Tu Shanjun lay twitching on the ground, eyes wide in disbelief.
Dust and grit surged into his nostrils with each ragged breath.
Tears and snot streamed uncontrollably, mixing with the earth to smear across his face in a grotesque mask.
The tendons in his limbs had been torn; arms and legs were twisted at unnatural angles.
His mouth was filled with blood. Half his tongue was clenched tightly in his fist, he couldn’t even scream properly, just letting out muffled groans.
He no longer had the strength to curse. All that remained in his heart was resentment, bitterness, and pure, seething hatred.
He couldn’t understand, why was he made to suffer such torment?
He had finally been granted another chance at life. As long as he lived well, he could have carved out a place for himself in this world.
But Heaven granted him not even the slimmest chance of survival.
How cruel! How hateful!
Despite being tortured beyond recognition, Tu Shanjun’s eyes burned with terrifying clarity.
Though his life force was quickly fading with the blood he’d lost, those eyes remained vibrant, unwilling to dim.
His broken body inched slowly across the ground, leaving a long smear of blood in his wake.
Dirt clung to his sides.
He looked like a miserable worm.
Struggling to survive.
Just stay alive, if he could live, there was still hope.
Each movement tore at his wounds, twisting his face in agony.
Leave.
Escape the demonic cultivator. Escape the formation.
If he could, he’d escape this entire cruel world.
"I hate you!"
A blade swept across his neck, cold steel slicing deep.
I’m not willing...!
Not willing…!
Eyes wide, Tu Shanjun's head fell. His body lifeless.
"You dog of a demonic cultivator... Even as a ghost, I will not let you go!"
"Never!"
His severed head glared lifelessly at the demonic cultivator as blood soaked the soil beneath.
Only hoarse, rasping wails echoed in his final breath.
“Channel qi into the body. Let resentment be the foundation, hatred the bones. Gather qi to form a ghost.”
“Begin!”
The demonic cultivator’s hands flashed through ancient seals as obscure incantations spilled from his lips.
A turbulent grey mist burst from Tu Shanjun’s corpse, eventually forming a flickering phantom.
The shadow writhed, its deathly visage manifesting as sinister yin energy gathered with a vengeance.
The demonic cultivator’s eyes burned with greed.
What he wanted was a powerful soul brimming with malice, one that might even become a ghost on its own.
The killing aura was dense now. The qi had entered the corpse.
Now it all depended on whether the ghost could bear it.
From the black mist emerged a figure.
Green face, fanged mouth, crimson hair, and blood-red eyes like a vengeful demon crawled from hell.
“Hahaha…”
“Excellent! Perfect!”
“With this dominant soul, my Soul Banner is complete!” The cultivator could barely contain his excitement.
He had expected success, but not this swiftly. It must be a ghost with exceptionally thick soul essence.
Judging by the ghost mist swirling into form, it had surely reached a notable grade.
“Bind.”
The one-zhang-tall Soul Banner danced in the air under his spell, drawing the vicious ghost into its cloth.
The crimson ghostly eyes locked onto the demonic cultivator performing the incantation.
The ghost let out a piercing shriek.
A ghastly wail surged with qi and fury.
But the Soul Banner clamped down like a vice, giving him no chance at revenge.
The tormented howl echoed endlessly.
“Array!”
“Merge!”
The demonic cultivator sat cross-legged at the heart of the blood array. Fiendish energy surged like molten iron.
The one-zhang soul banner spun above him, drawing the scarlet mist into its weave.
What once was a crude piece of trash now began to gleam with eerie refinement.
Within the refining formation, the corpses visibly withered.
One by one, they crumbled to ash, leaving only dry bones to be scattered in the wind.
The banner shrank, becoming a one-foot-long artifact.
The demonic cultivator seized it and began a careful inspection.
“A low-grade magical tool?” he frowned, clearly displeased.
He had used the sect’s Tenfold Blood Sacrifice Soul-Refining Formation.
Even if the banner’s core was a standardized magical tool embryo from the sect, with over two hundred souls and the addition of a powerful ghost, it should have reached mid-grade.
Why had it remained low-grade?
"I followed the manual’s instructions to the letter... Is my talent in artifact refining truly so poor?"
Doubt crept into the demonic cultivator’s mind, extinguishing his joy.
He might as well have spent spirit stones to hire a more skilled disciple from the sect to forge it.
Even a powerful ghost couldn’t salvage his refining talent. The premium materials he’d thrown in had barely been refined, impurities still remained.
The banner resembled a cobbled-together club, slapped into shape by a half-blind blacksmith. Clunky and crude.
Still, it was usable. Better than nothing.
Most loose cultivators in the Qi Refining realm couldn’t even afford low-grade tools.
In time, perhaps he could refine it again and raise its grade.
The blood array was dismissed.
The demonic cultivator made his way to the mass grave the Old Village Chief had mentioned.
The locals had said there was something strange about that place. Perhaps he could find more living souls there.
Of the hundred-plus villagers sacrificed, only a dozen spirits had entered the banner.
Most had scattered under the sunlight, others shattered by hostile qi.
Weak souls were of no use, better to hunt wild ghosts and trap them in the banner.
As long as his cultivation and spiritual sense remained stronger than the ghosts, there was no risk of backlash.
Amidst this refining, Tu Shanjun felt like a red-hot blade plunged into an icy spring, searing pain followed by sudden clarity.
Hiss—!
The cold pierced through him. In an instant, he awoke.
Tu Shanjun stirred from his dazed stupor and, realizing he still had consciousness, was overjoyed. “I’m still alive!”
“I didn’t die?”
“I’m alive!”
[Interface Activated]
The chains binding his form vanished. Like a glitched black-and-white TV, the screen flickered before stabilizing.
Only now, it had changed from pale blue to blood red.
Banner Name: Revered Soul Banner
Banner Master: Zhao Shixian
Rank: Low-grade Magical Tool
Banner-Soul Unity (Passive): Absorbing fiendish qi and living souls enhances the banner’s power and rank.
Backlash (Passive): If the banner master’s cultivation and spiritual sense cannot suppress the banner soul, the soul may devour the master and refine him into a Banner Slave.
Soul Harvest: Extracts souls from the dead and traps ghostly spirits below the banner soul’s strength (Current strength: Qi Refining First Layer).
Soul Storage: Stores ghostly souls within the banner (Current: 13/100).
Repair: Consumes fiendish qi and souls to mend the banner or heal the soul.
Tu Shanjun stared at the interface for a long time in silence.
This “system” didn’t speak.
No sound effects. No starter packs. No shop interface. It felt like a half-finished video editor.
The interface that should have led him to the pinnacle of cultivation had morphed after his death.
He was the banner. He was the soul within it.
At least he was alive. That was something.
As long as he lived, there was hope.
Tu Shanjun was glad to still “exist.”
Because only the living could exact revenge.
No matter how bleak the situation so long as he didn’t die, there was still a chance.
Once dead, nothing remained.
His brutal death beneath the demonic cultivator’s sword had shown him clearly: this world was merciless. To take hold of fate, he had to become powerful.
Becoming immortal was far off.
For now, he’d settle for turning that dog Zhao Shixian into his own Banner Slave.
Better yet, he’d rip out Zhao Shixian’s soul and throw it into the banner, let him suffer a hundred ghosts gnawing at him day and night. Only then would his hatred be eased.
Zhao Shixian furrowed his brows. He was channeling his power to refine the banner, but it felt like tossing stones into a well, there was no response.
His spiritual sense was too weak, he could barely manage introspection, far from being able to imprint a spiritual brand.
Using the sect’s blood refinement method wasn’t worth it either. After all, this was only a low-grade magical tool, offering up essence blood wouldn’t help much in the end.
It would just serve as a stopgap weapon for now.
When his cultivation rose, he’d replace it.
With the influx of blood qi, Zhao Shixian’s injuries were healing quickly. Even his cultivation seemed ready to advance. He eagerly brought out his storage talisman and began reviewing a cultivation manual.
Tu Shanjun, as the soul of the banner, hovered near the manual, able to see the words clearly.
The original owner of his body had barely been literate. Tu Shanjun could make out only a few characters; the manual made his head spin.
[Blood Fiend Manual]
[Qi Refining Third Layer]
“Zhao Shixian is only at the third layer of Qi Refining?”
“I was killed by a third-layer Qi Refining demonic cultivator?”
Tu Shanjun fell silent for a long time.
Gradually, his stunned expression twisted into a sinister grin.
Whether he was laughing at himself or laughing at fate was unclear.
A third-layer Qi Refining cultivator slaughtering a hundred villagers was no more effort than butchering livestock.
Such was the power of cultivators.
Even the early stages of Qi Refining far surpassed mortals. And this man had prepared a blood sacrifice formation in advance.
First and third layer weren’t that far apart.
If Zhao Shixian fed him more souls and fiendish energy, he could catch up soon enough and then he’d kill Zhao Shixian slowly.
Hidden in the banner, bearing the grotesque visage of death, Tu Shanjun watched Zhao Shixian read his manual with cold, ghostly eyes.
(Chapter End)