The crimson fire blazed fiercely in the fields, the piled-up straw crackling in the flames. Under the pitch-black night, the burning blood-red flames illuminated the eerily silent, deserted village. Dark blood flowed quietly on the ground.5

In the center stood a dark stone platform covered in dark red runes. Many men and women, dressed in Daoist robes, kneeled upon it. Sharp dharma weapons had pierced through their throats, and they lay collapsed on the sacrificial altar.0

A chilling wind blew, creating a mournful wail. Nine piles of bones, varying in size, were neatly arranged around the area, most of them fragmented. In the middle, a cultivator clad in black sat cross-legged, his eyes closed in deep concentration.0

Suddenly, he opened his eyes, mana light flickering within its depths. His skin was slightly tanned, his hair disheveled, revealing...0