Screams were a common thing to hear on the road in these troubled times. For a time, the might of the Blood Demons was focused deep in the southern lands of the Great Battlefield--the border pressed back to the final defense line of the storied Song Empire, with what remained either initiates, food, or those lucky few who were beneath notice of the leviathans scouring the realm.
"HURK!!!"
Blood sprayed--a frequent sight--as the last of the bounty hunters slumped to their knees, the ivory greatsword having blasted out much of their torso with little sign of mercy.
"Be at peace"
The blade pulsed, and withdrew from the new corpse, streamers of blood essence siphoning from the body as it withered. The wielder took a glance about the road, witnessing the fallen bodies of the attempted ambushers.
It was, naturally, Redmoon.
"How aggravating" She thought to herself, observing the gang of cultivators that set themselves against her. While true, sending those twisted by the Impure World to a place of peace was a necessary act, that didn't mean Redmoon took pleasure in the duty.
Which is why the unending torrent of bounty hunters that had set themselves upon her in the belief that she had done something
wrong were starting to take the solemnity out of it.
She had considered marching on the Consortium that had issued the bounty, to discourage them from maintaining it. A preliminary inspection though had her discarding the idea--while she had little fear of Qi Condensation cultivators--she was at the twelfth layer of the
[Paramita Covered Shores]--three degrees of refinement beyond what is considered small success--none within her realm could dare face her--save perhaps the rumored Chosen of the Age.
Foundation Establishment was different.
Speed beyond speed, power enough to leave her hands split open with each parry, and a nigh limitless supply of Qi to allow them to maintain that engine far beyond her.
She had only once crossed hands with a Foundation-level Cultivator--she had the good fortune to find an avenue to flee before she had taken significant harm, but once was enough.
Not until she had cultivated to the thirteenth layer, and manifested the
[Flower of Hell] in truth--only then would she have the right to grant peace to those in the Second Realm.
But lacking the ability to banish those seeking her end, Redmoon must take up the chore of sending their cats-paws to the Far Shores. The bounty continued to grow--and now she was dealing with groups instead of lone assassins.
Fortunately, the Demon Annihilating War appeared to be reaching its conclusion--the shattering of the Siege of Thousand Song broke the back of the Demonic Altar Sect's cultivators, and they had since turned upon one another.
She sneered at the thought, even as she slung
[Rosethorn] to her back once again. She had thought for a time that the adherents of that Sect--paragons of the Bloody Path--might be kin of like mind. She felt a sense of familiarity with them of course--and even found herself joining with a band of them once.
The first night, when they brought out the children…
She brought peace to many troubled souls that night.
Which begged the question… Was she alone? Was she in the wrong? Was her interpretation of her path mistaken?
A Sword to slay an Impure World, a solemn responsibility--and a task that requires the utmost focus and discipline.
That was what her power should be for.
Yet to see those laughing fiends, reveling in the power gained from wicked deeds, striking those with the misfortune to be born in these troubled times? Those who could not resist?
That too was part of the Impure World, and another to be severed by her might.
Who then, gifted her with the
[Paramita Covered Shores?] A method of cultivation that severs impurity from self and surroundings. To draw forth the stuff of life in order to step one foot into the Pure World? The only common thread was the use of Blood as a medium.
And what was the sorrow she felt in her heart whenever her thoughts drifted to that discussion? She did not recall the voice, or the features, or the words spoken by the stranger--only the lessons infused into her spirit.
She did not know.
And she would not know for some time. The restriction was clear--she could not seek her benefactor out until she could face Core Formation. A long way off, even at the pace her cultivation flowed at.
She shook her head, and gazed wistfully into the setting sun. Nothing worth doing was ever easy, was it? Perhaps she could still grow faster if she lowered her standards.
But to use her blade to grant Peace to those already doing the best they could… It felt wrong--it was not her place to do such a thing. To increase Sorrow is to draw away from the Pure World herself--and to do that would feel a betrayal to herself, to the sorrow in her heart.
No, she would save her hunger for the wicked and those beyond saving. Those who contributed to the Impure World and those who had only suffering in their future.
Her Cultivation continued to grow by leaps and bounds even with the rules she had imposed upon herself. She felt the barriers of the Thirteenth Heavenstage weakening with every battle won and each impure soul sent to the Far Shore. She already felt the kiss of Heavenly Judgement upon her flesh, simply waiting for her to accept the challenge and be struck dead for her trespass.
The
[Paramita Covered Shores] had a solution for that--a method to foil the Heavens and blind their eyes. The Blood Sacrifice of Foundation Establishment Cultivators, one for each layer beyond the ninth. Slain with one's own hand.
How funny was it? To strike down four champions, head and shoulders above one's own strength, using nothing but your own skills and cunning to do it.
But she supposed it was to be expected--to reach beyond the Ninth Heavenstage is to transcend the limitations of ordinary Cultivators. To usher in the coming of the Pure World required power beyond reason--so it fit that achieving it would require unreasonable measures.
She simply needed an opportunity.
It was fortunate then, that she had a lead on the matter.
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The title he gave himself was the Ravenous Devilwolf, after he abandoned his birth name in his rise to Foundation Establishment. A notorious leader of the Demonic Altar's raid forces, he led gangs of newly recruited cultivators on their first hunts. His Devilwolves bred to catch the scent of fresh blood from a hundred leagues away and unerringly run their prey down, breaking their legs and leaving them for the Initiates to gain enlightenment in the Blood Path, without fear of retaliation.
The collapse of the Song Empire front was not kind to him. Caught out in a deep raid, the sally of Righteous Cultivators caught him off guard, and he was seriously wounded by a Flowering Death Arrow--courtesy of a Broken Arrow Bandit who'd been stalking him for some time. Carving out the projectile before its roots could spread through his body harmed him further still--and his hounds had been sacrificed to create an opening to flee north.
His pace was slow, his injuries grave--but he was lucky. He had a group of young Initiates with him--newly headhunted from some of the surviving holdouts even! A foot already within the Blood Path.
It made them excellent reserve rations.
His foot struck one of the children, a young lad covered in filth and rags. "Now
what have I said about giving me lip?" He bellowed, his voice shaking their elementary Cultivation Base. He sneered, as he kicked down on them again, licking his lips at the sound of shattered bone. "See, I didn't have to take you brats with me--could have left you all for the Strength Purity Sect to nab you all!" He leered over the cowering boy. "You think they'd have mercy on you because you're brats? Think again! You're already on the Blood Path! They'll kill you where you stand and call themselves heroes for it!"
He put greater weight down, further, further…
Blood sprayed as the Devilwolf's foot finally severed the boy's leg. "And all I ask is a little respect, here and there. To do the chores, to keep up the march. And here you are trying to
sneak off!"
He kicks the severed leg off, ignoring the weeping boy, and takes a bite of the still twitching meat. "If you won't do your part working, you'll do your part in
my damned belly!" He brought his leg up once more. "Let this be a lesson to you A~~"
His instincts screamed, and he whirled into a roundhouse kick. A clang of metal on metal filled the air, and his expression showed nothing but confusion as the white maiden faded into view. "Huh, that's a new one. Didn't think you Righteous punks were gonna try a sneak attack on me.." He sneered, and put more force into his leg, kicking the girl back. "And what's this! Some little Qi Condensation brat thinks she can take down the Devilwolf!" He gives sharp bark of amusement, but his nostrils twitch--a loud snorting noise heard as he takes a sniff.``
"Hold on a tick there…" His voice lowered, and he squinted as his opponent clambered back to her feet, wiping a small trail of blood off of mouth. "That's… Huh, that's a really interesting scent you got there girlie." He licked his lips. "I wonder…" He bared his teeth then, and stepped forward. "Well, well, well, what are you? Some lost Chosen? Some brat who got a good legacy or something?"
The girl squinted back, and did not answer. The Devilwolf was content leading off though. "Not complaining though, looks a lot to me like the Heavens are helping the Devilwolf out here--I bet if I were to take a nibble on you, I'd heal my injuries at least twenty percent…"
He lowered his posture, and dropped to a three-point stance. "Dinner's served then! Might even have enough to tame another hound when I'm done with you! Be a good girl and
stay put!"
A crack of thunder, the Devilwolf launching himself with sky cracking speed, the surviving initiates cower at the display of power.
"A fool and a beast after all"
Redmoon allowed herself a mocking smile as the Devilwolf crossed a section of the camp covered in traces of red flowers. He took one step into the bed--and lurched as he felt the roots dig deep into his foot. He stumbled over, feeling the poison filling his body. "Wha… When did you…"
"Before I launched my attack."
A flash of ivory, a sense of
tugging, and the Devilwolf's head sailed in the air, eyes blinking at what had just happened. A dainty hand reached out and caught him by the hair, gazing into his fading light. "The contest is ended, as is the pain. Be at peace in the Pure World."
His body collapsed, bereft of a head.
She exhaled, and lowered the head, tossing it with the rest of the remains. That had been far more difficult than she made it look. If it wasn't for his serious injuries and the bait she laid out--permitting herself to take a light blow to give him the scent of her blood, he may have noticed the Flesh-Sloughing Seedpod she had dropped on her approach.
But that was one down. She looked to Rosethorn and saw one of its petals pulsing with red light.
"D… Does this mean we're going to get executed?"
A quiet voice speaks up, drawing Redmoon's gaze. Little more than children, dressed in rags, dragged onto the path of the executioner's blade due to a modicum of talent.
The logical choice was to give platitudes, to end their suffering, or even to just leave without a word.
But that would be to abandon responsibility for her actions.
"No." Redmoon shakes her head. "Come with me, you may yet be saved in this life."
A path such as hers cannot be walked alone, not yet.
To join hands as one and stand against the Impure World could not be a mistake.
