirring—shops opening, steam kettles hissing, chatter rising with the morning air.
At the town center, he spots a convoy of five semi-trucks, their engines humming low.
Ben is there, leaning near one of them, waving him over.
Merin walks up and greets him, then stands quietly at his side.
One by one, the rest of the team arrives.
But as the group gathers, Merin frowns.
There are more than ten martial artists here.
Far more than planned.
Most of the new faces are lower-realm martial artists, brought along not for the hunt itself, but to keep other beasts from interfering.
Once everything is ready, Merin hops onto the back of one of the trucks.
The convoy rumbles to life and rolls out of town.
Unseen, a black car follows at a steady distance.
Behind it, a navy-blue car trails even farther back.
Inside the black car, Thomas drives while Nick sits beside him, frowning.
"Why should we sacrifice No. 78?" Nick asks. "There are plenty of other martial artists. They could easily replace him."
Thomas keeps his eyes on the road, his voice even. "Because if we switch him, it leaves traces. And if the Demon Hunters pick up our scent again…"
Nick places a hand on the dashboard as the car jolts over a bump. "When are they not hunting us?"
Thomas nods slightly toward the small screen on the dashboard—No. 78's location blinking on the digital map.
"You've seen what happens when their full attention turns on someone. You remember the followers of the God of Void?"
Nick's expression tightens.
He remembers.
The cult had sacrificed an entire city, hoping to earn divine reward.
Before their god could respond, the Federation retaliated.
An energy fission bomb was dropped—turning the ruined city, and every believer within it, to ash.
Behind the black car, in the navy-blue vehicle, Zake drives with Lance in the passenger seat.
"Why are we following them?" Zake asks, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
Lance sits with his eyes closed, demon energy locked onto the two Demon Priests in the car ahead.
"I want to know what they plan to do."
Zake sighs. "We could just drag them out and torture the answers out of them."
Lance opens his eyes, glancing sideways. "Did you forget what I said? They're Demon Priests, Zake."
Zake exhales hard through his nose, hands tightening on the wheel.
He remembers.
The last time he got involved with a Demon Priest, the curse left him bedridden for a year.
He mutters, "Which of the three Demon Gods do they follow?"
Lance doesn't answer immediately. He can't sense the exact aura—something is veiled.
But he's certain they're not from the God of Void. That cult hasn't recovered yet.
"Most likely the God of Life and Blood… or the God of Curses."
Zake's jaw clenches at the second name.
It was a dying priest of the God of Curses who crippled him for a year.
He almost spits the words. "What do they want with a group of martial artists?"
Lance's brows furrow. "The martial artists are heading out to hunt a Colossal Realm beast. That much I know."
Zake asks, "Then do they want something from the beast? Or one of the martial artists?"
Lance shakes his head. "If they did, they'd strike quietly, target someone alone. Not follow an entire hunting team."
Zake's grip on the wheel tightens again. "Then what the hell are they planning?"
Lance doesn't answer.
He doesn't know.
And that's what bothers him most.
After a few minutes of silence, Zake finally speaks, eyes still on the road.
"Congratulations on reaching the Demon Weaver Realm."
Lance nods, eyes closed. "You could've reached it too, if you hadn't wasted your time."
Zake doesn't deny it.
He wanted to reach Demon Weaver. He trained for it, dreamed of it.
But unlike the first three stages of Demonic Cultivation, the breakthrough to Demon Weaver was like crossing a tightrope over a bottomless abyss—one misstep, and you don't just fall... you vanish.
And now he has something to lose.
"I've made peace with it," Zake says quietly. "My path ends here. I just want to spend the rest of my life peacefully—with my family."
Lance opens his eyes, turns his head slightly.
"Zake, you're a Demon Hunter. Being married doesn't erase that."
"You're the head of the Terrilyn branch. Any demon cult planning something in this city—they'll think of you first."
Zake says nothing, eyes fixed ahead, jaw set.
Lance presses on. "If your strength isn't enough, you won't be able to protect anyone."
"I know that!" Zake snaps, then exhales sharply.
"You think I don't want to cultivate? But you know what's involved in breaking through Demon Weaver—it's not just a test of power, it's a test of the soul."
"If you fail, it's over."
Lance simply says, "Turn right."
Zake obeys.
Only after the turn does Lance speak again.
"I've already crossed that threshold. I know the danger. But if your will is strong, the demon spirit can't break you."
Zake's voice drops to a whisper. "My will isn't strong right now. I'm afraid… afraid of dying."
Lance looks at him, gaze calm.
"Everyone's afraid of dying, Zake."
"But if you can turn that fear into fuel—if you do break through—you'll not only protect your family…"
"…your children will be born with stronger potential."
Zake nods slowly. Lance is right.
The path of Demonic Cultivation begins with becoming a Demon Hunter—but to even start that path, one must consume a demon's spiritual remnant.
Most Inferior and Low-Rank Demons can't enter the Origin World in physical form, but it's not impossible.
The Demon Realm spans many layers—lesser demon worlds, pocket dimensions, and dark rifts that occasionally tear open passages to the Origin World.
Even a true portal to the main Demon World can appear—if the right conditions are met.
It's rare, but it happens.
And when a demon crosses through in physical form, their power is heavily suppressed by the world's natural laws.
That's when Demon Hunters strike.
Sometimes, when these demons are killed, the world absorbs their physical form entirely.
But not always.
Now and then, something remains—a piece of the demon's spiritual body.
A fragment not fully physical, not fully ethereal.
A Demon Spiritual Object—caught between the real and the unreal.
And it's with these remnants that the Demon Cultivation path begins.
When an ordinary person successfully refines a demon spiritual object, they become a Demon Hunter.
But the path is steep—on average, only two out of ten succeed.
In the past, failure meant death.
Now, thanks to technological advancement, lives can be saved—but not without a cost.
Those who fail often suffer severe internal damage, some injuries beyond healing.
Once the spiritual object is mastered and its power flows through every part of the body—refining demon energy in the process—the cultivator steps into the Demon Conjurer Realm.
The next step is the Demon Exorcist Realm.
To break through, a Demon Conjurer must fuse their demon energy with the energy inside Karst crystals.
This fusion creates a new energy—mysterious and dark—similar to the black energy wielded by King Kong Realm martial artists.
Cultivation in the Demon Exorcist Realm ends when the prototype of a Demon Body is formed.
Then comes the most dangerous leap—the breakthrough into the Demon Weaver Realm.
To attempt it, one must consume additional Demon Spiritual Objects and merge them with the original.
If successful, a Demon Heart is born, and along with it, an innate magic power.
But failure means death—or worse, permanent crippling.
It is a perilous trial, for forming a Demon Heart changes a person.
Their blood begins to transform, carrying the essence of the Demon World.
Children born afterward are different—they inherit demon blood, and can walk the Demon Hunter path without refining a spiritual object.
Zake knows this.
If he breaks through the Demon Weaver Realm, his children will have a greater chance of surviving in this brutal world.
And he is not afraid of them becoming Demon Hunters—because in this world, humans are often worse than demons.
Without strength, no one is safe.
Zake drives in silence, thoughts heavy.
If he truly wants to break through to the Demon Weaver Realm, he must return to hunting demons.
He has a few demon spiritual objects stored—but none are compatible with the one he originally refined.
His core object is the arm bone of a Claw Demon.
Ideally, he'd need more Claw Demon bones—preferably all skeletal components.
But finding perfectly matched spiritual objects is almost impossible.
Most Demon Hunters form their demon hearts by fusing spiritual objects from different demons.
Even then, there's a rule: the objects must be from the same type of material—bones with bones, muscle with muscle, organs with organs.
If he wants to survive the fusion, he'll have to exchange his incompatible items for the ones he needs.
Because Lance is right.
Right now, no threat looms over his family—but danger doesn't knock first.
It strikes without warning.
And Zake knows himself—if something were to happen to his wife or future children because he wasn't strong enough, he'd never forgive himself.
He's snapped out of his thoughts by a sudden pressure on his arm.
It's Lance's hand.
Zake glances at him and asks, "What?"
Lance's eyes are locked ahead.
"Stop. The hunt has begun."
A second later, the distant bellow of a beast echoes across the landscape, followed by a sharp crack of lightning.