"The power is forged only by bathing in the blood of fallen enemies."
"Every drop of blood spilled that stains the world strengthens the path to eternity."
"Return favors twofold, and resentment, betrayal, and pain a thousandfold—let them fall before you."
"Make the gods tremble before you, for there is no being in heaven or earth that cannot be destroyed."
"If the heavens block your path, destroy the heavens. If Buddha stands in your way, kill Buddha. As long as you are strong, your will becomes the will of the world."
When I began my path to cultivation, I was instructed with these phrases. They told me this was the common Dao followed by cultivators.
They said cultivation is a thorny journey with limited resources. They said for one to ascend, millions must fall.
Immutable rules. A predestined fate.
This was the legacy left to us by our ancestors who forged the rules of cultivation.
These ancestors chose a Dao of violence and domination.
But I did not accept it. I mocked it. I did not want to be part of this solitary world of violence and battles.
I could not accept stepping on and massacring my brothers and sisters to become stronger.
Wars. Trials. Conflicts. Betrayals.
A lonely journey to become the ultimate existence.
I did not want to accept it. I did not accept it.
I, let me say it, I did not want to cultivate.
My path of non-cultivation began when I was an ignorant 9-year-old brat.
It was a sunny summer day.
That day began with me venturing into the dangerous forest in search of herbs to eat.
I was an orphan. My parents had died in a plague two years prior when I was seven. For this reason, I had no one to care for me.
However, I was lucky enough not to have been expelled or sold to a slave trader.
At the time, I believed those days would last forever—unless one day I ended up eating a poisonous herb.
I was mentally prepared for that.
But the heavens often toy with the wills of men.
After finishing my usual feast and sighing in relief that the new herbs I tried weren't poisonous, I felt thirsty.
I heard the water flowing from a nearby river. It wasn't far, so I approached it with steady, careful steps as I had done hundreds of times before.
I thought of silly things on my way to the river.
When I arrived, I was momentarily stunned.
The sight that greeted me wasn't the same as usual. Nor was it the rare but occasional sight of someone bathing in the river. No.
At the riverbank, I saw a man with a wound on his back. Half of his upper body lay on the riverbank, the rest submerged in the water.
I approached carefully, curious as the ignorant brat I was, and was startled by the outline of his wound, which bore the shape of a slender yet deep hand.
"S-So scary!" I screamed internally. I swallowed hard.
Could the person responsible for his condition not know their own strength? Or was this man as fragile as glass?
I couldn't comprehend what kind of force it would take to leave such a wound. It was undoubtedly beyond my understanding of the world at the time.
I asked myself these questions seriously as I tried to determine what to do.
It was then that the man let out a groan of pain, and his eyes opened slightly.
"H-Help," he said in a hoarse and faint voice.
I could see his eyes were pleading, clinging to life.
They were the same eyes my parents had in their final moments.
"P-Please. I... need to eat..." cough—he spat out a mouthful of blood.
However, his words left me stunned.
You're on the verge of death, but your stomach is what concerns you the most? I wanted to shout aloud, but I held back.
I wasn't anyone to judge his priorities.
Even so, I take back what I said—they weren't the same eyes as my parents, clinging to life.
As he was more dead than alive, I thought of it as fulfilling his last wish before he went to face the gods and pay for his sins.
After all, I had no idea how to treat his wound. Nor could I carry him to the village; I lacked the strength.
I even doubted he'd live long enough for me to run and bring help—or if anyone would bother to help him.
Most likely, they'd only come for his belongings...
The unknown man must have known that too. That's why, unconsciously, he had resigned himself to death.
I sighed, feeling melancholic, but I didn't waste time.
I grabbed a handful of different herbs from my provision pouch and shoved them into his mouth.
Perhaps some of the new herbs I had gathered were poisonous, but I wasn't worried. There was no hope for him anyway.
Before I shoved those herbs into his mouth, I recalled what they looked like when I collected them.
There were three herbs and one mushroom with peculiar and colorful appearances.
I had stumbled upon them by chance on a rainy day when I sought shelter in a cave.
I stayed in that cave for three days and noticed the peculiarity of these plants.
I had never seen them before in my life, but I realized that, for some strange reason, they were born and died together, lasting only a few breaths if left unpicked.
Every day, I returned to that cave to collect them, and I already had several sacks. But...
I never dared to taste them. They screamed "strange!" with all their might.
I thought this was as good a time as any to see if they were edible or not...
"Here. This should fill your stomach," I said.
The man looked at me with a grateful gaze... or so I thought. If I wasn't mistaken, it was gratitude. So much so that a tear slid down his cheek—and thus, he departed this world.
"Oh, nameless man. May your regrets be erased from your consciousness so you may reincarnate properly after paying for your sins before the gods," I offered a simple prayer.
I stood up and turned away.
There was nothing I could do with his body, and it was already late. I had to return.
I grabbed the worn pouch at his waist. I planned to place it on my parents' altar.
After all, if a dead person's belongings weren't placed on an altar, they'd return as vengeful spirits.
I left.
Soon, some animal would find the body, and the natural cycle of nature would take over.
At least, that's what I thought then.
I never imagined that same night, while sleeping peacefully in the pigsty of the village chief, my life would change.
I felt a presence and opened my eyes.
There he was—the dead man. His vengeful spirit.
He grabbed me and slung me over his shoulder.
I tried biting and scratching him to free myself, but it was useless. He tied me up with a rope in less than a breath.
"Now you're mine," he said devilishly.
The pigs I shared my sleep with turned their backs on me and hid. I thought we were friends!
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Was this divine punishment? The heavens have no eyes for the righteous and honest!
I felt aggrieved by the sudden turn of events.
"The power is forged only by bathing in the blood of fallen enemies.""Every drop of blood spilled that stains the world strengthens the path
"The power is forged only by bathing in the blood of fallen enemies."
"Every drop of blood spilled that stains the world strengthens the path to eternity."
"Return favors twofold, and resentment, betrayal, and pain a thousandfold—let them fall before you."
"Make the gods tremble before you, for there is no being in heaven or earth that cannot be destroyed."
"If the heavens block your path, destroy the heavens. If Buddha stands in your way, kill Buddha. As long as you are strong, your will becomes the will of the world."
When I began my path to cultivation, I was instructed with these phrases. They told me this was the common Dao followed by cultivators.
They said cultivation is a thorny journey with limited resources. They said for one to ascend, millions must fall.
Immutable rules. A predestined fate.
This was the legacy left to us by our ancestors who forged the rules of cultivation.
These ancestors chose a Dao of violence and domination.
But I did not accept it. I mocked it. I did not want to be part of this solitary world of violence and battles.
I could not accept stepping on and massacring my brothers and sisters to become stronger.
Wars. Trials. Conflicts. Betrayals.
A lonely journey to become the ultimate existence.
I did not want to accept it. I did not accept it.
I, let me say it, I did not want to cultivate.
"The power is forged only by bathing in the blood of fallen enemies.""Every drop of blood spilled that stains the world strengthens the path
Read prologue from the story No, Saint, Don't Awaken the Demon King! by bryanstores (Libreria Imprimible) with 4 reads...
Hello, I'm starting out in the world of writing light novels. I've enjoyed them for years and now I have the idea that I can't stop myself from writing my own. If you like to read and want to give me an opinion on the novel, you are welcome to do so by reading the prologue.
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