Shadow of the Demon General (volume 1)

Prologue: Death to the Demon General

"What do you mean?"

"How could that be?"

Someone stroked their beard and grumbled. "Even though it was on him in that final battle, no one's seen it since he fell. They haven't been able to find a single trace of it." Another moment of heavy silence, the mood dampened further. As far as anyone knew, Wu Syaoran had been the only one capable of commanding Emo Zhiying. But who knew if that would forever be the case? Should someone else with ill intentions figure out how to command it, then the cultivation world would be in another mess!

Hesitantly, someone offered "Well, I'm sure it'll be found soon enough."

A man huffed. "With the whole cultivation world looking? It'll definitely be found."

"Until then, we can still celebrate the fact that Wu Syaoran is dead!"

"Here, here!" A few people cheered.

"Finally that beast is dead!"

"Death is a mercy for someone like him!"

Someone sighed. "Ah, and to think he was once a model young cultivator." He had indeed not always been so wicked. Wu Syaoran had once been an incredibly promising young cultivator, in fact, his skill in martial arts and cultivation quickly surpassing many of his peers. He had excelled in all areas of his study, with a noble upbringing and a courteous and friendly demeanor that made him worthy of his title as second young master.

Another person scoffed. "Just goes to show how far one can fall."

"This is why you should never stray from the righteous path!"

"Or you'll end up just like him."

"Nothing but a dead dog!"

"May he never return!"

                                                                                              —

While the rest of Hainei rejoiced, in a town far removed from the chaos of the cultivation world, a lone figure sat in their room at an inn. It was a young boy, no older than seventeen. He wore simple dark robes, a bamboo hat placed on the floor beside him, but he sat with a grace and poise that indicated a noble upbringing. He sat at the table, staring at the contents he'd left scattered atop the wood.

This boy was Sun Guanyu.

He toyed mindlessly with the strings of a qiankun pouch. It had a simple exterior, with roughspun silk and an incredibly mundane appearance. Just by looking at it, one would think that it was nothing special. It technically was nothing special. It was what was inside that made all the difference.

Sun Guanyu kept toying with the strings. If he moved his fingers in a particular way, he'd be able to open it. To access the contents inside. To learn the things he'd been barred from learning. To drench the world in cultivator blood.

His fingers maintained their mindless movements. He didn't move his hands to open the bag. Because if he opened the bag, he'd stop toying with the strings. And if he stopped toying with the strings, he might just break apart.

He was exhausted, in more ways than one. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go to his room and lie down, and wake up the next day with the past few days having been nothing more than a nightmare. But there was no nightmare to wake up from. No room to go back to. Hell, there was nothing for him to go back to. Nothing but ash and pain.

Guyue Tower had been his home for the last four years. The Wu Clan had taken him in even when he was one of their enemies, the crown prince of a bloody empire. They had fed him and clothed him, had protected him as the rest of the cultivation world had called for his head. They had raised him as one of their own, and had trained him in the art of cultivation. They had become a second family, had become everything to him. But now they were all dead, massacred by greedy monsters that called themselves cultivators.