Second Coming of the Weakest Otherworlder.
It was the name of the first novel Syth had read in his past life.
It followed a pitiful protagonist who, filled with many regrets, regressed to the moment he first arrived in this harsh, magical world. With knowledge of what was to come, he vowed to not waste his second chance and change his fate of insignificance.
The plot wasn't anything groundbreaking, but it did everything well. What truly drew Syth in was the magic, the world-building, and the sense of wonder the story evoked.
Maybe it was just nostalgia and his bias — being his first novel and all — but among everything he'd read since, that novel remained the most vivid in his memory.
He could easily recall information about it. Especially the early arcs. He remembered them well, having reread them more times than he cared to admit.
Not by choice, of course.
Back then, he hadn't been much of a reader, finding it more as a chore than a form of entertainment. Thus, he had dropped the novel several times, only to pick it back up a few months later out of boredom...
He would forget some parts of the story, feel confused, and decide to reread it...
But in hindsight, he was glad he did.
That novel was what set him down the path of who he'd eventually become.
If someone had told his younger self that he'd one day enjoy reading, he'd have laughed in disbelief.
And yet, here he was — inside a novel.
A world that had once been fiction was now his reality...
However, instead of panic, Syth felt somewhat... liberated.
Transmigrating into your favourite novel?
Wasn't that every reader's dream?
Naturally, Syth was no different. Just the thought of adventuring through a world brimming with magic stirred a quiet excitement in his chest.
Furthermore, knowing what the future held provided countless advantages — and Syth certainly won't hesitate in exploiting them for his own personal benefit.
If the protagonist could use his future knowledge to his advantage, why couldn't he?
But like a fire getting extinguished, his anticipation quickly faded the moment reality settled in...
'Out of all the places I could've ended up in... I'm heading towards the Blood Sect?'
Was this some kind of sick joke?
Syth smiled wryly.
'What a horrible place to end up in. As a slave, I already understand what kind of fate awaits me in that place...'
The Blood Sect...
It was a feared and reclusive organization, infamous for its mastery of forbidden cultivation techniques and twisted demonic arts. It was basically an unorthodox or demonic sect found in xianxia novels — ruthless, obsessed with power, and follows the law of survival of the fittest.
In this world, the path to power was split between two disciplines: cultivation and magecraft.
Every individual is born with innate affinities — subtle traits that shape their potential in one path or the other.
Sects specialize in cultivation, refining the body and drawing power from the essence of heaven. Academies, on the other hand, focused on magecraft, nurturing the mind and strengthening the will.
Despite these differences, both paths ultimately shared one common focus — the soul.
Over time, the distinction between cultivation and magecraft blurred. Practitioners began merging techniques, refining both body and mind, harnessing both essence and will.
Thus, those who sought ascension — the process of defying heaven and breaking free from one's mortality through either practices — simply came to be known as Ascenders.
Naturally, there are different kinds of Ascenders and organisations.
The Sect he was going to was the worse among them.
A demonic sect for demonic Ascenders — an organisation consisting of people who will use whatever means to become stronger...
Not only that, it was an organisation that directly confronted the protagonist during the first arc.
Syth had a hunch that he would likely also be involved during that event considering his current circumstances.
Though, whether he makes it that far depends on whether or not he can survive the trials ahead...
///
After a few hours of travelling, the carriage eventually came to a halt.
The door of the carriage was soon opened, allowing bright light to spill in.
A red robed figure could be seen standing outside. With an indifferent expression, he commanded, "Get up. You've arrived at the Blood Sect. This will be your new sanctuary and the place you'll devote your life to."
He continued.
"Someone will eventually come and escort you to the training grounds. If you value your lives, stay put. Otherwise, something might just come and kill you." The man sneered.
With those final words, he walked off.
The prisoners inside the carriage were bewildered and naturally on edge, however, they all soon began shuffling out of the carriage.
Syth was the last to exit. After jumping off, he took in his surroundings.
The carriages had stopped at the base of a mountain pass — one of many that stretched across a desolate valley veiled in constant mist.
The road ahead was barely discernible, leading toward jagged peaks where spires of black stone and crimson-tiled rooftops jutted out. The structures were old but well-maintained, built into the mountain itself, forming terraces and narrow bridges that linked towers and buildings.
This was the outer region of the Blood Sect.
It wasn't chaotic.
In fact, everything was disturbingly orderly.
But it was that quiet order, that absence of noise and warmth, that made this place feel oppressive.
Disciples in red and black robes walked along the stone paths above, silent and expressionless, their cultivation robes marked with varying degrees of detail — some bore unique patterns, others plain and simple. A few wore masks.
Syth looked up. The sky was grey, and the clouds seemed unnaturally still. The sun barely pierced through, casting a dull, suffocating light over the entire sect grounds. A large stone gate ahead was flanked by two statues of robed cultivators — one holding a blade, the other holding a chained tome, its eyes gouged out.
Carved onto the arch was a simple yet domineering phrase:
Strength is the only virtue, and power is the only truth.
Syth exhaled slowly.
'So this is where my journey begins...'
Could he survive what was ahead?
He wasn't sure.
But no matter what, he will endure.
To live or to die, he will move forward relentlessly...
'Haha... what is this strange feeling?' Syth contemplated, a faint smile forming on his lips.
Shouldn't he be afraid — scared?
The Blood Sect was equivalent to a death sentence, a place which would drive even the strongest of wills to the point of insanity...
And yet, in his chest wasn't fear...
All he felt was a twisted sense of anticipation.