Lordi’s heart jolted. He had heard tales of this Senior Brother Hanz on his journey to the Twin Peak Hill—the Hanz Clan’s prodigy, a once-in-a-century genius who had shone brightly among the million of Abyss Pit Sect’s outer sect disciples a decade ago. His disappearance, tied to the pursuit of the Cosmic Path Foundation Establishment Technique, had become a whispered legend. Yet here he was, not only alive but inexplicably returned to the heart of the Hanz Clan’s ruined mountain estate.
Krogh Hanz ignored Ruru’s outburst shock, his gaze locked on Lordi with an intensity that felt like a sharpened blade against his throat.
"Given your years, your heaven-defying gifts, and that indomitable will of yours," his voice boomed, each syllable resonating with the weight of celestial judgment, "Ascension to Foundation Stage is not a question of ’if’—but ’when.’ A foregone conclusion, written in the annals of your fate itself."
A pause, heavy with implication, as the very air seemed to bow beneath his disdain.
"To tread the Human Path? A vulgar shortcut, beneath one of your caliber. To settle for the Earth Path? An insult—an unforgivable squandering of talents so rare, even the heaven and abyss themselves might weep at the waste."
"Only the Cosmic Path Foundation Establishment Technique is worthy of you. Only it can shatter the shackles of mediocrity and unleash the full, blinding radiance of your potential. Only then will you be granted the divine right to stride unbroken upon the True Dao—ascending where lesser cultivators dare not even gaze."
The man leaned forward slightly, the crimson threads tightening around him. "We both are disciples of the holy sect—spare me the groveling and the hollow courtesies. I have no patience for the mewling of lesser cultivators."
The weight of his gaze like a mountain pressing down. "You stand at the precipice of greatness. The Cosmic Path Foundation Establishment Technique is within your grasp... but make no mistake—it is not a gift. It is a test."
"Complete a single task for me, and I shall bestow upon you the key to your ascension. Will you seize your destiny, rise as a titan of the Dao... or will you kneel, as all the others have before you?"
Ruru’s eyes gleamed with sudden hope, her shock melting into temptation.
But Lordi felt a cold prickle of unease. The haunted estate did hold the Cosmic Path Foundation Establishment Technique—yet it lay hidden within the Hanz Clan’s Ancestral Shrine, a place so cursed that even a peak ninth-layer Qi Refinement cultivator like Garrick Blackthorn had been dragged helplessly behind that evil beaded curtain. Lordi had no intention of gambling his life there again.
As he scrambled for an escape, Ruru’s voice cut through the silence—hesitant but sharp with suspicion.
"Senior Brother Hanz... Ten years ago, did you truly seize the Cosmic Path opportunity in Vermithys?" A pause. "And if you’ve returned to the Hanz Clan... why was it still annihilated?" Her voice hardened. "More importantly—why are you guarding this Stone Well? And why did you slaughter every last sect comrade who came before us?"
Krogh’s gaze cut toward her like a blade of frozen starlight, utterly devoid of warmth or mercy.
"Since when," he intoned, his voice a glacial whip, "has our holy sect ever preached unity among disciples?" The words dripped with scorn, each syllable edged with a killing intent so sharp it seemed to carve the air itself.
Ruru stiffened, struck silent. She had expected deflection, diplomacy—not this ruthless dismissal. Her question had been a calculated probe to gauge his intentions yet this Senior Brother had crushed it beneath his heel without hesitation.
Unmoved by her silence, Krogh continued, his voice lowering into something darker, sharper—a honed dagger pressed against the throat of the unworthy.
"Ten years ago, in the abyssal battle crucible of Vermithys, I stood atop the mountain of fallen prodigies to claim my prize." A pause, heavy with the weight of slaughter. "But victory has its price. My wounds were... severe."
His fingers flexed slightly, as if remembering the grip of his sword—or the spill of blood.
"My Self-Created Abyss Tide Sword Art is not some delicate meditation. It demands sustenance. And there is no purer tonic... than the blood essence and screaming souls of fellow cultivators."
A smile, thin and lethal, curled at the edge of his lips.
"Do not mistake my mercy for weakness. The only reason you still draw breath is because you amuse me... for now."
The unspoken threat hung in the air like the scent of iron after a massacre.
"Remember this. In our so-called ’holy’ sect, camaraderie is a delusion for the weak. The strong take. The weak bleed. And you two... are alive solely by my indulgence."
"Serve my purpose. Do not make me reconsider."
Instead of panic, Lordi’s heart steadied before those sinister, blood-soaked words. After all, in the Abyss Pit Sect—this demonic sect, this realm of devil’s domain—loyalty, friendship, and camaraderie were meaningless, less substantial than a fleeting illusion. Here, the only bond that mattered was mutual benefit; self-interest was the sole currency that held any weight.
As long as Krogh Hanz still had a use for them, they were safe—for now.
Seizing the moment, Lordi bowed slightly, his voice layered with deference. "Esteemed Senior Brother Hanz, may this humble one inquire... what task do you require of us?"
Krogh’s eyes narrowed, the glacial light within them intensifying—blinding, merciless, like twin suns forged from the heart of a dying star.
The man commanded, his voice a sword unsheathed,
"Beneath the heavens’ weeping sky,
Ninefold malice climbs so high.
Anchored deep in fate’s cruel hand,
A grudge that scars the sacred land."
Each line fell like a hammer upon an anvil, ringing with the weight of prophecy. The air itself seemed to recoil from the venom in his words.
His gaze, unyielding as forged artifact steel, pinned Lordi where he stood.
"The Hanz Clan Treasury House holds the Sword of Red Run, my Soulbound Natal Artifact, seared with the essence of my will." A slow exhale, colder than a tomb’s breath. "You will retrieve it for me."
Not a request. Not a bargain. A commandment.
Meanwhile... Deep within the ancestral shrine of the Hanz Clan.
A realm of eerie gray and white unfolded behind the beaded curtain, a place where all color and life had been leached away, leaving only a desolate, oppressive haze. The only defiance against the monochrome void was the crimson threads binding Krogh Hanz—their vivid, blood-like hue stark against the bleakness, as though they fed on the very essence of the living.
The air hung thick, nearly solid with suffocating tension. Donovan Valdez, the First Dominator, stood before the bound cultivator, his expression schooled into icy indifference. Yet beneath that mask, terror coiled in his gut, a serpent of dread he refused to let surface. Every muscle in his body strained against the crushing weight of Krogh’s oppressive aura, an invisible force pressing down like a mountain.
"Senior Brother," Donovan spoke, his voice unnervingly steady despite the pressure threatening to buckle his bones, "if you require our aid, of course we shall comply. But first... could you enlighten us?"
A pause. The unspoken question lingered like a blade at their throats.
"Why did the four previous battle squads sent here all perish?" His gaze sharpened, suspicion bleeding through his controlled tone. "Or... is it possible that what you truly seek... is our deaths?"
Krogh exhaled softly, the sound heavy with the wisdom of countless trials. "Though our Holy Sect may not always show warmth between disciples—though our bonds may seem thin—I would never turn my blade needlessly upon my own kind. Those who fell here were not struck down by me. The Hanz Estate is now seized by the Ju-On, and every brother and sister lost here fell to its scourge curse."
His gaze grew distant, lingering on memories of sacrifice. "One survivor escaped from those four squads. That was my doing. I saved him... sent him beyond these mountains. But your squad is too large, and my strength too spent, to spirit you all to safety." He straightened, resolve hardening in his voice. "So I ask you now to stand with me—to face the evil Ju-On together. Only then can we end its reign of malice... and reclaim what was taken from us."
"Ju-On... the scourge curse..."
Donovan shared a glance with his companions, their faces tight with unease. Memories of this haunted estate’s horrors flickered through their minds—squad mates lost in the cherry blossom grove, the blood-drenched trap within the Clan Chief’s Royal Study Library, the countless vengeful wraiths with murderous intent haunting the Ancestral Shrine. If these were the Ju-On’s doing, its power was beyond reckoning.
With measured respect, Donovan bowed his head slightly. "Senior Brother Hanz, may I ask... just how formidable is this Ju-On?"
Krogh studied them, his gaze steady as a drawn blade, yet his voice carried the weight of reassurance. "Stand firm, brothers and sisters. The Ju-On is mine to face. Your duty lies elsewhere—swift and secure. Go to the Hanz Clan Treasury House and retrieve my soulbound artifact, the Sword of Red Run."