Chapter Eight: The God of War, Yang Xiaotian

When Demon Night reached the entrance of the grand hall, the voice that had spoken to him earlier sounded again: “Young friend, you’ve come. Please, enter so we may speak.” Demon Night paused for a moment, hesitating, but curiosity won out and he stepped into the hall.

Inside, Demon Night was startled by the sight before him: the grand hall was covered in scars, littered with corpses and broken remains of divine weapons, all bearing silent witness to the devastation of battle. He examined several bodies—each bore multiple fatal wounds, each one wordlessly proclaiming their indomitable spirit, their refusal to yield to evil, their heroic sacrifice.

He looked around and saw the corpses of humans, of beastfolk, and of demons alike. The scene deeply moved him. Bowing low to honor the fallen, Demon Night straightened up with tears streaming down his face.

The elder, observing Demon Night’s reaction, nodded in satisfaction and slowly revealed himself. Demon Night looked on in amazement, unsure of when the elder had appeared in the center of the hall, noting the kindly expression on the old man’s face as he regarded him.

Demon Night approached, neither humble nor arrogant, and cupped his hands in greeting. “Junior Demon Night pays his respects. May I ask if you were the one who summoned me here? And… who might you be, senior?”

The old man smiled kindly. “Indeed, it was I who called you. I am Yang Xiaotian—you probably haven’t heard my name before.”

“Are you… the Yang Xiaotian, the God of War, once one of the three great leaders of humanity at the realm of Supreme Void?” Demon Night asked in astonishment.

The elder chuckled. “Oh? I didn’t expect a youngster like you to know of me. Tell me, just how much do you know?”

“Yang Xiaotian, the God of War, mastered the Supreme Void, wielded a heavy sword without an edge. In every battle against the demon race, he was always at the very front—wherever he went, all who crossed his path were wounded or slain, so much so that even demons trembled at his name. He once guarded the desolate far north, was known for his loyalty and fierce hatred of evil. He fell victim to a demon plot and was beset by the Four Demon Emperors; when reinforcements arrived, one emperor was dead, two gravely wounded. People honored him as the God of War. That’s all I know, senior. But tell me, why do you appear to me as a soul?”

Yang Xiaotian stroked his beard and grinned. “Not bad at all! I’m surprised you know so much, little one. As for why I appear to you in spirit—well, I’ve been dead for many years. This fragment of my soul was forcibly awakened by the Creation Cauldron you wear on your chest. My time is short; I will soon fade away.”

“Senior, you know the little cauldron I carry?”

“Of course. I was once its owner. But listen closely—the cauldron has yet to truly accept you as its master; it merely acknowledges you for now. To be recognized, you must pass its trials. While I still have some time, I wish to grant you a great boon. For now, think nothing, ask nothing. In time, all your questions will be answered. Come with me to the inner chamber—I have something to give you.” With these words, Yang Xiaotian’s spirit vanished, and Demon Night hurried toward the inner hall.

There, the first thing he saw was a colossal sword, massive as a coffin lid. Yang Xiaotian gazed at it and spoke softly, “I see you, like me, value the cultivation of the physical body. Therefore, I shall give you my old weapon, Heaven’s Scar. It weighs thirty-five hundred pounds, forged from Starstone, which suppresses spiritual energy and is of great aid to physical training. Though you are of beastfolk blood, you cannot yet wield it.”

“No, senior! I cannot accept such a gift—it belongs to you alone!” Demon Night refused hastily.

“Hmph! Foolish boy. I am already dead—what use have I for it? You must grow stronger quickly. The Creation Cauldron has chosen you, a sign that great calamity will soon befall Phoenix Dance Continent. The land will need guardians such as yourself. Only, do not disgrace the name of Heaven’s Scar.” As Yang Xiaotian finished speaking, he gently stroked the blade; the great sword shuddered as if in response to its former master.

“That’s enough. Don’t be sentimental. You must now head to the council chamber, where your ancestor’s remains lie. Absorbing them will help your body reach the Carefree Realm, allowing you to just barely lift Heaven’s Scar. But with gain comes risk—merging with your ancestor’s remains is fraught with danger, and you can rely only on yourself. The best I can do is help your spirit remain clear.” With these final words, Yang Xiaotian faded from sight once more…