Chapter One: Succumbing to Darkness

In the distant lands of Africa, a vast empire was rising at an astonishing pace. This empire bore the name of the Ramesses Empire—perhaps a name that stirred both unfamiliarity and a strange sense of recognition. Towering pyramids soared into the sky, and countless sphinxes stood sentinel over sprawling oases. Before the great cataclysm, this land was known as Egypt—a realm steeped in mythology and history. Now, its throne belonged to the most renowned pharaoh in history: Ramesses II.

On a sandy shore along the upper Nile, a man clad in a robe lay sprawled, his face smeared with dust. Around him, massive crocodiles stirred restlessly, their immense forms inching forward, eager for a meal. Yet, the aura emanating from the man warned them to keep their distance. Still, some hungrier beasts pressed forward, crawling slowly toward him.

This man was none other than Zhang Xiao himself. Awakening from unconsciousness, he opened his eyes and reached instinctively toward the sky, grasping only empty air. Memories flashed through his mind—the final moment of parting with Lan Fang—and his heart twisted with unbearable pain.

“It’s all my fault, all my fault!” Zhang Xiao cried out, his hands striking anything within reach in a frenzy. The crocodiles, once poised to feast, were swiftly crushed beneath his blows, reduced to a grim pulp. “If only I were stronger, Lan Fang wouldn’t have died. It’s all my fault! Wuuu~~” As a master of formidable skill, Zhang Xiao now appeared utterly mad, tearing at his robe, his face streaked with tears as he howled in agony.

Suddenly, the ground trembled violently. From beneath the earth burst forth a colossal centipede, its grotesque visage brandishing countless clawed legs toward Zhang Xiao.

A wild, savage light blazed in Zhang Xiao’s eyes as he glared at the monstrous creature. “I’m weak... and even you come to bully me?” His fierce aura stunned the centipede, engulfing it in a terrifying force unlike any it had known.

With a thunderous “crack,” a dreadful pressure erupted from Zhang Xiao’s body, instantly crushing the giant centipede into a mass of flesh. A cruel smile curled his lips. “Yes, I am weak. But I will grow stronger. I must grow stronger!”

Golden rays burst forth from Zhang Xiao’s body—the manifestation of his cultivated Buddhist realm. Yet, to his shock, dark vapors began to seep and coil within his sacred domain. Any demonic cultivator witnessing this would be struck with awe: these black mists were pure, potent demonic energy.

In the blink of an eye, Zhang Xiao’s Buddhist realm transformed into a hellscape—pitch black as night, swirling with fierce murderous winds that twisted into furious tornadoes. The crocodiles caught unawares were swept into the maelstrom, their screams cut short and drowned in a storm of blood.

“Thunk!” At that moment, a gleam sparked from Zhang Xiao’s brow. Within his consciousness, the voice of his doppelgänger echoed: “The sea of suffering is boundless; turn back and find the shore!”

Zhang Xiao’s true self sneered coldly. “The sea of suffering? I have endured more pain than any ocean of torment. What do I care for suffering or sweetness? You cultivate your Buddha; I cultivate my demon. Mind your own affairs, and don’t forget—I am the original.”

Seeing Zhang Xiao descend into madness, the doppelgänger’s brow furrowed deeply. “Buddha, Buddha, Buddha... Demon, Demon, Demon... To become Buddha or demon lies within a single thought. Buddha smiles upon all beings with a snap of the fingers; demon defies heaven and roams freely.” Verses of the Pala Sutra flowed from the doppelgänger’s lips, yet the sacredness had dissolved, replaced by a suffocating demonic aura. It was no longer the holy scripture but a supreme demonic chant.

Unbeknownst to Zhang Xiao, his doppelgänger was compelled to act. In the Pala Sutra, Buddha and demon are two sides of the same coin—it depends on the path one chooses. Should one follow Buddha, the sutra serves as sacred text; should one embrace demon, it becomes a demonic scripture. Witnessing Zhang Xiao’s rapid mental collapse, fearful he might lose himself to hatred, the doppelgänger reluctantly recited this demonic passage to soothe his original.

Upon hearing the demonic chant, Zhang Xiao’s expression, once strained and pained, gradually calmed.

Suddenly, vivid images flooded his mind: mountains of corpses, seas of blood, countless souls trapped in agony. It was as if he were among them—ensnared by endless suffering, hopeless, engulfed by darkness and despair. Beads of cold sweat dripped down his forehead.

“No!” Zhang Xiao roared fiercely. His demonic energy surged like boiling water, churning and raging wildly. He became encased within a massive, egg-shaped cocoon. The doppelgänger exhaled deeply—falling into demonic cultivation was no trivial matter.

If one’s true heart is unclear, succumbing to demonhood means becoming a puppet controlled by myriad dark forces. Only the truly powerful can walk the path of demons and rise beyond. Seeing Zhang Xiao regain clarity and begin to embrace demonic power, the doppelgänger was uncertain whether his intervention was right or wrong. “Amitabha!” he intoned.

Zhang Xiao’s demonic transformation spanned five arduous months. Sandstorms whipped fiercely around him, and but for his doppelgänger’s protective efforts, he would have been buried beneath the dunes long ago.

“Crack!” Black fissures splintered the surface of the dark cocoon. “Boom!” A booming sound erupted as a shaft of black light shot skyward.

Suddenly, the clear desert sky darkened. Thunderclouds gathered, converging into a celestial sword of lightning that slashed toward the black light.

“Hmph!” A cold snort echoed from within the darkness. Two obsidian hands grasped the lightning sword, shattering it into countless bolts that rained down.

“Amitabha!” the doppelgänger chanted urgently.

The black light dissipated, revealing a solitary figure—a face plain and unremarkable, framed by shoulder-length white hair. Yet his eyes glittered with starlight, radiating a captivating and sinister aura. Though his features remained unchanged, his presence was utterly transformed—like a different man from the Zhang Xiao of before.

“All right, doppelgänger, you may rest now. I have awakened,” Zhang Xiao said, forgetting his gaze still lingered on his double.

At his words, the doppelgänger relaxed and dissolved into a golden light that flowed into Zhang Xiao’s brow.

Staring at his hands, Zhang Xiao felt a swirl of emotions. His eyes turned eastward, and he vowed silently, “One day, I will make the Nine Great Sects vanish from this world.”

With a flicker of his divine sense, Zhang Xiao attempted to contact Ziyan—but no response came. A bad feeling gnawed at him. He swiftly retrieved the Xuanyuan Talisman, but to his shock and fury, it was riddled with cracks.

His anger surged—though he cared little for the talisman itself, its spirit, Ziyan, was like a cherished younger sister to him. The near destruction of the talisman foretold a grim fate for her.

Despite his rage, Zhang Xiao cautiously probed with his divine sense. Relief washed over him when he found Ziyan gravely wounded but not yet dissipated. As long as her true spirit remained intact, hope persisted.

Yet uncertainty plagued him. Though skilled in forging artifacts, Zhang Xiao had never attempted to mend a spirit bound to a treasure. One misstep could shatter her essence completely. With this in mind, he dared not act rashly.

At that moment, an aura surged from afar, closing rapidly. Zhang Xiao’s brow furrowed—this power rivaled his own. He had no desire for prolonged confrontation here, so he rose and transformed into a streak of radiant light to depart.

But the unknown presence clung stubbornly, like a tenacious leech, igniting Zhang Xiao’s irritation. He halted and waited, resolved to confront the pursuer unless given a satisfactory explanation.

Soon, an elderly man appeared before him. The frail, weathered figure gave Zhang Xiao pause. Could this be another ancient entity? After the great cataclysm, true masters were mostly young; few elders reached such heights. Though the old man’s strength was unclear, his aura matched Zhang Xiao’s mid-Yuan Infant stage.

“Greetings, mysterious Eastern traveler. I am Kama, a prophet. Please forgive my impertinence,” the old man said without waiting for Zhang Xiao to speak.

As the saying goes, one shouldn’t strike a smiling face. Though Zhang Xiao’s expression remained cold, his tone softened slightly. “I wonder what purpose the prophet has in following me so closely.”

Kama, a seasoned and shrewd figure, sensed Zhang Xiao’s displeasure immediately. “Forgive me. I merely wish to inquire about your business in our empire. Should you require assistance, please command freely.”

Surprised by the courteous tone, Zhang Xiao pondered the man’s intentions. There seemed to be no conflict of interest between them. Yet, thinking of Ziyan’s precarious state, he gritted his teeth. “Whether it works or not, it’s worth a try.”

He smiled faintly. “I came here by chance. If I have disturbed you, I apologize. But there is something I wish to ask.”

Kama bowed respectfully. “By all means, please speak.”

Zhang Xiao produced a flying sword, its surface fractured and its spiritual energy dissipated. “Master, this sword is ordinary, but it belonged to an old friend. Within it resides a spirit who has long been my companion. I seek your wisdom—how might I restore this sword to its former state?”

As the third volume unfolds, myriad myths of the world will emerge: the ancient gods of Egypt, the Olympians of Greece, the demon clans, vampires—creatures and legends from mythologies will come to life. The eternal first emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang, will also reveal the majesty and demeanor of a peerless sovereign, wielding mighty halberds and iron spears amid roaring winds. The great wars among kingdoms will ignite. And many other mysteries await.

Friends eager to witness these tales, remember to bookmark and support the journey with your votes. Ha ha ha—who threw that shoe at me?