The Steward Demonic Emperor Chapter 2, Demonic Emperor’s Rebirth

Deep in the middle of the night, even the pale moonlight was choked out by thick, suffocating black clouds.

Corpses lay in a chaotic heap within a secluded patch of the forest, the grim remnants of a brutal massacre. The heavy scent of iron and blood fouled the air, drawing all manner of scavengers to feast upon the remains.

“Ugh...”

Amidst the wet sounds of animals tearing through flesh, a soft groan escaped from a young man buried among the dead.

The nearby predators flicked their ears, moving toward the sound with ghostly silence.

Thump!

With a sudden, violent thud, two heavy corpses were shoved aside, revealing a blood-soaked figure scrambling out from the pile. The animals recoiled in instinctive fear, but upon realizing their prey was weak and wounded, they crept back, ready to finish what the battle had started.

Yet, the youth, barely clinging to consciousness, remained oblivious to the looming threat, sitting in the dirt with a vacant expression.

“Is this... truly my new vessel?” He murmured, staring at his own hands with glazed, unfocused eyes.

Awoo!

A wolf howled, launching itself toward the vulnerable youth.

Abruptly, the boy turned his head. His face, smeared with gore, suddenly burned with a predatory thirst for slaughter. The sheer, suffocating killing intent emanating from his gaze felt like two intangible blades piercing directly into the wolf’s soul.

Whoosh!

The wolf screeched to a halt, shivering uncontrollably as it scrambled backward. The surrounding beasts, catching a glimpse of those terrifying, demonic eyes, immediately fled in a panic.

Despite his frail and battered appearance, the animal's primal instincts warned them of the genuine peril this youth possessed.

When silence finally returned to the forest, the boy took a deep, steadying breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

His name was Zhuo Fan, a fifteen-year-old servant belonging to the Luo clan of Cloud Manor. His life had been simple and peaceful until three days ago, when a vicious band of bandits from Blackwind Mountain razed the manor to the ground. While attempting to help the guards escort the young master and miss to safety, he had been struck down in this forest by their relentless pursuers.

In his final, dying moments, a burning obsession had taken hold of his spirit. It was this intense resentment that summoned the drifting soul of the Demonic Emperor, Zhuo Yifan, allowing the Emperor to seize the boy's body.

A flash of wicked, demonic mirth crossed Zhuo Fan’s face.

“Ha-ha-ha, Sword Emperor, Zhao Chen, you could never have guessed that the Nine Serenities Secret Records contained a way to undergo soul-less possession. Just wait for me; I shall return to the Sacred Domain soon and take your head with my own hands.”

Only his maniacal laughter resonated through the desolate woods. Even the scavenger animals, still busy devouring the corpses, were startled into retreating further into the darkness.

Cough!

A sharp, hacking cough abruptly stifled his laughter, and his gaze snapped toward the source like a hungry hawk.

“He-help me!”

Zhuo Fan hurried over, discovering a guard from the Luo clan pinned under a mound of bodies, blood bubbling from his ruptured throat.

“Hmph, the petty struggles of mortals are of no concern to me.”

His pupils narrowed, and he began to turn away, shaking his head. The original Zhuo Fan would have sacrificed everything to save this man, but he had been eclipsed by the Demonic Emperor Zhuo Yifan. In Yifan’s eyes, members of the Luo clan were nothing more than insignificant ants.

Who would be so bored as to waste time saving a pathetic ant?

He had only taken two steps when he paused. After a brief flicker of memory, he sat cross-legged on the ground to inspect his new state.

Hardly a moment passed before Zhuo Fan’s eyes flew open, burning with unadulterated glee.

“This brat is fifteen, yet he has never practiced any form of cultivation. His body has remained completely untainted.”

Across the Martial Emperor Continent, the ability to cultivate was common. Even simple farmers usually possessed a 1st or 2nd layer of the Foundation Establishment stage. It was incredibly rare to discover a fifteen-year-old who had never mastered even the basics of Qi.

And the supreme cultivation method of the Nine Serenities Secret Records—the Demon Transformation Art—was a technique capable of seizing the cultivation of others to eventually swallow the Heavens and devour the Earth, allowing one to reach the apex of power. To train in it, however, one required a pristine, untouched vessel.

This art originated from the Nine Serenities Emperor, discovered only after he had reached the Emperor stage. Just as he had begun to consider abandoning his own cultivation to start this new path, he was betrayed and struck down by his peers.

In the ancient era, the Nine Serenities Emperor stood among the top three strongest, and the very existence of a technique that could tempt him to discard his peak cultivation suggested it might even surpass a Heaven-ranked method.

Thus, once Zhuo Yifan had acquired it, he had weighed his options. However, the seven Emperors and Zhao Chen had moved too quickly, forcing his hand.

Within this pure, raw body, the potential was even greater.

Having made his choice, Zhuo Fan returned to the dying guard. He cleared away the dead weight and dragged him out into the clearing.

The guard, eyes dimming, watched as he was pulled back from the brink of oblivion. A weak smile touched his lips, “Ah, it’s you, Zhuo Fan. Thank you. I’ll be sure to repay you once we return home.”

“He-he-he, why delay when you can settle the debt right now?” With the corner of his mouth curling upward, Zhuo Fan flashed an unsettling, wicked grin.

The guard froze, a prickle of icy dread piercing his heart.

Though they were fellow members of the Luo clan and he had known Zhuo Fan for years, he had never seen such a sinister expression before. It was the look of a starving wolf locking eyes with a trapped rabbit.

“Zhuo Fan... what are you doing?” the guard stammered, his body tensing with sudden, desperate vigilance.

Ignoring him, Zhuo Fan continued to stare with that same malicious smile, muttering to himself, “Not bad at all. A 2nd layer of Qi Condensation... solid foundation material.”

While standard cultivation methods filtered the spiritual energy of the world to refine the body, the Demon Transformation Art excelled by pillaging the cultivation of others to fuel one’s own growth.

Granted, how could an ordinary man hope to steal the strength of a cultivator? Only when the target was severely wounded and helpless, of course.

This had been the source of Zhuo Yifan’s hesitation back in his previous life. If such a perfect opportunity hadn't presented itself, he would have remained a mortal until his end—a waste that even the great Nine Serenities Emperor had feared.

And yet, here he was, with a pristine body handed to him by the heavens themselves. It was truly a stroke of impossible fortune.

Watching Zhuo Fan eye him like a thief admiring a treasure, the guard’s heart plummeted as he let out a frantic shout, “Y-you aren’t Zhuo Fan!”

“He-he-he, you are absolutely correct!”

His cruel laughter deepened, accentuating his malevolent visage. “I am the eighth monarch of the Sacred Domain, Demonic Emperor Zhuo Yifan!”