Deep within the recesses of the Baron's Bloody Castle, the sound of a gong erupted. The loud ringing echoed what seemed to be endlessly in the Goblet. The waves of sound bouncing around the crater entering the hovels and depriving every single piece of cattle of their previous screams.
This was the only time that silence came to the valley. Meal time was to be undisturbed. There was always a grace period before indulging in a meal. To eat was fortuitous. To eat was holy and should be cherished no matter the path each cultivator followed.
For anyone to disturb a meal was a high offence. Cultivators of great standing, vagrants of lost paths. All lose confidence at the idea of interrupting a meal lest they set the entire world's eyes upon themselves.
What was once a deafening valley of screams and sorrow became a silent crucible. The only noises reminiscent of their location was the constant sloshing of the molten blood filling the Goblet.
Each and every member of the Baron's estate, cattle and his loyal flesh seeking hounds all the same would sit and eat. The cattle in their hovels and the Baron's men in their opulent thrones, eating rich meals, enamoured with their resources.
Even without the watchful eyes of the Baron's men; each and every piece of future meat would sit obediently in their designated hole. Using what little time they could to pretend they were human once again. Seated with family, eating a meal. Attempting to forget the leashes forced around their necks as the minimum vestiges of humanity was returned to them for this brief moment.
Even slaves were allowed the opportunity to eat, even if it was just to fatten them up for their inevitable slaughter.
To run or attempt escape despite the lack of eyes on them was futile. That was the design of the Goblet. The purpose of the molten blood within the crater. The reason they had leashes emblazoned with the Baron's own blood. He could track each and every unit of his herd, as soon as they left the reaches of this crater of the Goblet...
The depth of this crater reached such a level where the earth actively superheated the blood above it. Forming a red hot crucible of the Baron's own design. And as it was blood, it was fully under his control, with a flexibility so immaculate each and every drop of blood may as well be a limb that he could freely manipulate.
Once. Just once had the Baron made full use of this system.
Death on a grand scale.
The entire network of interlaced tunnels that formed the hovels for cattle was flooded with that molten blood. Each and every body added to the immense sea that rested at the bottom of the crater. And the only difference...
The only difference was the sea level rising. A permanent reminder to the new cattle that their 'lives' could come to an end even sooner than they thought.
It may have taken years to recover that herd. But what was a cultivator if not patient? A year, two, ten, twenty, a century? It didn't matter.
There were always benefits to these things. His cattle may have been reduced in number, but the Goblet had grown in size. Blood was his essence and his power, with more of it he was even more untouchable.
Like that it was unanimously decided that escape was futile, this was the best life could get for them. If the cattle didn't want their families to die they would persist. The small promise of uninterrupted meals and hovels, they were given the most meagre scraps of humanity and told to make do. And they did.
Meals were never interrupted again.
The cattle lived in abject misery, each and every piece of flesh waiting for the ringing of the gong. The signal for their cries to stop and when they could become humans once again, not meat.
Just as the cattle looked forward to their own peace, the cultivator's looked forward to this meal, this opportunity to seize more power, consolidate their cultivation and move even one seat up the table. For the chance to eat the more perfect meat, the better wine, to move ever towards the Baron where they would receive even more resources. They would offer better cuts of meat, gifts and resources to the great leader of their Bloody Band. This day was no different.
A bloody steak sat in front of the Baron, a cut of meat of such size it didn't seem fitting for a human to engorge themselves upon it. It was more fitting for a creature of legend or some sort of leviathan to eat. All the same; more and more of the juicy, marbled flesh found its way into his stomach until the meal that trumped any of the other plates was fully devoured. It was a meal of such grand proportions that you could add the plates of each and every one of his subordinates together and their combined volume would still pale in comparison.
The Baron was unique in many ways, one of which was his insatiable hunger.
This was said to be a blessing from some fortuitous God. What greater advantage is there in this world of resources, where strength was dictated by appetite but for the stomach to be bottomless?
The meal time was reaching a natural end. Meat had been gorged, the wine drank to its finish and finally it came time to pay tribute to the Baron.
The extravagance of these gifts became more elaborate and thus the members were given more prestige. They could move up the table, further their intake and grow ever stronger.
"O' Great Baron. I humbly request you give me the greatest privilege of offering you this band of courtesans I happened across." Each and every member of the Baron's estate were bemused. Such great fortune. How could one so weak ever manage such a feat?
It was simple good fortune. That was the difference between life and death in this world. As much as strength, cultivation, manpower and your environment were important, they could be overturned at a moment's notice. Why do you think the Baron had remained holed up in his Goblet for the past 2 centuries?
Even the strong could perish. Why risk destruction? Why risk the possibility of death, when he could easily bide his time in his home territory, eating and eating until he eventually ascended.
No, the Baron had no need or desire to travel. That was the job of his lackeys. Of the bloodthirsty flesh seekers that did his bidding. They would travel the valley and surrounding regions, bearing gifts to their lord to increase their own status.
This man was the same. His name was unimportant. Without strength and cultivation who would care of his name. They had no reason to grace their eyes with his appearance. Perhaps this gift would change that view. That was what he had hoped.
The man offering this exquisite banquet was not particularly strong, no he was seated halfway along the table. Yet, he had managed to get his hands on a travelling troupe of a courtesan company known as the Swan's Grace. They were bemoaned throughout the lands as beauties of such a high caliber that even setting eyes on their pearlescent skin and jewel-like eyes could bring about a climax.
Courtesans were not allowed to cultivate. This was both a precaution and an attempt to conserve the beauty of their figure. Cultivating to a certain level would change the body structure, those that chose gems and rocks would eventually harden and their skin would lose that supple texture which men craved. Those that turned to fire and ice were uncomfortable for partnership due to their extreme temperatures. Of course there were special companies that adapted and catered to these proclivities, to the perversions of certain individuals. But that was besides the point.
Courtesans were made to be powerless. It was an assurance that no harm could come to the customer. The number of cultivators that had been killed at the hands of a courtesan in the past was incalculable. With the passing of time, the people changed in turn.
But that was history. The courtesans in this room, the ones being offered up to the Baron had no interest in the history of the world right now. They were saying their last prayers.
The Baron had never taken a woman. He didn't care for it.
He seen all flesh as meat that covered the true prize. More blood.
No matter the beauty or prestige of a person he had always seen them as a walking piece of meat. 'Humans were animals at the end of the day' is what he would say.
That was why these women already knew.
Whilst other men would lay with the., bathe with them. Enjoy their company and send them on their way. Or in worst case scenario, take them as brides or concubines regardless of their own desires.
This man would only bathe in the entrails of each and every one of them. Ripping apart their limbs, cracking the rib cage open to see what contained inside. To see if they were as beautiful on the inside as they were on the outside.
The whole troupe of women, some twenty beautiful gems were ushered into a tiled room. Akin to a large bathhouse, only there was no running water in the entire room. They were left to roam freely as the doors were slowly closed behind. It was a completely empty room, blank like a canvas waiting to be painted. Save for the troupe of courtesans scattered in the large open room and the arrival of a single gigantic person...
The grotesque figure of the Baron shed of all clothing with a greedy look in his eye.
---
The last woman was before him, his meaty grasp completely covering her neck, if he wanted he could snap her neck between two of his oversized fingers. Instead he slowly added pressure as her eyes became devoid of more and more light.
Slowly, but surely she was passing. He always watched over these final moments as a reminder. Every time this sort of gift came his way, he ended it the same way. Each and every time. It was never the prettiest woman in the troupe. No, it was always the one that reminded him most of his first meal. As if to never forget the choice he made all those years ago. The Baron remembers.
The last vestiges of her life were about to leave... But then something unexpected occurred.
The Baron jerked in surprise, snapping the neck immediately.
His gargantuan body slipped on the slick matted blood all over the floor. The once poised, dangerous look in his eyes was now wary, bewildered, scared even.
His gaze scanning the room, his body, his hands and the corpse before him.
Breathing rate rapidly increasing as his body quivered.
SLOSH!
Meat from his ridiculous sized meal is blown onto the floor in chunks. A huge smattering of blood added to the already red room.
The Baron fainted, his face covered in the blood he had just ejected from his own entrails. The greatest failure of a cultivator. Not once had the Baron ever vomited. This was the first time. The first sign of a great paradigm shift.