The ancient forest floor glistened with a sheet of ice. Thirteen, with a trembling hand, gestured toward the void. The demonic lion he had captured shuddered, a pained howl escaping its maw before resolving into a streak of black energy. It shot towards the soul banner in Thirteen’s grasp, disappearing within its folds.

“This beast is acceptable; it shall serve as a primary soul for your Ten Soul Banner! But heed my words, boy: the art of Soul Refinement allows for no shortcuts. Even as you bind it, the creature will seek to turn against you. This is the first lesson,” Wang Lin declared, his voice echoing through the valley before he turned and strode deeper into its shadowed heart.

Shame flushed Thirteen’s face as he stared at the banner. Lost in thought, he began to consider his master’s warning.

Time passed, and a month dwindled to memory. Under the cloak of an impenetrable night, the valley’s men, clad in crude armor, stole away from their hidden homes.

Ouyang Hua and Thirteen, as leaders of the raiding party, led their kin towards the subterranean caverns they meant to conquer.

Wang Lin did not follow. He did not even bother to extend his spiritual senses. This was a trial. If these people failed, it would prove their unworthiness. Should that occur, Wang Lin would abandon them, venturing to the ancient demon city to seek his destiny elsewhere.

Five days hence, Wang Lin sat in meditative stillness deep within the valley. His eyes flickered open, gazing into the distance. Soon, a clamor echoed through the air as a sinuous line of figures emerged from the forest, like a great serpent winding its way towards the valley entrance.

The line was composed of captives, their faces etched with fear. Men and women, all in their prime, were bound by rope. Seventy souls were lashed together, each group burdened with a thick log upon their shoulders.

Ouyang Hua strode at the fore, his garments stained with blood. His face, though weary, shone with triumph.

The valley folk walked beside the captives, their vigilance unwavering. Should any prisoner falter, a harsh reprimand would follow.

Thirteen walked at the rear, his demeanor utterly transformed. Gone was the brashness of youth, replaced by a quiet resolve. A grim determination hardened his features.

His comrades kept a respectful distance, their eyes flicking to him with a hint of awe.

In the battle, Thirteen had shone. It was his plan, enacted in concert with Ouyang Hua, to bypass the enemy defenses and strike at their heart, leaving the defenders reeling.

He had been the one to unleash the demonic lion, swallowing the enemy elder whole. Then, before the eyes of the horrified prisoners, he had begun the process of Soul Refinement, tearing the soul from the still-warm body of the elder and binding it within his banner.

Ouyang Hua had followed suit, harvesting the souls of the fallen and imprisoning them within his own artifacts.

The scene had broken the spirit of the enemy, leaving them compliant.

The long column reached the valley. The women emerged from their huts, bearing wooden buckets filled with a foul, green liquid that bubbled and exuded a noxious odor.

Each prisoner was forced to swallow the liquid, their eyes glazing over. Then, the valley folk whispered promises and new identities into their ears. As the fog in their minds cleared, these once-proud warriors would become willing members of their captors’ tribe.

Wang Lin observed the scene, unsurprised. The memories of the Luo Yun revealed that such practices were common among the scattered tribes of the demon lands. The “Forgetful Brew” was a tool of assimilation.

To Wang Lin, this brew held little interest. Its effects were crude compared to the powerful enchantments of the cultivators. It would be useless against any with a modicum of spiritual resistance.

Ouyang Hua hastened towards Wang Lin, stopping a distance away. “I, Ouyang Hua, seek audience with the Immortal,” he declared.

Upon receiving Wang Lin’s assent, he entered the heart of the valley, where he found Wang Lin seated in serene meditation.

He approached cautiously, withdrawing an object from his tunic. “Immortal, I found this within the enemy encampment and offer it as tribute!”

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed. He flicked his wrist, and the object flew from Ouyang Hua’s hand, landing in Wang Lin’s palm. It was a dull, black stone, rough to the touch.

With a slight pressure, Wang Lin crushed the stone. The outer shell disintegrated, revealing a thumb-sized crystal within.

“A Second Tier Demon Crystal!” Wang Lin exclaimed. He examined it briefly before swallowing it whole.

Ouyang Hua kept his eyes averted, his face a mask of reverence.

The crystal merged with the demon crystal within Wang Lin’s core, forming a Fifth Tier Crystal.

Wang Lin glanced at Ouyang Hua, then reached into his storage bag and withdrew a jade slip. He scanned it briefly, then tossed it to Ouyang Hua. “Here are the first three stages of the Soul Refinement incantations. Only through diligent effort can you progress. Render me service and offer demon crystals, and I shall grant you the fourth stage. Guard this knowledge well, lest I reclaim all that I have given!”

Ouyang Hua suppressed his elation, accepting the jade slip with fervent gratitude before excusing himself.

After he was gone, Wang Lin’s eyes glowed. “It seems my path is true. As the valley tribe grows in strength, consuming its neighbors, the demon crystals that flow to me will increase. And as the tribe swells in number, so too shall the practitioners of Soul Refinement grow. The day of my Ten Billion Soul Banner’s restoration draws ever closer!”

Wang Lin was, in effect, scattering the seeds of souls across the land.
Those who mastered the Soul Devouring Art found that every captured and sealed soul, at Wang Lin’s command, would become wholly his, claimed with a mere thought.

The day approached when the harvest would begin, and the legendary Ten Billion Soul Banner would once again darken the skies!

The valley tribe swelled, its numbers multiplied threefold. The warriors exceeded fifty, and women from conquered tribes were divided amongst them. A handful, deemed fair of face, were offered by the eager-to-please Ouyang Hua as gifts to Wang Lin.

Alas, his offering was met with a cold shoulder.

The new tribesmen, too, eagerly embraced the Soul Devouring Art. A wave of feverish study washed over the valley, a relentless pursuit of power.

Save for those tasked with the constant hunt for sustenance, the tribe dedicated themselves wholly to their training.

Even the women, initially dissuaded by Ouyang Hua, secretly began their own practice. But after a stern rebuke from Wang Lin, delivered in hushed tones, Ouyang Hua reversed his stance, championing their pursuit of the art.

Thus, within the valley, save for the babes in arms, all – man, woman, and child – threw themselves into this dark endeavor.

The Soul Devouring Art, though simple to grasp at its inception, grew increasingly complex. Fueled by the power of Thirteen and Ouyang Hua, it became the object of every villager’s burning desire.

Time, like a thief in the night, slipped away, and half a year passed. In that time, the valley folk ventured forth regularly, either alone or in small bands. Their goals were twofold: to craft their individual soul banners or to slay beasts and consume their essence.

Within these six moons, four more individuals besides Thirteen reached the third stage, necessitating the creation of their own soul banners.

Wang Lin’s rules had become dogma: only through deeds of valor would the secrets of the next stage be revealed. And valor was measured in three ways:

First, by offering up demonic crystals. Second, by uncovering the tracks of outsiders. Third, and most arduous, by the creation of ten Soul Banners filled with the spirits of the vanquished, at least four of which must bear a dominant soul.

The fulfillment of even one of these demands earned the aspirant the knowledge of the fourth stage. The fifth stage, however, demanded far greater feats.

Thus far, only Ouyang Hua had met the necessary conditions, claiming the knowledge of the fourth stage. Even Thirteen struggled, having only crafted seven banners. The dominant souls proved the greatest obstacle; even with his prowess, he had captured but two, one being the elder from the subterranean cavern, taken half a year past.

The cries for war against neighboring tribes grew louder with each passing day. Only through such raids could they acquire the demonic crystals, the dominant souls, and the sheer mass of souls needed to advance their dark craft.

The words spoken by Ouyang Hua years ago now rang with grim truth: the arrival of the outsiders every four years brought only bloodshed and unending war to the Demon Spirit Land.

This valley, once a place of quiet living, had been utterly transformed by Wang Lin’s arrival. It had become a tribe driven by aggression, hungry for slaughter, all for the promise of arcane power.

With the clamor reaching a fever pitch, a new campaign began.

This time, the entire tribe, save for those left to care for the young, poured forth from the valley. They did not march as one, but split into three warbands, each striking at a different settlement.

Only thus could they hope to sate their individual lusts. A single target would never provide enough demonic crystals or dominant souls to be shared amongst them all.

Within the Demon Spirit Land, no one noticed the rise of this dark power, nor gave any heed to the savage tribes that dwelled within the wilderness.

Even the outsiders, for the most part, chose a different path than Wang Lin. Most traveled to the distant counties, claiming new identities, ready to embark on a protracted war for glory and the secrets of the ancient demons.