Demonic Cultivator System

The last thing I remembered before waking up in this alien world was the knife. It had been cold against my chest, sharp enough that the pain barely registered before everything went dark. There were no dramatic flashbacks, no grand revelations about my life. Just darkness, then light—a fiery, blood-red glow that painted a twisted grin across my new reality.

When I opened my eyes, the sight was nothing short of chaos. Bodies were strewn across a dirt-stained battlefield, some still clutching shattered weapons while others stared blankly at the heavens. Blood seeped into the parched ground, and the stench of death clawed at my senses.

"Welcome, Host," a disembodied voice echoed in my head, emotionless yet laced with authority.

I staggered to my feet, disoriented. My body felt different—stronger, leaner. My hands, coated in fresh blood, gripped a curved sword with an ornate black hilt. It felt alien, yet perfectly natural, as if it had always been mine.

"Who are you?" I whispered hoarsely, my voice rough and unfamiliar even to me.

"I am the Demonic Cultivation System. You have been chosen as my host to ascend in this world of cultivation. Through me, you shall gain power unrivaled, wealth unimaginable, and influence that shakes nations."

"System? Chosen? What is this, some kind of sick game?"

The voice continued, ignoring my skepticism. "Your task is simple: become the strongest cultivator this world has ever known. Kill. Dominate. Conquer. Only through decisive action will you survive and thrive in this realm."

I looked down at myself, my new body clad in a tattered black robe. Muscles coiled beneath the fabric, but what caught my attention was the mark on my forearm—a crimson sigil glowing faintly, pulsating in rhythm with my heartbeat.

The battlefield grew quiet, and I finally noticed a group of men approaching, their faces twisted with anger and desperation. Each carried a weapon—a spear, a sword, an axe—but their movements were clumsy and their eyes wild.

"Traitor!" one of them screamed. "You killed Elder Huang! You'll pay for this, Xian Luo!"

Xian Luo. That must be my name now. But what had this body done to incur such wrath?

Before I could respond, the system's voice interjected. "Host, these individuals are weak. Slay them and absorb their cultivation energy to initiate your ascension. The first step in the Path of Demonic Cultivation."

The suggestion wasn't just cold—it was clinical. Kill them? Just like that?

The men charged. I didn't have time to question the system's morality. My body moved on its own, driven by instincts I didn't yet understand. The sword in my hand felt weightless as it slashed through the air. The first man fell, his head severed cleanly from his shoulders. Warm blood splattered across my face, but I didn't flinch.

The others hesitated, their bravado crumbling.

"Please, mercy!" one begged, dropping his weapon and falling to his knees.

Mercy. The word hung in the air like a bitter joke. I didn't even get the chance to decide. My body moved again, plunging the blade into his chest. The system's voice was satisfied.

"Excellent, Host. Their energy now flows through you. You are one step closer to mastering the Demonic Path."

I felt it immediately—a surge of power coursing through me, filling every corner of my being with raw energy. The wounds on my body stitched themselves together, and my mind cleared. My grip on the sword tightened.

There was no going back. I wasn't just Xian Luo; I was something more now. Something darker.

The system fed me information as I looted the corpses, collecting spirit stones, low-grade weapons, and scraps of cultivation manuals. This world, it explained, was ruled by cultivators—men and women who pursued immortality through strength and enlightenment. The strong crushed the weak, and sects dominated the land.

And then there was me, a nobody with a system that promised power at any cost.

"System, what's my current level of cultivation?" I asked, scanning the horizon for more threats.

"You are in the Foundation Establishment realm, first stage. Weak by this world's standards. However, with your efficiency, you will rise quickly. Provided you continue to kill."

The word "kill" had lost its sting already. Perhaps it was this new body or the system's influence. Whatever the reason, I didn't feel guilt. I felt alive.

Night fell, and I found shelter in the ruins of what looked like a sect outpost. The broken pillars and faded murals hinted at its former glory, but now it was nothing more than a graveyard.

As I rummaged through the debris, I found a woman. Her face was pale, and her robes were torn, revealing bruises that told a story of betrayal. Her eyes fluttered open when I approached, and for a moment, she looked terrified.

"Don't… kill me," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I hesitated. The system urged me to finish her off, claiming she was a liability. But something in her gaze stopped me. It wasn't pity or weakness—it was curiosity. Why had this woman survived when everyone else had perished?

"Who are you?" I asked, crouching beside her.

"Lian Yue," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm… a disciple of the Crimson Moon Sect. Or at least I was."

Her eyes darted to the bodies outside. "Are you with them?"

"No," I said flatly. "They're dead. I killed them."

Her reaction surprised me. Instead of fear, there was relief. "Good. They were traitors. They betrayed the sect and slaughtered their own to join the rival clan."

It was hard to tell if she was lying, but I didn't care. She wasn't in a position to be a threat, and something told me she might be useful.

"Do you want revenge?" I asked, testing her resolve.

Her eyes lit up, and for the first time, I saw the spark of a cultivator who had tasted blood and wanted more. "Yes."

"Then stay alive," I said, tossing her a small spirit stone. "Heal yourself and follow me. But betray me, and you'll join them."

She nodded weakly, clutching the stone like it was her lifeline. As I turned away, the system's voice chimed in.

"Interesting choice, Host. Allies can be powerful tools, but remember, trust is a luxury you cannot afford."

That night, as I stared into the flickering flames of a small fire, I thought about my situation. This wasn't a second chance; it was a trial by fire. If I wanted to survive, I had to embrace the darkness of this world—kill, scheme, and manipulate my way to the top. There was no room for sentimentality, no room for mistakes.

Xian Luo was dead. Whatever this body had done before didn't matter anymore.

Now, it was my turn.