Within the heart of the Soul Refining Tribe, nestled in a secluded valley, lay Wang Lin’s sanctuary. There, amidst the ancient stones, he sat in meditative stillness, a figure of serene power. Before him, upon bended knee, knelt Thirteen, his eyes alight with fervent devotion.

Three days had passed since Wang Lin’s return to the Soul Refining Tribe, and in that time, he had roused Thirteen from his enchanted slumber. Upon awakening, Thirteen’s gaze fell upon Wang Lin, and a torrent of emotion flooded his very being. From Thirteen’s lips, Wang Lin learned of the events that had transpired in the year past.

When the name of Tiger Roar was spoken, a shadow crossed Wang Lin’s face. The disappearance of Tiger Roar within the Black Prison was a matter shrouded in mystery. Wang Lin had swept the entirety of the Ancient Demon City with his divine sense, and with the cultivation of a nascent soul, late stage, complete, he could find no trace of the missing warrior.

Tiger Roar practiced the Soul Refining Art, taught to him by Wang Lin. The power to control the refined souls lay solely with Wang Lin, yet within his divine sense, he found not even a whisper of Tiger Roar’s work.

“If Tiger Roar yet lives,” Wang Lin mused, “he must dwell in some strange, hidden realm, for otherwise, I could not fail to sense him.” After a moment’s contemplation, he cast aside the matter of Tiger Roar, knowing he had done all he could.

He turned his gaze upon Thirteen, remembering that when he brought both Thirteen and Tiger Roar to the Ancient Demon City, it was, in part, to test their mettle.

Should they prove worthy, Wang Lin had intended to bestow upon them new and potent arts. To Tiger Roar, he would have revealed the secrets beyond mere soul refinement – the art of soul extraction!

Yet this extraction art was far more intricate than refinement, and though Wang Lin had modified it, he was loath to share it freely.

As for Thirteen, the thought of imparting the Ancient God incantation had flickered through his mind, only to be dismissed. The ways of the Ancient Gods were not to be shared.

But Thirteen, in the past year, had excelled in the trials set before him. Wang Lin sensed within the man a loyalty that would endure for decades to come.

Wang Lin, in his time on Vermillion Bird Star, had dealings aplenty with the Giant Demon Clan. In slaying the clan’s patriarch, he had claimed the spoils of the fallen. Within the patriarch’s storage pouch, alongside a vial containing a trace of Ancient God blood and a fragment of the Soul of Indulgence, lay a number of jade scrolls.

Amongst these scrolls was one that detailed a technique known as the Giant Spirit Nine Cultivations, a path of physical enhancement. Wang Lin had only glanced at it before, but now, as he gazed upon Thirteen, he drew forth the jade scroll.

“This is it!” With a sweep of his divine sense, Wang Lin confirmed that the Giant Spirit Nine Cultivations consisted of nine layers. He memorized the full text, then erased the final three layers, leaving only the first six, before tossing the scroll to Thirteen.

Thirteen received the jade scroll with trembling hands, his heart overflowing with gratitude. He prostrated himself before Wang Lin, striking his head against the ground in reverence. “Ancestor,” he vowed, “Thirteen shall obey only your commands, for all his days!”

“Guard well the Soul Refining Tribe,” Wang Lin commanded. “Now, go!” With a wave of his hand, a gentle breeze swept through the valley, lifting Thirteen and carrying him beyond its confines.

Alone once more, Wang Lin resumed his meditative posture. Above him, the heavens churned with black mists, conjured by the Soul Devouring Banner. This artifact was ideal for nurturing souls.

“When I was within the Ancient Demon City, I could safely leave the Soul Devouring Banner here to cultivate souls,” Wang Lin mused, “but in three months, I must journey to the Heavenly Demon County Capital, a distance too great. The banner cannot remain.” He lifted his gaze to the sky and its swirling darkness, then closed his eyes, falling once more into a state of tranquil contemplation.

Far to the west of Soul Refining Valley, beyond leagues uncounted, lay a desert that stretched as far as the eye could see, a place that devoured half of the Heavenly Demon County.

This was a land of ill-repute in the Demon Spirit Land, a place of dread.

Legends told of a time, ages past, when this was a battlefield, an ancient war ground where the corpses of countless warriors lay scattered across millions of miles. The ground was stained a deep crimson, and a palpable sense of oppression weighed heavy upon the soul.

An invisible barrier shrouded the battlefield, severing it from the world beyond.

Within this desolate place, a young man sat in meditation, surrounded by a hundred black banners. These banners fluttered in the windless air, and from them emerged a host of spectral souls, circling about him.

A dark mist emanated from the young man’s body. Though faint, its presence stirred the slumbering spirits of the battlefield.

As each soul awakened, a surge of violent energy erupted from the ground, merging with the dark mist, swirling for a time, then disappearing within one of the small banners.

A hundred paces away, an old man in black robes watched the young man with cold indifference. After a moment, he spoke in a flat tone. “Enough. Cease your work.”

The young man obeyed at once, forming hand seals. The banners flashed with black light and returned to his grasp. He opened his eyes.

Seeing the old man, he rose and bowed respectfully. “Tiger Roar greets his benefactor!”

The old man nodded. “Well done. In time, when you have refined all the souls within this battlefield, the power of your soul banner will be such that you may walk freely throughout the Demon Spirit Land.”

Tiger Roar’s face shone with excitement. “All I have is thanks to you! You saved my life, granted me power, and brought me here to refine these souls. I shall never forget your kindness!”

The old man’s expression remained unchanged. “It was your unique method that caught my attention, for I have never seen its like. Otherwise, I would not have saved you. Also, your former master reappeared in the Ancient Demon City and fought a demon general to save Thirteen. I was too late to intervene.”

A complex expression flickered across Tiger Roar’s face. “When I have refined all the souls here, my first act will be to kill Wang Lin!”

The old man regarded Tiger Roar with a piercing gaze. “He taught you the Soul Refining Art. Why are you so set on killing him?”

Tiger Roar hesitated, then sneered. “Though he taught me the art, his motives were suspect. If not for him, I would not have angered Sima Yan and been cast into the Black Prison!”
Imprisoned within those lightless cells for months, I once clung to the hope that Wang Lin would appear and deliver me. But that hope, like fine silk, frayed and then shattered against the harsh, unyielding stone of my reality. Where was he when they tortured me? Where was he when they mocked and abused me?

That nascent hope curdled, festering into a bitter, consuming hatred. Had it not been for him, I would never have suffered so. Only by the grace of a savior was I plucked from that abyss. As I stepped blinking into the dawn, I swore an oath: never again would I be a slave to any man!

The old one’s impassive face softened, a slow smile creeping across his weathered features. “Good. To possess such resolute will… truly, you are the one I sought.” With that, he stepped forward, his form dissolving into a tendril of black smoke, vanishing into the shadowed air.

Tiger Howl clenched his fist, gazing into the distance, his voice a low growl. “Thirteen was innocent, easily swayed by Wang Lin’s lies. In the black cells, I finally saw the truth: Wang Lin deemed us expendable! One day, Wang Lin, when I unleash the Soul Banner, scattering a legion of vengeful spirits, I will see the terror etched upon your face! I will watch you crumble before my power!”

“The World-Quelling Art, gifted to me by my benefactor… when I master its fourth tier, boundless demonic energy will be mine! Wang Lin, Sima Yan, your reckoning is at hand!”

A crimson tide of murderous intent flooded Tiger Howl’s eyes.

Deep within this ancient battlefield stands a tower, hewn from obsidian itself. Scores of fathoms high it rises, wreathed in a dark aura that seems to devour all light. From afar, it exudes an ominous, alien majesty.

The black-clad elder reappeared before its grim gates. Drawing a deep breath, he crossed the threshold, ascending to the tower’s pinnacle. There, he knelt.

Before him rested a suit of armor. Antique and untouched by time, it was clearly of great provenance. A keen eye would recognize its significance at once.

Perfectly preserved, it was wrought entirely of black metal, its surface etched with countless swirling patterns. These were images of clouds, each a thunderhead pregnant with dark energy, radiating an unsettling power.

Assembled, the armor gave the impression of a warrior seated in meditation, radiating an aura of indomitable strength.

An arcane energy pulsed from the armor, filling the tower.

Within the helmet’s depths, two embers of unholy light flickered to life, twin points of infernal gaze fixed upon the kneeling elder. As those orbs ignited, the world outside the tower shuddered, as though a dark angel had descended.

The elder inhaled deeply, his voice trembling as he addressed the silent figure. “I have confirmed it. The Sky Scorpion Demon Emperor of the Sky Demon Prefecture… he should have taken the final step a thousand years past, yet stubbornly he refuses to ascend.”

The armor’s gaze intensified, and a wave of invisible cold washed over the elder, causing him to shudder, cold sweat beading on his brow.

After an agonizing silence, the light within the helmet focused upon the elder’s eyes, as if conveying some silent message. At last, the otherworldly glow faded, and the armor resumed its inert pose, the arcane energy that cloaked it receding.

The elder, soaked in sweat, whispered, “It shall be done.” He rose, bowed deeply, and descended from the tower’s peak. In the lowest chamber, he settled back into a meditative posture, a measure of tension easing from his shoulders.

“That cub, Tiger Howl… should he absorb enough souls, the sorcerous nature of the Soul-Harvesting Art, combined with my knowledge and elixirs, will grant him rapid ascension. Then, by teaching him the Ephemeral Surge, passed down by our lord, focusing all his years and potential into a single hour of unbridled power… he could indeed become one of the Demon Guard!”

“The Soul-Harvesting Art is potent, yet I sense a flaw hidden within its intricate weave. Alas, our master’s awakening is too recent to burden him with such trivialities. Still, if this whelp can truly master it… I may have to look upon this Soul-Harvesting tribe, myself.”