148: The Famine Purgatory Demon Heart Begins to Take Shape

The southward road did not change direction because of that bloody interlude, but it seemed to have quietly turned into a deeper gloom due to the pervasive Killing Karma. The scenery along the official road grew desolate, plants withered, fields cracked, and occasionally, the carcasses of livestock were seen lying beside the road. The air was filled with a faint, pervasive scent of decay.

Refugees began to increase. They were ragged, emaciated, and their eyes were hollow, dragging their families like walking dead, migrating south toward the legendary lands that had not yet suffered disaster. At first, they were only in small groups, but soon they formed large crowds, spreading across the dry land like a gray tide.

Mo Chen mingled among this desperate stream of people. His composure, which was out of place with his surroundings, and his physique, which was lean but subtly robust, did not attract much attention. Hunger and death had already extinguished most people's curiosity.

He observed silently. He saw refugees fighting over a piece of moldy biscuit; he saw a mother feed the last mouthful of wild vegetable paste to her dying child before silently collapsing herself; he saw the tragedy of Swapping Children to Eat unfold silently among the weeds as night fell... There was no greater living hell than this.

Initially, his heart held only curiosity and inquiry. He tried to understand the extent to which “hunger” could drive people mad, and what kind of Soul-searing taste “despair” possessed. He even approached the dying, observing closely the fading light in their pupils and sensing the faint energy released as life slipped away—that energy carried a sense of finality, subtly aligning with the Annihilation Concept of the set of Fist Techniques in his dreams.

He unconsciously circulated the Fist Technique Core Chant. The dense aura of death and despair around him was drawn in, strand by strand, integrating into his body, where it was refined and absorbed by his weak Vital Qi and Blood. He felt no discomfort; instead, he felt the power within him growing slowly and steadily, and his body's tolerance for hunger and exhaustion also increased significantly.

This discovery made him focus more intensely on this type of Cultivation. He was like a Demonic Plant growing on corpses, silently drawing sustenance from the pain and deathly silence of this land.

Until that day.

He passed through a village that was almost completely silent, with only a few faint moans amidst the broken walls. In a half-collapsed mud house, he saw a skeletal old woman tightly hugging a child who had long since stopped breathing, her eyes hollow as she stared at the leaky roof, her cracked lips mumbling to herself.

Mo Chen stood at the doorway, watching silently. The old woman noticed him, and there was no fear in her cloudy eyes, only dead ashes. She struggled to lift her stick-like hand and pointed to a broken clay pot in the corner, which seemed to hold half a pot of murky muddy water.

"Water... for the child..." Her voice sounded like a broken bellows.

Mo Chen did not Move. He looked at the small, lifeless corpse, and then at the old woman's eyes, which held a plea mixed with the last flicker of maternal radiance.

Suddenly, an extremely sharp, utterly unfamiliar emotion pierced his blank Heart Lake like an ice pick!

It was not hunger, not despair, not anger.

It was an emotion... mixed with endless sorrow, unspeakable grief, and cold questioning of this cruel world! This emotion was so intense, so real, that it instantly shattered the shell of indifference he had always used to isolate himself from the outside world!

Why?

Why must there be such suffering?

Why is life so fragile?

Is this what the so-called "mortal world" looks like?

"Ah—!"

He suddenly clutched his head, letting out a suppressed roar. The Demonic Seed deep within his Soul trembled violently, and the Seal barrier hummed under the strain! Countless chaotic memory fragments, like a burst dam, slammed into his consciousness—a blood-red starry sky, a shattered world, endless vengeful Souls, and a pair of cold eyes looking down upon all living beings... "No... it's not me..." He stumbled backward, hitting the mud wall, and dust sifted down.

The old woman was terrified by him, curling up her body and remaining silent, only watching him fearfully with her dead eyes.

Mo Chen gasped for breath, veins bulging on his temples, as blood-red and clarity alternated wildly in his eyes. The sudden, massive wave of negative emotion was close to bursting this Mortal Body!

Just then, arrogant shouts and the sound of hooves came from outside the village. Several men wearing leather uniforms, riding thin horses, and wielding weapons rushed into the village. They were bandits who had come down from a nearby Mountain Stronghold to "loot."

"Are there any survivors left? Damn it, in this poor place, we can't even find decent grain!" A One-Eyed Bandit cursed, immediately spotting Mo Chen and the old woman inside the mud house.

"Yo, there's a tender-skinned kid here? Maybe we can trade him for some money if we take him back!" The One-Eyed Bandit sneered and rode closer.

Normally, Mo Chen might have calmly assessed the risks, choosing to fight or flee. But at this moment, he was on the verge of emotional collapse and Demonic Nature agitation! The appearance of these bandits, and the violent, greedy aura they exuded, acted like a spark, instantly igniting the pent-up, unvented torrent of negative emotions within his heart!

All the confusion, all the sorrow, all the pain and anger stemming from this land and his own memory fragments, found a clear, destructible target at this moment!

"All of you... deserve to die!"

Mo Chen suddenly raised his head, his eyes completely scarlet! The weak Vital Qi and Blood throughout his body circulated frantically at an unprecedented speed, carrying a cold Annihilation Qi that sought to plunder everything! The dust beneath his feet stirred without wind, forming a tiny vortex.

He moved!

His speed far surpassed before! His figure was like a phantom, charging directly toward the One-Eyed Bandit!

"Seeking death!" The One-Eyed Bandit swung his saber to chop.

But Mo Chen did not dodge or evade. He formed his right hand into a claw, and dark gray Qi Energy swirled around his fingertips, grabbing directly at the descending blade!

"Snap!"

The blade, forged of fine steel, was actually crushed by his five fingers! Fragments scattered everywhere!

Before the One-Eyed Bandit could react, Mo Chen's claw had already clamped onto his neck!

"Ugh..." The One-Eyed Bandit's eyes bulged, his face filled with extreme terror.

There was no fluctuation in Mo Chen's scarlet eyes, only pure, cold Destructive Desire. He squeezed his fingers!

"Crunch!"

The throat bone shattered! The One-Eyed Bandit's head tilted to a strange angle, and he died instantly!

"Boss!"

"Kill this kid!"

The other bandits were startled and enraged, charging over on their horses.

Mo Chen was like a tiger entering a flock of sheep. The nameless Fist Technique he unleashed was no longer just a Move; it carried an instinctive, efficient, and brutal Killing Artistry! Every time he struck, it went straight for a vital point, either crushing a throat bone, piercing a heart, or directly tearing limbs! Blood splattered onto his handsome face and ragged clothes, yet he seemed oblivious, instead feeling a bloodthirsty exhilaration!

In just a few breaths, the bandits all collapsed, dying miserable deaths.

Mo Chen stood amidst the corpses, covered in blood and breathing heavily. His scarlet eyes slowly swept over the silent village, over the old woman in the mud house who had fainted from fright, and over the refugees watching furtively from a distance with numb eyes.

The violence in his heart slowly subsided, and the sharp sorrow seemed to have been vented through the slaughter. But he did not feel relieved; instead, something deeper and colder had settled within him.

He lowered his head, looking at his blood-stained hands.

These hands could kill, could plunder... and it seemed, they could also... "clean up" things that were unpleasant.

He no longer pondered those complex emotions, nor did he question why. He only knew that power allowed him to act according to his will. Pain could be used to nourish power. And this world was inherently full of filth that needed to be "cleaned."

When he raised his head again, the scarlet had faded from his eyes, replaced by a deeper, colder serenity. It was no longer hollowness, but a... preliminary confirmation of his own Dao after experiencing cruelty.

He turned back, took one last look at that living hell, then turned around and continued south.

His steps were steadier than before.

A heart belonging to a "Demon," irrigated by famine and death, quietly molded its cold and hard prototype within this Mortal Purgatory.