From the depths of the flames that burned with an intensity fueled by Li Zimo's demonic phenomena, a foot emerged—unscathed, untouched by the fire. The crowd watching from the sect’s perimeter fell silent, stunned by what they were witnessing.
A cultivator's flame was no ordinary fire; it burned with a ferocity that could reduce even a Spiritual Awakening cultivator to a charred husk. Yet here was Feng Zhiming, stepping out of the inferno as though it were nothing more than a warm breeze. Blood still dripped from his mouth, and the four swords that had impaled him, now slightly melted at their tips, jutted grotesquely from his body.
Anissa’s reverence for the Forgotten One deepened. What she was witnessing bordered on the miraculous. The stab wounds were severe, but to survive the flames of another cultivator—flames that could sear through flesh and bone—was almost unheard of. Even a braggart like Li Fan, with all his boasts of regenerative prowess, would have been reduced to ashes under such an onslaught.
Feng Zhiming gripped one of the swords protruding from his body and yanked it free, tossing it at the disciple who had stabbed him. The wound it had caused healed instantly, thanks to the Art of Demonic Resurgence working tirelessly within him.
“There was a legend I heard long ago,” Feng Zhiming began as he walked toward Li Zimo, his voice calm and measured despite the carnage around him. The blood that lined his path painted a grim picture, but his expression remained composed, almost detached.
“Five heroes went to slay a beast, and the beast asked them, ‘What made you think you could slay me?’”
He reached for the second sword, wrenching it from his body without flinching, and tossed it aside as though it were an insignificant stick.
“The heroes answered in unison, ‘Because the goddess told us our blades could set any beast aflame and kill it.’”
The third sword followed, pulled from his side and thrown back at the disciple who had wielded it. Feng Zhiming’s face betrayed no pain, no discomfort, as if the act of removing the blades was as mundane as brushing dust from his clothes.
“If your goddess believed that, then why didn’t she come to slay me herself?” the beast replied, and the fourth sword was jerked from Feng Zhiming’s lung, hurled at another disciple’s face with unerring accuracy.
“The heroes were stumped; they could not answer,” Feng Zhiming continued as he retrieved his robe and put it back on, his aura now radiating a red glow that engulfed the entire sect. The remaining fighters, those who had not dared to attack, stood frozen in terror. His presence was overwhelming, a force that seemed to bend the very air around him.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Anissa’s heart pounded in her chest, the same feeling she had experienced when the Forgotten One had first spoken to her in the bandit camp. It was as if she were in the presence of something otherworldly, something that did not belong to this mortal realm.
“The truth is, the goddess was a coward who hid behind her stories and lies. She fed the humans to the beast on purpose.”
Feng Zhiming reached Li Zimo, locking eyes with him. The fear in Li Zimo’s gaze was palpable, a terror that had gripped him entirely.
“The goddess feared the beast, for the beast was no common creature.”
Feng Zhiming then turned his gaze to Tian Yu, whose mouth hung open in disbelief, the arrogance drained from him. The two elders who had once sneered at Feng Zhiming now lowered their heads, too afraid to meet his eyes.
“The beast was born to devour the gods, and the goddess was born to be its sustenance.”
With a surprisingly gentle gesture, Feng Zhiming offered his hand to Li Zimo, helping him stand. Li Zimo, realizing the battle had been nothing more than a performance, accepted the hand and respectfully cupped his hands, bowing low.
“To satiate the beast's hunger, she constantly sent humans who had been tricked into becoming its meal,” Feng Zhiming continued, his voice taking on a darker tone.
“But in the end, the goddess could not prevent the inevitable. For the humans were not gods, and only the flesh of gods could satiate the beast.”
He turned his gaze skyward, his voice resonating with a power that made the heavens themselves seem to listen. “Much like that beast, I am a demonic crow. The Demonic Crow of the Heavens—Feng Zhiming.”
With a swift motion, Feng Zhiming flew up to where Tian Yu stood, the sect leader now looking as though death had come to claim him. The two elders who had been so confident earlier now cowered, their arrogance replaced by dread.
The audience below began to murmur, speculation running wild.
“Isn’t he a true immortal?” one disciple whispered.
“Are you stupid? How can a true immortal be an Ethereal Core cultivator?” another retorted, smacking the first on the head.
“He could have the spirit of a true immortal, reincarnated into a human body.”
“He looked more like a three-legged golden crow when he emerged from that flame,” one of the disciples remarked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
In the midst of the chatter, Qin Hao stood with pride, remembering his brief conversation with Feng Zhiming. He had even been called "little brother" by this formidable figure. Names like "True Immortal," "The Undying Demonic Crow," and "The Heaven Devouring Crow" were being thrown around, each more grandiose than the last.
Meanwhile, Feng Zhiming stood before Tian Yu, just as he had in the main hall. “Respected Sect Leader Tian Yu, do you see the truth before you now?” he asked, placing a firm hand on the sect leader's shoulder.
“But you and I both know that a lion cannot be king of the jungle while a dragon lives there.”
He turned to face the audience, his hand still gripping Tian Yu’s shoulder, urging the sect leader to do the same.
He extended his hand, pointing to all the disciples below. “The truth is they don’t know who they fear more at this point—me or you.”
His smile grew as his grip on Tian Yu’s shoulder tightened. “But you know, and I know.”
Tian Yu gulped, fear twisting his gut. He knew that Feng Zhiming had the qualifications, the sheer power, to be granted the path of the Primal Demon. Someone like Feng Zhiming was destined for greatness far beyond anything Tian Yu could imagine.
“So I’ll ask you once again,” Feng Zhiming said, his voice low and menacing, “would the dog dare to tell me it cannot bark?”