Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

Yulin's explanation made too much sense.

But that was precisely what unsettled Devor.

If everything she said was true, then the pieces of this mystery were finally beginning to fall into place.

Yet something still felt off.

Devor narrowed his eyes.

"How does Sister Yulin know all this?" he asked. His voice was calm, but suspicion edged his tone. "Could it be that Sister Yulin also possesses a Dao Embryo?"

Devor had little understanding of Yulin's full abilities. Her flying sword techniques were beyond extraordinary—so much so that if he had been able to form a Dao Embryo despite his limited foundation, then perhaps she had as well.

Yulin met his gaze without hesitation, a slight smile playing on her lips. There was an undeniable amusement in her expression, as if his suspicions were nothing more than a child's idle musings.

"I wouldn't know," she said lightly. "Besides, even if I did have a Dao Embryo, what good would it do me?"

Her voice was casual, almost dismissive—but Devor didn't miss the faint trace of something else hidden beneath her words.

"After all," she continued, "Dao energy cannot be used in this world."

Devor frowned.

"That's… true," he admitted after a moment.

A Dao Embryo was an extraordinary gift, a seed of boundless potential—but only if given the right conditions to awaken.

Here, in the mortal realm, it was little more than a dormant force.

But if he ever reached the Immortal World…

Then it could become his greatest weapon.

Yulin seemed to sense the shift in his thoughts. She exhaled softly before speaking again, her voice carrying a weight that hadn't been there before.

"I have my own connections for gathering information," she said simply.

"But I didn't tell you all this just for the sake of conversation." Her tone dropped, turning low and serious. "I'm telling you this because you need to focus on your cultivation."

Devor stiffened.

She wasn't wrong.

He was still too weak. And no matter how well-suited his resources were, cultivation wasn't something that could be rushed.

His Spiritual Root was a limitation he hadn't yet overcome.

The more he thought about it, the more that helplessness churned within him.

"…What about Forly?" he asked suddenly. "How is he now?"

Forly's condition had been uncertain since the incident, but the sect had assured them he would survive.

Yulin was silent for a moment before answering.

"He won't be the same person anymore," she said finally.

Her voice was measured, but there was a quiet sadness beneath her words. "To remain stable… he may require something specific."

Devor's breath hitched.

"Specific?" he echoed warily.

Yulin hesitated—just briefly—before speaking again.

"He may need to kill living beings to maintain his sanity."

A cold weight settled in Devor's chest.

"Isn't there another way?" His voice was tight, laced with frustration.

Forly's future, his dreams—all of it would be ruined if he was forced to rely on killing just to stay sane.

Yulin let out a slow sigh, shaking her head.

"If there were an alternative, the sect would have already found it," she said simply.

Devor's fists clenched at his sides.

"That damn Shadow Puppet Pill…!" His voice trembled with barely restrained anger.

The pill was infamous.

A relic from ancient warfare, its main purpose had been to create unwavering, obedient soldiers on the battlefield.

For most cultivators, its effects were limited—plaguing them with nightmares for a few months, a lingering echo of the souls they had slain.

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But for a select few, those who had never stained their hands with human life, they would become the perfect targets for this Pill…

Devor exhaled sharply, struggling to push down the storm of emotions inside him.

"Maybe… I can help Forly," he muttered.

Yulin raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?"

Devor's expression was resolute.

"Because that black blood entered my body too," he said firmly.

Back then, during the incident, he had felt it seeping into him. But unlike Forly—

"I haven't experienced any negative effects."

Yulin studied him, her gaze sharp.

"The sect's medical team already examined you," she pointed out. "They found nothing wrong."

"Maybe the amount was too small," Devor admitted. "Or maybe…"

He took a slow breath, then met her eyes. "Maybe I have some kind of resistance."

A flicker of something passed through Yulin's gaze.

It was gone in an instant, but Devor had caught it—a faint, unreadable shift in her expression.

"Even if that's true," she said after a pause, "do you understand why?"

Devor's mouth opened—then closed.

Yulin's eyes didn't waver.

"If you don't even know why you're immune," she pressed, "then how can you possibly help him?"

Devor had no answer.

Because she was right.

Right now, no matter how much he wanted to help Forly, no matter how much he hated the idea of standing by doing nothing—

There was nothing he could do.

A suffocating frustration settled in his chest.

"Just focus on your cultivation and becoming stronger," Yulin said quietly. "Maybe in the future, you'll be able to help him."

Her words cut deep.

Devor clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.

How many times had he heard these same words?

'Focus on cultivation.'

'Become stronger.'

'Wait for the future.'

But no matter how much he resented it—

He knew.

She wasn't wrong.

The helplessness gnawed at him, like an old wound that refused to heal.

Forly's life—his fate—hung in the balance.

And Devor could do nothing.

❄️❄️❄️

The next day, Devor remained vigilant. He monitored the unfolding events, keeping a close watch on Forly's condition.

As Yulin had warned, Forly had recovered—for now.

On the surface, he appeared unchanged. His movements were steady, his speech unaffected. To an outsider, he was simply another cultivator who had endured hardship and survived.

But Devor knew better.

The curse was not a wound that could heal with time.

It was an insidious force, burrowing into Forly's mind and body—a slow, merciless erosion of the person he used to be.

The first signs had already begun to show.

Forly's nights were restless, plagued by nightmares so vivid that he awoke gasping for breath, his hands trembling. Some nights, he did not sleep at all.

Devor knew what that meant.

If this continued, his body would soon refuse rest altogether, and when that happened… the hunger for blood would take its place.

The Shadow Puppet Pill was infamous for a reason.

It was never meant to create warriors.

It was meant to forge executioners.

A week passed.

The sect had moved swiftly, stabilizing the aftermath of the attack. But this was only the beginning.

Reports surfaced from other sects—young prodigies, all cursed in different ways.

Some lost control of their cultivation, their meridians fracturing from within. Others descended into madness, their spiritual energy turning violent and chaotic.

The Ten Sect Alliance had no choice but to respond. The heavens churned, storm clouds gathering over the cultivation world. The signs of an impending calamity were undeniable.

Out of the twelve cultivators targeted, only six had survived—including Devor.

The Azure Sky Sect demanded answers from the Fu Empire, their fury aimed at Yiru Fu—the same woman who had once wronged Devor.

Officially, she denied involvement.

Yet the assassins had been under her command.

Either she was merely a pawn… or she was tied to the true mastermind.

And if it was the latter—

Then this was only the first wave of something much larger.

Tensions simmered, yet no war broke out.

The great sects understood.

This was not the time for open conflict.

Not yet.

A month passed.

On the surface, peace had returned—but beneath it, the foundation of the cultivation world had shifted.

The sect's security was tighter than ever. Every cultivator involved in the attack faced a singular punishment:

Absolute death.

And because Forly had been both a victim and Devor's savior, the sect granted him the right to carry out the executions.

Inside a sealed chamber, a place built for judgment, Forly stood motionless.

His sword gleamed under the dim torchlight, its edge still wet with the blood of those who had come before.

Two lifeless bodies lay at his feet, their vacant eyes staring at nothing.

The stench of death thickened the air, yet Forly's face remained cold.

His grip steady.

He felt nothing.

The last prisoner knelt before him.

Liyu.

Her once-sleek hair was tangled and filthy, her robes stained with dirt and sweat. A cloth gagged her mouth, and thick iron cuffs bound her wrists and ankles, ensuring she could not resist.

Once, she had been Devor's subordinate.

Once, she had been a promising talent in the sect.

Now, she was nothing.

Another condemned soul, awaiting judgment.

Forly took a slow step forward.

The guards stationed in the chamber did not move.

This was his execution to carry out.

Reaching down, he grasped the cloth and pulled it from her mouth.

Liyu gasped, her lips trembling. For the first time, she could speak.

But Forly already knew what she would say.

"You know," he murmured, leaning in close, his voice barely above a whisper, "if you hadn't done something so foolish, we could have kept growing in the sect."

His tone was calm. Measured.

"We could have learned everything about Spiritual Plants from Devor." He straightened, his gaze sharp. "But instead… you chose this."

Liyu's eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry, Forly!" she sobbed. "Please, forgive me! I'll do anything!"

Forly stared at her.

Once, those words might have meant something.

Now, they were empty.

"This isn't you, Forly!" Liyu cried. "Devor should be the one in your place, not you! He's the one who ruined your future!"

Forly's fingers tightened around his sword.

He exhaled.

His voice, when he spoke, was quiet.

Steady.

"Because of Devor, I did lose my dream… but that was my choice. No one else's."

Liyu flinched.

Then—

Without hesitation—

Forly's blade sliced through her throat.

Blood sprayed in a violent arc, staining his face, his robes.

Liyu's body jerked, her hands twitching against her restraints.

Her eyes met his.

For a fleeting moment, her gaze held not just fear—but something else.

Regret.

Not regret for her sins.

Not regret for betraying Devor.

No.

She regretted only one thing.

That she had never planned an escape.

That she had thought herself untouchable.

And in the end, that foolishness had sealed her fate.

Her body slumped forward.

The last traces of life left her eyes.

Forly stood over her, unmoving.

The chamber fell into silence.

Then, slowly, he turned.

The guards remained still.

They had seen enough executions to recognize what this was.

A punishment? Yes.

But also—

A transformation.

Forly had stepped onto a new path.

One paved in blood.

And he had taken his first step without hesitation.