A rush of wind follows him through the black clouds.
Behind Kaelan, a dark streak cuts the sky—the figure he fought, wings of shadow burning with hatred.
Three more figures rise from the arid land, joining the pursuit, their auras merging into a storm of killing intent.
But as they near the edge of the ancient battlefield, all four halt midair. The death fog roils below them, hissing like a living thing.
The one who fought Kaelan snarls, fists trembling with rage. "Let's chase behind him."
A pale hand grips his arm. A female figure, calm and cold, meets his glare. "Elder said not to create complications. Our lord has been reborn. We must protect his body until his return."
The furious figure clicks his tongue. "Tssk… the next time he comes, I'll kill him myself."
Another, a tall male cloaked in ash-grey robes, glances toward the fading direction Kaelan flew. "He's more likely not to return."
"He will," the first figure growls. His voice deepens with certainty as his eyes narrow, recalling the moment death energy coiled around Kaelan's body like smoke answering a call. "He will come."
A faint smirk curves his lips—half promise, half challenge. With a beat of his wings, he turns away, rising back toward the depths of the battlefield. The others follow, their forms swallowed once more by the dark haze.
Far above, Kaelan crosses the last mountain ridge before the Demon City comes into view—its towers glowing faintly under the moonlight, streets alive with demonic energy and hushed chatter.
He lands quietly near the city gates, concealing his aura, and makes his way to an inn. The night clerk eyes him once, then hands him a key.
Inside the dim room, Kaelan sits by the window, his gaze lost in the street below—demons moving through the night, laughter echoing faintly between the glowing runes of shop signs.
He exhales, long and steady, the memory of the fight replaying in his mind—the power, the danger, the thrill.
Kaelan sits still, eyes half-closed, letting the hum of the city fade into silence.
"Another race…" he murmurs again, the words low, edged with thought.
His fingers tap the windowsill, slow and deliberate.
No one had spoken of such beings.
Not demons, not humans.
If they stayed hidden for so long, then what are they planning? And why remain buried in the ancient battlefield?
His gaze drifts upward, to the faint glimmer of stars above the city's haze.
That energy fluctuation from the centre—it wasn't natural.
Something deep sleeps there, something tied to death and rebirth.
His curiosity burns, pulling at him stronger than fear.
He knows the danger.
Entering again might mean facing those creatures—or something worse.
Yet, what is cultivation without risk? Still, dying now would be a waste.
Reincarnating again, rebuilding strength from nothing… that is something even he would rather avoid.
"When I grow stronger," he mutters, "I'll tear the truth from that place without fear."
His decision settles like stone in his heart.
He will return tomorrow at dawn.
The energy flared at night, and the figures moved under darkness. Daylight should veil their presence, giving him time to explore safely.
Turning his head, he notices a crow perched outside the window, feathers gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
He lifts a finger, and a thin wisp of mana flows from him, entering the crow's body. Its dull eyes flicker with sudden light, awareness blooming within.
"Find Chen Qi," Kaelan says quietly. "Tell him how to reach me if something happens."
The crow bows its head once and takes flight, wings cutting the night as it disappears into the distance.
Kaelan exhales, then crosses his legs and sinks into cultivation.
His mana churns heavily within him, bloated from the death essence he absorbed.
He guides it, refines it, burning away the impurities until the flow runs clear and dense.
Hours pass unnoticed—the city quiets. The stars fade.
And when the first ray of sunlight pierces the eastern sky, Kaelan opens his eyes. His strength feels steadier, sharper.
Without hesitation, he rises, steps out of the inn, and heads for the gate.
The morning wind brushes against him as he leaps into the air, feathers spreading as his body shifts.
With a single, powerful beat of his wings, the crow demon cuts through the brightening sky, leaving the Demon City shrinking behind him as he flies once more toward the ancient battlefield.
He descends at its edge, talons scraping against the dry, cracked ground.
The dark fog is gone.
The strange pulse of energy from the centre has faded.
Only the wind remains—harsh and restless—whipping up waves of sand that rattle the scattered bones.
Kaelan stands still, sharp eyes scanning the wasteland. He waits, expecting another ambush from the figures of the night. But nothing moves except the wind. The silence feels heavy, yet unthreatening.
Seeing no danger, he walks forward slowly, reaching the bone mountain from the night before.
He does not climb this time. Instead, he sits cross-legged at its base, closes his eyes, and begins cultivating.
Death energy surges toward him like a tide, drawn by some unseen pull.
His body absorbs it greedily, refining it into mana. His cultivation climbs faster—four times faster than when he trained on the cliff.
At this rate, he estimates, two or three days will be enough to reach the third realm of the Demon Qi Refining Stage.
Time blurs. The sun rises, arcs high, and burns at its zenith. As it begins its descent, Kaelan's eyes open.
Footsteps echo softly across the bone-strewn plain.
His gaze narrows toward the sound.
From behind a bone hill, a figure emerges—a man draped in black robes, long black hair gleaming with jewels.
His features bear the look of a human, but his aura betrays him—a demon.
Noticing Kaelan, the man smiles faintly. "Fellow, you're still here? Most who come don't linger. Danger awakens after sunset."
Kaelan's voice is calm, measured. "There are still hours before sunset. And who are you?"
The man chuckles softly, voice calm but laced with an odd chill. "Names are unimportant here," he says, walking closer, his boots crunching through sand and bone dust. "But since you ask, you may call me Yun Zhen."
Kaelan studies him quietly. "I am Kaelan."
The man's skin is pale, his eyes a deep crimson that gleam faintly beneath the light.
The air around him ripples with death-aligned demon power—controlled, refined, steady.
Like him, this demon also walks the path of death. Yet Kaelan cannot tell what kind of demon he is.
"You said danger appears after sunset," Kaelan says, voice calm but firm. "You've seen it?"
"No," Yun Zhen replies evenly. "If I had seen it, I would not be alive."
Kaelan's gaze sharpens. "Then how did you know about the danger?"
"Those who enter the inner area never return," Yun Zhen says. "And those who stay too long in the outer area are attacked by skeletons when night falls."
Kaelan's eyes narrow. Inwardly, he thinks, *He doesn't know about the new race—or he's lying.*
"Is the inner area behind the mountain?" Kaelan asks.
Yun Zhen nods. "Yes. The danger increases many times once you cross that point."
He glances at the lowering sun. "I should be leaving. Let's meet again—if you're still alive."
His body lifts lightly from the ground, and dark energy flares beneath his feet as he ascends into the air. In that instant, Kaelan senses his realm—Core Formation.
Kaelan watches him go, expression unreadable.
When the black speck of Yun Zhen vanishes beyond the dunes, Kaelan exhales and closes his eyes again.
The battlefield hums quietly beneath the sinking light.
He sinks back into cultivation.
Death energy streams into him, dense and rich, swirling around like mist drawn to a flame.
Hours blur until his body trembles and the barrier inside him loosens—his cultivation rising another step.
When he opens his eyes again, the horizon bleeds with the last rays of red.
Shadows stretch long across the arid land, and from every direction, the dark fog begins to rise.
He senses it—movement, whispers, the stirring of things that shouldn't live.
Not ready to fight that unknown figure again, Kaelan's form dissolves into a mass of dark feathers.
Wings spread wide, Kaelan cuts through the cool evening wind, the last light of the sun glinting off his black feathers.
Below, the dead plains fade into shadow as the fog rolls thicker, swallowing the battlefield whole.
He flies higher, leaving the scent of bones and dust behind, mind quiet but alert.
The sky darkens into deep blue, the stars beginning to shimmer as the Demon City's faint glow appears on the horizon.
He angles toward it, the steady beat of his wings echoing softly through the night.
Far to the west, beyond the mountains and the river, a horse gallops down a dirt path. Chen Wei rides fast, the cool wind rushing past his face.
The forest thins, and the faint lights of Qingyi City begin to flicker in the distance.
He left the Chen village earlier that evening, excitement in his eyes.
Tonight, he would meet his friends, share wine, and hear their praises of advancing to Martial Arts master stage under the lanterns of the city streets.