Li Feng's body had fully absorbed the Demon Pill.
The moment the last trace of medicinal energy dissolved into his blood, a violent surge erupted within him. Every cell screamed, shattered, and rebuilt itself anew. His bones rang like steel being reforged, his meridians expanded painfully, and his dantian—once destroyed—was reborn as a dark abyss that devoured energy endlessly.
Li Feng fell to one knee, his breath ragged.
So this is the demonic path…
Pain… but power follows.
From that day onward, he trained without rest.
Day and night blurred together. He practiced until his hands bled, until his consciousness faded, only to wake and begin again.
Techniques that would take ordinary cultivators years—sometimes decades—to comprehend were mastered by Li Feng in mere weeks.
When he wielded the sword, shadows followed its arc.
When he circulated his cultivation, the surrounding demonic qi bent toward him like a tide answering its king.
His strength surged daily.
His aura grew heavier… darker… more oppressive.
Even high-ranking demons felt suffocated when standing too close.
From afar, the Demon Lord observed silently.
At first, his gaze was calm.
Then intrigued.
Then—rarely—pleased.
"You are learning faster than I anticipated,"
the Demon Lord said one day, his deep voice echoing through the training grounds.
"At this rate, you may surpass your former master far sooner than expected."
Li Feng knelt, pressing his fist to the ground.
"I only wish to grow stronger. Strong enough that no one can trample me ever again."
The Demon Lord studied him carefully.
"Power gained too quickly can corrode the heart," he warned. "Remember this—patience is also a weapon."
Li Feng lowered his head, his eyes burning beneath his lashes.
"I have waited my whole life, my lord. Waiting… is something I excel at."
For the first time in centuries, the Demon Lord let out a low chuckle.
Within the demon clan, whispers spread like wildfire.
"Have you heard? The new one… the human-turned-demon."
"They say his aura alone can crush weak cultivators."
"He's guided personally by the Demon Lord himself…"
Fear followed those whispers.
Then awe.
From low-ranking foot soldiers to ancient elders, all acknowledged Li Feng's presence with respect—and caution. Demons who once scoffed at humans now bowed their heads when he passed.
Even the Demon Lord's closest advisors watched him carefully.
"This one is dangerous," one elder murmured.
"Not reckless… not arrogant," another added. "Those are the most terrifying."
To conceal his identity, Li Feng donned a mask forged from black obsidian.
Its surface was cold and smooth, etched with crimson runes that pulsed faintly like a living heart. Once worn, his presence shifted completely—his aura masked, distorted, unreadable.
Beneath the mask, his face remained unchanged.
The same eyes.
The same features.
The face of a boy once abandoned by his sect…
Cast aside by his family…
Betrayed by the woman he loved.
Yet no one could recognize him now.
As he walked through the demon domain, shadows clung to his steps. Demons stepped aside instinctively, their instincts screaming danger.
Li Feng paused atop a black stone platform, overlooking the endless demonic plains.
Li Feng is dead, he thought coldly.
What remains… is something else.
His fingers tightened slowly.
"I will remain hidden," he whispered beneath the mask, his voice swallowed by the wind.
"Until the day I have the strength to take everything back."
His revenge was not rushed.
Not reckless.
It was patient.
Calculated.
Inevitable.
And when the time came—
Even heaven itself would tremble.