The wind stirred his robes as he stood alone in the vast, scarred valley, remnants of shattered terrain crumbling beneath his boots. His figure, regal and upright, seemed almost defiant against the ruin around him. Blood had dried on his sleeves, and though his breath was even, there was a weight behind it—a deep, bone-heavy exhaustion.
Yet still, he stood like a man undefeated. A man who refused to kneel.
The fading light of dusk bathed his silhouette in gold and shadow, highlighting the strands of his hair that clung to his damp forehead. He looked ahead at nothing in particular, eyes dim but watchful, as if expecting something to stir from the silence. But nothing did.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand across his face.
"Still not here," he muttered.
The words felt heavier than they should have, like a truth he didn't want to accept.
Damn, I'm really tired.
He looked down at his hands—once steady, now trembling faintly from exertion. His shoulders sagged for a moment, the weight of years, battles, and obsession sinking into him.
"Maybe it really isn't true at all," he said under his breath, his voice rough.
A beat passed.
"I'm too tired."
The words fell like a stone.
With a quiet sigh, Yanwei turned, his back to the horizon, and slowly began to walk away. No more searching. Not tonight.
The sky darkened above him.
….
Looking back then… I even gave up.
Yanwei's gaze lingered on the closed book in his hand, his reflection faintly cast on the cold, metallic surface of the mirror tucked away in his ring. His expression was unreadable, the sharpness in his eyes tempered by something almost nostalgic.
I didn't know… that as a Rank 1 nobody, I would actually find one of the three books.
A wry laugh slipped from his lips—not one of joy, but disbelief. And to think, even now, I still haven't fully understood it. No wonder it slipped right past me back then.
Though… it was stated at the last page. That this was only half. Just the first part.
His fingers brushed the worn edges of the book, thumb tracing over a faint mark that had long since faded.
It says… I would feel it. If the other half's owner ever gets close—I'd feel it.
His brow furrowed slightly, the weight of that truth settling like lead in his chest.
And I'm lucky… Lucky that my half is the dominant one. If it wasn't—then I'd be in the losing side. It'd be the other person who would sense me. Who would know where I was, the moment our paths crossed.
His jaw clenched faintly.
That would mean I'm in the light… and they're in the dark. They'd hold the advantage. And if that person turns out to be stronger—or worse, protected by someone even more powerful—then…
He sighed, a low "Phew," escaping him as he tilted his head back and looked to the ceiling.
Then I'm going to die.
There was a pause.
Then, Yanwei smiled. Wide, dangerous, and terribly amused.
"Lucky, lucky."
"There's only one and a half day left…" Yanwei muttered to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose as fatigue coiled in his shoulders. "Seems like I need to leave now. I still have to fix the memories of that girl, Linglong. Tch… damn it, I won't be able to practice this book right away."
His fingers gripped the ancient tome a bit tighter, reluctant yet resolved. "I need time…"
With a sharp exhale, he reached for his growth space, the book half-raised to be stored away
Then froze.
A tingling sensation prickled at the back of his neck.
His gaze shifted sharply downward—and his pupils contracted.
The necklace around his throat was glowing. No—thrashing.
It pulsed erratically, the faint glow turning into a storm of spiritual light, violently trembling against his skin. Before he could react, the book in his hand trembled once—then vanished.
Sucked in.
Gone.
"What the—?"
His breath caught in his throat.
Then the pain hit.
Like a blade driven straight into his skull.
"AAGHHHHH!"
A raw, guttural scream tore out of him, louder than thunder, splitting the silence like lightning splitting the sky. His knees buckled as he clutched his head, veins bulging along his temples. It was no ordinary pain—it was a violation, something ancient and vast clawing its way into the deepest folds of his mind.
His body trembled, his vision blurred—fractured symbols, voices, and fragmented concepts slammed into his consciousness all at once.
The number one demon… howling.
Alone.
Collapsed on the ground, lost in the agony of knowledge that no mortal mind was meant to bear.
His vision swam. His breath came in ragged gasps.
Then—clarity.
His eyes snapped open, and he bolted upright with a hiss. "What the fuck is going on?!"
Yanwei clutched his skull, the pain still echoing like an aftershock. He tried to recall—what happened? What the hell happened?!
The moment he reached into that memory— bam! —another wave of sharp, piercing pain slammed into his head.
"Fuck!" He staggered, nearly falling, a groan strangling in his throat. But then—he froze.
A realization hit him.
The technique.
His breath caught.
The strange, incomprehensible technique from before… the words that twisted in his mind, the logic that slipped through his thoughts like fog—
It was there now.
Imprinted.
Burned into his mind like a brand seared into flesh. Not completely understood, but present. Etched into his consciousness without permission, like it had been hammered into the core of his being.
"The hell…?"
He blinked hard, sweat dripping from his jaw, eyes unfocused.
Minutes passed.
Still, nothing made sense.
The pain wouldn't leave. Neither would the technique. He couldn't fully grasp it—its logic, its method, its structure—it was like trying to decode a foreign language while half-conscious. The knowledge was there, but it refused to settle, constantly shifting, resisting him.
His knees trembled again. He leaned against a stone wall, cursing under his breath.
What the hell had he just touched?
What had he invited into himself?