Slifer lounged on the plush cushions of his new throne, a smirk playing across his lips. The Sect Master's chambers were every bit as rich as he had hoped - obsidian walls inlaid with precious gems, flowing silk tapestries, and of course, a throne that could make an emperor jealous.

Sure, the decor was a bit macabre for his tastes, with all the bleeding hearts and impaled skulls, but hey, when in demonic sect, do as the demons do, right?

A chime interrupted his musings. Slifer sat up straighter as a glowing panel materialized before him.

Sect Management Interface Black Heart Sect

Disciples:

* Outer Disciples: 567

* Inner Disciples: 152

* Core Disciples: 42

* Legacy Disciples: 5

* Elders: 10

* Grand Elders: 3

Resources:

* Spirit Stones: 1,348,204

* Artifacts: 217

* Medicinal Herbs: 8,394

* Alchemy Materials: 3,562

Reputation:

* Infamy: 7,893

* Karmic Affinity: -5,621

Slifer whistled, impressed despite himself. The Black Heart Sect was no lightweight, these assets were nothing to scoff at. However, that Karmic Affinity... yikes. He had his work cut out for him turning these demonic cultivators to the light.

Ding!

A new notification popped up:

As Sect Master, your disciples' actions reflect upon you. For every evil deed committed, you will lose 1 Karmic Credit. Guide them well.

Slifer grimaced but nodded. It was a fair trade-off considering the Credits he stood to gain by setting these wayward souls on the righteous path. Still, reforming an entire demonic sect...easier said than done.

He had cowed the Black Rose Disciplinary Hall through sheer power and intimidation. But they were already half-tamed compared to these Black Heart lunatics, with their depraved rituals and cutthroat politicking.

Think, Slifer, think! He rapped his knuckles against his forehead. How do I turn a pack of rabid wolves into fluffy lambs?

Ding!

In light of the Black Heart Sect's...proclivities, you will be granted a one-month grace period before penalties for disciples' misdeeds take effect. However, Karmic Credits earned from righteous acts will be halved during this time. Make it count!

"Well, how generous of you," Slifer drawled. But he breathed a little easier. A month wasn't much, but it was a start.

Slifer glanced over to see Leah staring, no doubt puzzled by his reactions to seemingly thin air.

"Ah, Leah! Just the person I wanted to see." He clapped his hands together. "I need you to send a message to the Black Rose Sect. Tell Morvran to get his stern, rule-abiding backside over here, pronto."

Leah's brows shot up. "You want the Morvran...here? At the Black Heart Sect?"

“I need his help whipping these delinquents into shape. It'll be like the Disciplinary Hall, but supersized!"

Leah looked dubious but she bowed. "As you command, Sect Master. I'll go to the Messaging Chamber now."

Ah yes, the Messaging Chamber. A staple of every self-respecting sect. Using formations and runes, Qi-infused messages could be sent vast distances nearly instantaneously. Highly convenient for coordinating between sects...or in Slifer's case, summoning his favourite enforcer.

With Morvran's iron fist and my dazzling charisma, we'll have these Black Heart hooligans toeing the line in no time! Slifer's eyes gleamed as he envisioned the impending disciple wrangling. Oh, the Karmic Credits he would reap!

Ding!

New Mission: Mentor the Unrighteous

Guide misguided disciples onto the path of virtue. The more sect members you reform, the greater your reward.

Quest Rewards:

* Outer Disciples: 500 Karmic Credits per disciple

* Inner Disciples: 1000 Karmic Credits per disciple

* Core Disciples: 2000 Karmic Credits per disciple

* Legacy Disciples: 4000 Karmic Credits per disciple

* Elders: 8000 Karmic Credits per Elder

* Grand Elder: 16,000 Karmic Credits per Grand Elder

Slifer rubbed his hands together, a wicked grin stretching his face. While these disciples wouldn't be his personal students, not in the System's "hallowed" opinion anyway, he could still rack up some sweet, sweet Karmic Credit guiding these lost lambs.

A twinge of unease crept through his mirth. He had subjugated the Grand Elders sure enough, but what about the rank and file disciples? Were there any hidden thorns among the roses? Potential rivals or, heaven forbid...protagonists?

Bah, I'm just being paranoid! Slifer shook off the thought. What kind of xianxia protagonist gets his sect stolen by a quirky old man? Haha...ha. Oh heavens, I hope I didn't just flag death.

A hesitant knock at the door blessedly interrupted his spiralling thoughts.

"Enter," Slifer said, straightening his robes and schooling his features into a stern mask. Image was everything!

Damian shuffled in, bowing deeply at the waist. "Sect Master, the disciples have been gathered as you ordered. We await your address in the grand courtyard."

Showtime. Slifer rose to his feet, squaring his shoulders. "Very good. You're dismissed, Damian. I'll be along shortly."

The Elder backpedalled out, head still lowered. Once alone, Slifer checked his reflection in the wall-mounted spirit beasts' fangs (ugh, talk about gauche decor), fussing with his hair and robes.

The trick is to look imposing yet genial. Strict but benevolent. A real 'kneel before me, but feel free to grab a snack after' sort of vibe.

Satisfied he looked appropriately imposing, Slifer strode out, a maniacal glint in his eyes. Time to bring the circus to these unwashed masses!

***

Elarkin shifted uncomfortably in the grand courtyard of the Black Heart Sect, trying to see over the sea of dark robes and muttered curses of his fellow disciples. Just his luck to be a bit on the short side in a sect full of beefcakes.

The low buzz of hundreds of whispered conversations swelled around him, and Elarkin found himself straining to pick up tidbits here and there.

"I'm telling you, it's gotta be some kind of declaration of war," one burly disciple grunted.

His companion shook his head. "Use your brain, dimwit. Why would the Supreme Elder of the Black Rose Sect come alone if he wanted to start a fight?"

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"Well excuse me for not being a tactical genius, oh wise one," the first snapped back. "You come up with a better reason then."

The other disciple hesitated. "Maybe...maybe it's about what happened to Sect Master Kaelius?"

A tense hush fell over their little group. The disappearance of their Sect Master was the demonic elephant in the room that no one wanted to acknowledge.

Rather than get drawn into that potential quagmire, Elarkin let his attention drift, his mind churning over his own predicament.

It had been a little over a year since he came to the Black Heart Sect, a scrawny refugee from a poor mountain village razed by rogue cultivators in one of their petty squabbles. He still remembered the acrid scent of smoke and blood, and way his mother had shoved him into a hidden cellar moments before their home collapsed in flames around her...

No. He couldn't think about that now. The past was dead and gone. All that mattered was clawing his way to power so that he'd never be weak and helpless again. And the Black Heart Sect had seemed like the perfect ruthless crucible to forge himself into the ultimate cultivator.

Oh, he'd been so naive back then. Eating up all the honeyed words the recruiters spouted about "might makes right" and the glory of the demonic path, how "the strong feast on the flesh of the weak."

That youthful idealism quickly curled up and died during his first month as an Outer Disciple. Nothing but drudge work and vicious hazing from dawn to dusk, scrabbling for the dregs of cultivation resources like a pack of starving dogs.

And when Elarkin finally saw his chance to rise to Inner Disciple, to escape the constant grind of petty chores and brutal beatings, he grabbed it with both hands...only to choke on the bitter ashes of betrayal.

Apparently his "friend" Jagim didn't share Elarkin's touching notions of loyalty, perfectly happy to stab his bunkmate in the back (metaphorically and literally) to secure that one spot of promotion.

Elarkin absentmindedly rubbed the ragged scar along his ribs, jaw clenching at the phantom pain. Yet another reminder seared into his flesh of this cruel world he'd dedicated himself to.

Which brought him to his current dilemma, lurking in the grand hall waiting for the mysterious Supreme Elder to unveil his purpose here. Should he cut his losses and run while everyone was confused? Try to book it to another demonic sect before this whole ship sank?

No...no that would be the coward's way out. He was done being the Heaven’s punching bag. One way or another, Elarkin swore he would climb to the peak of power on the demonic path, even if he had to stain his hands red with the blood of so-called "allies."

So Elarkin held his tongue and faded into the background like he always did, cold eyes assessing and calculating behind a mask of perfect blankness, just another faceless drone in a sea of black robes. Waiting, watching, biding his time until opportunity smiled upon him once more.

A sudden hush rippled through the crowd and Elarkin turned his head as the huge obsidian doors of the main hall were blown open.

He recognized the three Grand Elders walk out and line up like an honour guard for...

His eyes widened fractionally as they landed on the fourth figure, the one who could only be the infamous Supreme Elder.

Unlike most of the other disciples, Elarkin was training when the Supreme Elder had arrived, so he had missed the commotion. This was his first-time setting eyes on the number 1 cultivator of the Black Rose Sect.

The old man moved with an otherworldly grace, his feet not quite touching the ground. He had a smirk playing about his lips as if he found the entire room vastly entertaining. And was that...was that a tiny dragon perched on his shoulder?

What in the nine hells...

The Supreme Elder came to a stop, hands clasped in front before him in a deceptively casual stance. And then it hit Elarkin like a Spirit Beast's backhand - the pure blinding aura rolling off the man, heavy as a physical weight pressing down on every disciple in the hall.

So, this is the might of an Ascendant cultivator... Elarkin thought, bones aching under the invisible pressure. It was all he could do not keel over like some of the weaker disciples.

The Grand Elders stood stiffly to either side of their guest, faces pale. Even the normally blustering Elder Magnus had been reduced to little more than a quivering mass of mangy beard and shaky knees.

But all that was secondary to the bomb that the Supreme Elder was about to drop on their heads.

"I will keep this brief as I'm sure you're all eager to get back to...whatever it is you people do around here," the man said with a careless wave of his hand.

"I am the Supreme Elder of the Black Rose Sect, Slifer.” His smirk widened as he paused to let them stew in anticipation. "And as of today...your new Sect Master."

Elarkin nearly choked on his own tongue. Wait, what did he just say!?

The rest of the disciples apparently shared his shock, the grand hall erupting into a roar of startled exclamations and heated conversations.

"Is this a joke?"

"The Supreme Elder is our new Sect Master?"

"What about Sect Master Kaelius? What happened to him!?"

"This must be a trick! The Black Rose Sect is trying to swallow us whole!"

"We've been conquered? I knew it!"

The clamour rose to a deafening pitch, a mob seconds away from exploding into violence, like that would actually change anything. The Supreme Elder just stood there, unruffled amid the growing storm, that smirk still on his face.

Through it all, Elarkin remained frozen, his mind whirling. This was... unprecedented. A hostile sect takeover without bloodshed? What could have brought the proud Grand Elders to surrender so abjectly? Especially someone like Grand Elder Magnus?

Something's not right, his instincts screamed. No one man should wield such influence, not without a trump card so devastating it's not even worth fighting.

But what manner of hellish trump card could—

His spiralling thoughts came to a standstill as a nova of Qi exploded through the hall. Elarkin's knees buckled, and he hit the floor, gasping like a landed fish.

All around him, disciples crumpled like rag dolls, pinned under the titanic spiritual pressure. Even the Grand Elders staggered, barely keeping their feet.

Cold sweat slicked Elarkin's face as he struggled to raise his head a fraction, fighting the force bearing down on him. His eyes widened, limbs trembling with animalistic terror.

A colossal projection loomed over the hall, a blood-red titan in Slifer's image. Blazing Qi roared off it like solar flares, threatening to incinerate Elarkin's mind.

An Ascendant Avatar, Elarkin realized with numb horror. Only Immortal Realm experts could project such manifestations of their might. This old man was an Immortal.

The thought rattled around his skull as darkness crept into the edges of his vision. Some distant part of him snorted derisively at how easily he'd dismissed the danger of the situation.

No one could stand against an expert of this level, not the Grand Elders, not the disciples, not even the late Sect Master. The Black Heart Sect was well and truly conquered.

As his consciousness guttered out, one final thought drifted through Elarkin's mind.

Well... so much for slipping away quietly, eh?

Then, he blacked out.