The forest stood still—dense, ancient, and cold. Trees loomed like silent witnesses, their branches reaching down like claws. Mist wove between the trunks, curling low to the ground as if afraid of what roamed above it.
Suddenly, the silence shattered.
CRACK!
A body slammed into a thick oak tree. Bark splintered. Blood sprayed across the trunk, painting it red. The man groaned, his legs barely able to support his weight as he stumbled forward. His robes were torn, soaked in blood. Black tattoos flickered weakly along his arms—demonic cultivation marks fading from overuse and exhaustion.
His chest heaved. Every breath was pain.
Cuts lined his back. His face was pale. One of his arms hung limp.
Still, he stood.
Barely.
Behind him, five cultivators landed from the treetops, each dressed in white and gold robes. Their swords gleamed with spiritual energy. The symbols of the Heavenly Flying Sect shimmered on their sleeves.
One of them sneered, tilting his blade toward the injured man.
"Demon scum. You've run far enough."
"You've disgraced three villages and murdered innocents. Today, we take your core."
The demon cultivator didn't answer. His mouth was bloodied, his jaw clenched.
He knew it was over.
One of the cultivators raised his sword, the air around it glowing with qi.
"Any last words?"
The demon's fingers twitched. His shadow stirred, but his spiritual energy flickered like a dying flame.
He didn't speak.
He waited for the end.
And then—a voice.
Calm.
Unrushed.
Unfamiliar.
"Want to live?"
The voice came from behind him.
Everyone froze.
A figure stepped out from the mist. Black robes. No visible aura. His hair was bound lazily behind him. Crimson eyes stared calmly at the cultivators, as if he had walked into a market rather than a battlefield.
Xuan Long.
The cultivators frowned.
The demon turned slightly, confused. A mortal? No qi signature? No weapon?
One of the righteous cultivators laughed.
"You lost, peasant? This isn't a place for actors."
Another snorted.
"You want to protect a demon? What is this, charity work?"
Xuan Long ignored them. His eyes stayed on the wounded man.
"You look like you need help," he said calmly.
"I can give you shelter. Power. A home."
"But in return… you swear loyalty. With your cultivation as your witness."
The demon cultivator blinked. Was this man insane?
The others didn't wait.
One of the righteous cultivators stepped forward, scoffing.
"Enough of this. Die with your pet demon, fool."
His palm struck out, filled with golden qi—slamming straight into Xuan Long's chest.
BOOM.
And then—
Nothing.
The energy vanished like smoke. Xuan Long didn't flinch.
The cultivator's eyes widened.
"What…?"
Xuan Long calmly lifted his own hand.
And mirrored the exact same palm—same angle, same force.
CRACK!
The attacker flew backwards like a puppet with cut strings. His body smashed through a tree. His spine broke. He was dead before he hit the ground.
The forest fell into stunned silence.
Even the demon cultivator's jaw dropped.
"What… was that…? He absorbed the strike?"
Xuan Long didn't turn around. He addressed the demon again.
"So?"
"Will you follow me… or should I walk away?"
The demon hesitated.
And then—he dropped to one knee. His head bowed low.
"From this moment on… I am yours, Master."
"Teach me. Command me. I will serve and kill on your word alone."
A small smile touched Xuan Long's lips.
"Good."
The righteous cultivators trembled with fury.
"You dare kill a disciple of the Heavenly Flying Sect?"
"You've invited death upon yourself!"
They charged as one—blades drawn, talismans flying, spells chanting mid-air.
Xuan Long didn't move.
Their attacks struck him—slashing wind, piercing ice, flaming spears.
All absorbed.
And then—
He turned them back.
Each spell was reflected. Each sword shattered. Each scream was brief.
Moments later, five corpses lay broken across the clearing.
Their blades now rusted. Their bodies mangled by the very techniques they had used.
The demon cultivator remained on his knees, unable to look away.
Xuan Long walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You want to live?"
"Then start by looting."
The demon smirked, eyes glinting.
"Looting's my specialty."
Back at the Shelter
The mountain shelter was alive with motion.
Mu Chen crouched beside a stone table, grinding glowing spirit grass into fine powder. Nearby, the demi-humans practiced Phantom Mirror Steps, phasing in and out of sight, laughing as they managed to mirror each other's movements flawlessly.
Then—footsteps.
Mu Chen looked up as Xuan Long entered.
Beside him walked a stranger—tall, muscular, with black tattoos and golden eyes that burned like embers. His robes were torn but his posture was proud.
Xuan Long stopped in the center of the courtyard.
"We have a new brother."
The stranger stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"My name is Hei Mo."
"Qi Vein Level 8."
"Specialties: Dark flame arts, shadow steps, and... looting."
The demi-humans exchanged glances.
Mu Chen stepped forward, curious.
"A demon cultivator?"
Xuan Long didn't hesitate.
"He's one of us now."
"He'll live with us. Train with us. Kill with us."
"Or die for us."
Hei Mo chuckled and nodded firmly.
"If anyone dares hurt this family again…"
"I'll personally send them to hell."
The tension eased.
Mu Chen stepped forward and offered a gourd of cold water.
The demi-humans offered a spare training robe.
Hei Mo accepted both, smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks.
That night, as fire crackled in the center of the shelter, the group sat together—sharing resources, stories, and laughter. Hei Mo shared tales of sect raids and how he once tricked a Nascent Core elder into selling him a fake treasure map for 300 spirit stones.
Mu Chen laughed so hard he nearly dropped his poison vial.
But as the fire burned low and the stars brightened above them, Xuan Long sat just a little farther away—his crimson eyes scanning the darkness beyond the trees.
He wasn't just training soldiers.
He was building a family.
From the broken.
From the hunted.
From the lost.
And soon, when the world tried to crush them again...
They would rise.
Four stood together now.
Each from a different background.
Each with blood on their hands.
Each with their past.
But all loyal…
To one man.