Chapter 083: The Second Blood Sword Demon Lord

Murong Qingyi, upon seeing the elderly man who appeared to be the infamous Blood Sword Demon Lord, immediately turned and fled. She had no desire to be mistaken for someone entangled with this notorious villain. But suddenly, a powerful surge of true energy seized her, lifting her off the ground and carrying her away. Before she could react, the strange old man had brought her to a remote, wild mountain outside the city. He tossed her beneath a tree, and Murong Qingyi, still shaken, glanced around anxiously. Not far off, she spotted a clearing stacked with nine layers of firewood, clearly meant for a cremation. At this sight, cold sweat broke out across her body. Was this eerie old man planning to burn her alive?

But she hadn’t offended him. Last time, she’d even given him three marrow-blood pills she had painstakingly refined, for which he ought to be grateful. Unless—had something gone wrong with those pills? She remembered the last time he took them, his vitality had visibly improved, and nearly half his white hair had turned black. Yet now, looking at him, his face was deathly pale, frail as a corpse, his hair not only fully white but half fallen out.

Could he have become so decrepit because of her pills? Murong Qingyi trembled and asked, “Why have you brought me here? Your current state has nothing to do with me. It was you who insisted on taking those three marrow-blood pills yourself.”

The old man suddenly threw back his head and laughed. “Silly girl, do you think I’ve come today to accuse you? You need not be so anxious. After I took your pills, my body did improve, but only temporarily.”

“What truly made me so aged and feeble is this incurable wound.” As he spoke, he tore open his outer garment, revealing a claw-marked scar across his chest, with flames flickering upon it.

“This was inflicted by a tenth-tier beast, the Fire Qilin. In order to obtain its inner core, I fought it for ages. I finally slew it and claimed its core, but not without suffering its wrath.”

“Do you know why the Seven Stars Sect pursues me so relentlessly? Because when I killed the Fire Qilin, some petty members of their sect witnessed it.”

“They hunt me everywhere simply to seize the Fire Qilin’s inner core from my hands.” He sighed. “If only the Qilin’s wound hadn’t weakened me so, I wouldn’t have to scurry about like a rat, always in hiding!”

Summoning her courage, Murong Qingyi asked, “So… you really are the legendary Blood Sword Demon Lord?”

“That’s right. I am Gu Yunyang, the Blood Sword Demon Lord!” He suddenly smiled. “Do I look anything like the figure you saw in the ‘Chronicles of the Demon Lords’?”

Murong Qingyi nodded earnestly. “No!”

Gu Yunyang laughed again. When he had finished, Murong Qingyi cautiously asked, “Lord Demon, why did you bring me here?”

Gu Yunyang replied, “I have been observing you secretly for some time. Not only do you possess extraordinary talent in alchemy, you also have a rare gift for cultivation.”

“But your gifts are not meant for the path of the immortals, but for the way of the demons.”

“You have not yet reached the Void Spirit Realm in immortal cultivation; you still have the chance to switch to demon cultivation!” Before reaching the Void Spirit Realm, a cultivator’s immortal veins have not fully matured and can still be replaced with demon veins. Likewise, a demon cultivator below the Demon Core Realm can still convert to immortal cultivation.

Once, Su Xiqiu’s disciple, Pang Anwang, had switched to the demon path midway.

If Murong Qingyi were to begin demon cultivation now, her body would simultaneously harbor both immortal and demon energies at first. However, unlike Qin Xuanxi, who possessed dual veins, once Murong Qingyi’s demon cultivation reached the Demon Core Realm and the demon veins took root, her immortal veins would fall away entirely, leaving no trace of her former immortal cultivation. From that moment, she would be irreversibly bound to the demon path.

“So, I hope you will turn to demon cultivation,” Gu Yunyang said solemnly. “I want you, Murong Qingyi, to inherit my mantle and become—the Second Blood Sword Demon Lord!”

“What?” Murong Qingyi’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth agape.

She had never considered abandoning the immortal sects for the demon path, let alone becoming the next Blood Sword Demon Lord. Besides, “Blood Sword Demon Lord” was hardly a title of honor; why should she bear such a notorious name?

“Lord Demon, I am merely a minor noble’s daughter, of humble status and meager cultivation. Truly… truly, I am incapable of inheriting your legacy!” she protested.

“It’s too late!” Gu Yunyang spat a mouthful of blood. “My body is reaching its limit. I must have a successor, and there’s no time to seek another. Whether you agree or not, you must take up my mantle!”

He threw his staff at her feet; its tip sunk several inches into the earth. Suddenly, the staff began to tremble violently, shrouded in black mist, and transformed into a long sword with a jet-black blade.

“This spirit sword is called ‘Sanghe.’ From now on, you are its master.” Gu Yunyang continued, “It will teach you my methods, and the Blood Flame Sword Technique. The Fire Qilin’s inner core, which I never had the fortune to use, is embedded within it. When the time is right, you may extract it.”

“Wait, wait!” Murong Qingyi hastily interrupted, “Lord Demon, I… I am a weak woman, without ambition. I truly am not fit to inherit your legacy!”

“No, no—you are more suited than anyone. You simply do not yet understand yourself,” Gu Yunyang replied. “You will not willingly spend your life suffering the bullying of Murong Jingtian and his ilk, nor let them treat you like a servant forever.”

“One day, you will rebel against them—even kill them. Only then will you become your true self.”

“But afterwards, you will have more and more enemies. You must become ever stronger, and Sanghe will teach you how.”

Gu Yunyang turned to the spirit sword as if addressing an old friend. “Go, Sanghe—go to your new master!”

The sword named Sanghe quivered, as if in response. Suddenly, it morphed into a jet-black hairpin and, with a sharp whistle, embedded itself in Murong Qingyi’s hair at the nape of her neck, forcibly binding itself to her.