Their life structures break apart and rebuild themselves with precision—no longer random, but intentional.
The first disciple—the one with the goat leg—trembles as *blue flames* erupt from the mutated limb. The flame spreads, crawling up his veins, rewriting bone, muscle, and blood.
His other leg warps to match the first—hooved, powerful.
Then scales ripple upward from his waist, coating his torso in shimmering armour. His spine bends forward, posture shifting into a beast's frame.
Fur sprouts across his arms. Fingers elongate—bones cracking—turning into razor claws.
With a violent shudder, *bat wings burst* from his back, spanning wide, dripping energy.
A horned helmet forms over his face—part flesh, part metal, part bone—masking his expression entirely.
His breathing stabilises.
His aura settles.
His eyes snap open.
A *Tao Body* — completa.
Demon Merin's gaze remains calm.
"Go farther away before you attempt the breakthrough."
"Yes, Master."
The disciple bows and shoots into the sky. Moments later, thunder rumbles—his tribulation forming in the distance.
The second disciple begins her transformation.
Her delicate cat ears flatten as her *legs fuse and twist*, forming a long serpent tail covered in smooth jade scales.
Metal overtakes her skin, turning it into living armour.
Her fingers harden into plated claws.
Her lips peel back, revealing elongated, bat-like fangs.
A third eye splits open on her forehead—cold, blue, and ancient.
Her hair drains of colour, becoming snow-white.
She exhales—steady, controlled—and awakens fully.
"Master, I will face my tribulation."
Demon Merin gives a slight gesture, and she vanishes through the door. A second tribulation cloud ignites the sky.
Only the fur-covered disciple remains.
His breathing deepens.
Silver fur retracts and reshapes as *dragon horns push from his skull*, coiling backwards.
His hands sharpen into claws, etched with glowing runes.
Wings unfurl behind him—massive, feathered at the top, leathery at the base, each tipped with hooked talons.
When his eyes open, they glow—cold, calculating, aware.
He nods once to Demon Merin, then leaves to join the storm gathering above.
Demon Merin remains still, sensing each tribulation in the far distance.
He has no doubt—they will succeed.
His work is absolute.
He closes his eyes.
Instead of watching the sky, he searches his spirit—seeking the location of his *demon consciousness*.
The answer shocks him.
Not in the centre of the demi-world…
but at the *northern pole*.
His expression sharpens.
That place is forbidden.
To the north lies the *Frozen Fierce Land*—an endless abyss of killing ice, where winter never ends. Fierce energy there freezes flesh, spirit, and Dao.
To the south lies its opposite—*Burning Hell*, a fire abyss where summer never dies.
Between the two extremes, the centre of the world exists in balance.
So why… is she there?
He calls out:
"Come."
A disciple rushes in, kneels, and waits.
Demon Merin's voice remains even:
"Report everything that happened while I was in seclusion."
The disciple explains.
Gu Silan gave birth.
To a daughter.
Demon Merin goes silent.
He has seen Merin's distant memories—wives, children, families. None of it ever stirred emotion within him.
But now—he feels something new.
A connection.
A pull.
A protective instinct edged with cold fury.
A daughter.
His daughter.
He feels the urge to leave immediately—to find her, to see her, to tear down anyone who dares stand between them.
But he forces the impulse down.
Not yet.
He continues listening, absorbing every change, every betrayal, every power shift that occurred during the last two years.
His expression grows darker.
His intent is sharper.
His silence is more dangerous.
When the report ends, he dismisses the disciple with a wave.
The room is quiet.
Outside, three tribulation clouds rage like ancient beasts.
Hours pass.
One by one, lightning fades. Three figures return—changed, stronger, yet kneeling the moment they step inside.
Even after stepping into the Tao Space Realm, they still cannot sense their master's cultivation. When their spiritual senses touch him, they vanish—devoured.
A warning written into instinct.
Demon Merin studies them as they revert to humanoid form.
His voice is calm, but carries a weight that demands obedience.
"The Spiritual Transformation Sect grows closer to discovering this place."
His gaze sweeps across them.
"Our sect will divide into three. Each branch will be led by one of you."
The female disciple hesitates, then asks carefully:
"Master… with your strength, you could erase the Spiritual Transformation Sect alone. Why divide the sect? Why avoid them?"
Silence.
Demon Merin simply looks at her.
Just one look—and she bows deeply, trembling.
"Yes, Master. I spoke out of turn."
He raises a hand and dismisses them.
They retreat immediately.
Once alone, his thoughts finish what words did not:
Even with his strength, a direct confrontation is not simple.
The Spiritual Transformation Sect holds a Supreme Weapon.
If awakened, even he—newly ascended and incomplete—would be erased.
So he waits.
Moves carefully.
Plans.
A day later, he leaves.
His figure disappears into grey clouds, moving toward the Spiritual Transformation Sect.
Within the sect, a small child chases butterflies through a courtyard. She looks three years old, but her aura is anything but ordinary.
Demon Merin stands unseen in the air above, watching her.
Calculations flicker through his eyes.
So this is my daughter.
The little girl suddenly stops mid-step.
She looks up—directly where he floats—eyes unblinking.
As if she can see him.
A caretaker hurries over.
"What's wrong? Did you trip?"
The child shakes her head gently and resumes playing.
Night falls.
The baby sits in a quiet room. A servant feeds her a glowing liquid—clearly medicinal.
She swallows politely.
The moment the woman leaves—
She spits every drop out.
Then she turns toward the far wall where Demon Merin stands cloaked in space.
Her voice is soft. Clear.
"Father. Come out."
Demon Merin appears with a faint smile—not surprised at all.
A demon's daughter inherits instinct.
A saint's daughter inherits awareness.
She is both.
Her intelligence gleams behind innocent eyes—not the mind of a child, but the calm clarity of an adult cultivator.
She meets his gaze without fear.
"Where is Mother?"
"Why do so many here hate me?"
"Why do they call someone else my father?"
He answers—without softening the truth.
She listens.
Silent.
Absorbing.
No tears.
No trembling.
Only quiet understanding… and growing resentment.
When he finally stands to leave, she looks up at him.
"Will you come back?"
"Yes."
She nods once—as if signing a pact—and climbs into bed.
Demon Merin vanishes from the room.
He doesn't return to the sect.
He flies toward the Frozen Fierce Land, toward the northern edge of the world—where Gu Silan survives, suffers, and grows sharper.
His voice echoes in the wind, low and filled with promise.
"Soon."
Demon Merin descends into the far northern abyss.
The further he walks, the quieter the world becomes.
Snow no longer falls—it hangs frozen in the air.
Mountains stand sealed in eternal ice.
The wind carries not sound, but *malice.*
A tide of freezing evil energy washes over him, sharp enough to shred the souls of ordinary cultivators.
He breathes it in.
His eyes narrow—not in discomfort, but recognition.
"…Perfect."
This land is not merely cold—it is a graveyard of hatred, despair, and lingering remnant wills. The frozen Dao here is dense enough to shape a technique rivalling saint arts.
"A fitting place to forge a divine art."
His Holy Demon Saint Physique shields him effortlessly—the frost cannot harm him. It bites at him, but breaks.
Demon Merin continues deeper, following the thread of his separated consciousness.
Days pass.
The cold grows thicker—almost intelligent—testing, judging.
Then, he sees her.
Gu Silan sits cross-legged on ancient frost-covered stone.
*Crimson energy coils around her*, mixing with the abyssal cold, forming a storm of blood and ice.
Her breathing is calm.
Her aura is sharp.
Her body is undergoing metamorphosis.
Demon Merin pauses, watching.
"She's awakening her physique."
His eyes narrow further.
"And stepping into the true threshold of the Resentment Battle Body."
A rare opportunity.
One that cannot be wasted.
"She must complete it. Once she does… the real plan begins."
He moves forward—silent as a shadow, intent concealed.
The moment he enters her range—
Her eyes snap open.
Instinct. Awareness. Danger. Recognition.
She rises to her feet slowly, frost cracking beneath her.
"...Merin."
There is no hesitation.
No surprise.
Only clarity.
He stops a few steps away, studying her new form—the lingering crimson lines beneath her skin, the faint crystalline shimmer, the emotion suppression behind her eyes.
"You've awakened your physique," he says—not praise, just fact.
Gu Silan's eyes flicker with something rare—*hope.*
"Did you meet our daughter?"
"Yes."
The single word is enough to fracture her composure.
She immediately scans the icy wasteland as if the child might step out from behind frost and shadow. Then she rushes forward, fingers gripping his robe.
"Where is she?"
Demon Merin slips free of her hold and pushes her back—not violently, but coldly.
"Know your place. She is where she should be."
She stumbles, boots scraping the frozen stone, but she stabilises herself—jaw tight, eyes burning.
"I know you're using me," she whispers, "but she's your daughter too."
He doesn't flinch.
Doesn't soften.
"There's no need to remind me. Finish forming the Resentment Battle Body. Once you do, I will help you take your revenge."
She nods, though uncertainty and anger coil beneath her calm.
"…You still haven't told me," she says quietly. "What do you want from me in return?"
Demon Merin steps forward.
Slow. Intentional.
His hand lifts, fingers brushing her cheek—a touch neither gentle nor cruel, but claiming.
"Can't I do something for you out of the goodness of my heart?"
She stares at him—expression unreadable, voice flat.
"No."
He huffs a faint laugh—not amused, not offended.
Then he pulls back, eyes sharpening.
"I'll tell you later. It won't endanger your life… or violate whatever principles you believe you have left."
"I don't have principles."
His gaze lingers on her—measuring, understanding, approving.
"Good," he says. "Then I can ask for anything."
With that, Demon Merin turns and walks deeper into the frozen abyss—his silhouette swallowed by frost and shadow.
Gu Silan stands alone in the cold wind, crimson energy swirling around her, eyes fixed on the darkness he vanished into.
The path ahead is cruel.
But now, she walks it willingly.