Wang Zhi's spirit recoiled in fear at the sight before her. The spirit with the village chief's appearance quickly waved his hands and spoke earnestly, "Greetings, Godwalker. I am the chief of this village, and these behind me are the original villagers. Please don't be afraid—we mean you no harm." Faced with such an eerie scene, Wang Zhi forced herself to calm down gradually, at least enough to hear what this person had to say. Perhaps they were the variable, the true key to breaking the deadlock.
"Godwalker, you must have many questions right now. Let me tell you about a secret our village has guarded for generations. We are all descendants of Yazi, a mythical beast from ancient Chinese legends, often classified as one of the Nine Sons of the Dragon. Yazi has the head of a dragon and the body of a leopard or wolf, often depicted with a sword clenched in its jaws—fierce and mighty. Yazi's nature is extremely combative and bloodthirsty, never forgetting a grievance. Our ancestors once saved Yazi, hiding it when it was injured and helping it escape pursuit by an evil god. Later, after recovering, Yazi turned the tables and suppressed that evil god here. Yazi always repays kindness and vengeance alike. Grateful for our ancestors' aid, Yazi bestowed upon them a drop of its essence blood, and thus my ancestor became the first-generation Yazi Godwalker—though the title wasn't used back then. Since then, our clan has produced a Godwalker every few generations. These Godwalkers can see through the illusions of this world, traversing between the human realm and another bizarre, mysterious world. According to ancestral records, they called that world the Samsara Realm, filled with countless deities, demons, and spirits matching the descriptions in legends and ancient texts. Some covet human wishes, others crave human worship, and of course, there are demons who hunger for human flesh and souls. The mortal world has many extraordinary individuals—some gain their abilities through cultivation, others by chance, and a few, like my ancestors, become Godwalkers who inherit divine authority and power."
In those days, the extraordinary beings of our world waged a brutal war against the gods, buddhas, demons, and monsters of the Saha World to protect our human realm from invasion. But how could humans ever hope to defeat gods? Only gods can fight gods! Thus, these exceptional individuals devoted themselves to enhancing their abilities, cultivating spiritual power, and seeking ways to become as mighty as the divine. Among them, the Godwalkers could advance their path to godhood by slaying others who shared the same divine authority and function as themselves.
For centuries, the Godwalkers battled the countless deities and fiends across the heavens. Through human unity and an endless supply of successors, they eventually intimidated these immortal beings—who, with their near-eternal lifespans, had no desire to trade their existence one-for-one with mortals. Gradually, humanity's extraordinary ones took root in the rift between the human world and the vast Saha World.
Yet this peace did not last. Humans soon discovered that exposure to the Saha World's essence and cultivation within the rift would inevitably draw them into its boundless cycle of reincarnation. Among them, the Godwalkers suffered the heaviest casualties. Their divine authority was not just power—it was a curse. Once one embarked on the path of a Godwalker, there was no turning back. They would either perish, becoming nourishment for others of the same function, or slaughter countless peers on their bloody ascent to godhood.
Alas, when a Godwalker's evolution stalled at a certain threshold, the Crimson Trial would begin. Those of the same stage and authority would be summoned to a single world, forced to slaughter one another in a gruesome contest of enlightenment. Only by absorbing enough soul energy from fellow Godwalkers could one escape that realm. If their divine offices differed, the defeated would merely lose their authority's essence and be cast aside, forever barred from that power. But if a Godwalker endured endless hardships and truly became a god… would they still be human? Would they still fight for humanity unto death?
Sigh… Later, it was discovered that plundering the essence of other worlds could slowly advance one's evolution—only fueling the endless cycle of slaughter.
The old village chief rambled on, recounting these tales that seemed ancient, as if narrating history… or perhaps offering a warning…
Wang Zhi was nearly frantic. As a spirit, she couldn't speak, so she kept floating up and down desperately trying to signal him to stop. Inside, she was screaming silently, hoping the old village chief could hear her thoughts. "Old chief, I know you're wise! Get to the point—how do we break this deadlock?" Sometimes, when people are truly desperate—especially when they can't speak—all they can do is stew in their panic. Heh.
Finally, as if snapping out of his nostalgic reverie about the past, the old chief spoke slowly to Wang Zhi, "I know you're anxious, but don't be. What our ancestors have guarded for generations is the Cursed Armor—passed down through an unbroken lineage. That evil god and its cultists always thought it was just the armor enshrined in the ancestral hall, but the truth is, both pieces must unite. We will use our souls to baptize and reawaken the armor, for it has slumbered too long. During their ritual to sacrifice you, they will dress you in the Cursed Armor, hoping your soul will merge with it before offering both to their god. That's your moment. Seize the ceremonial sword from the ancestral hall and sever the link between the evil god and its idol. 'The Cursed Armor upon flesh, the bloodied blade breaks the fiend.' Remember this. The rest… is up to fate. Hold fast to everything I've told you—because you will become the newest, perhaps the only, Godwalker of Yazi."
As he finished, the old chief looked at Wang Zhi's dimming spirit and bowed his head. "Forgive me. For our world, you may not survive this. The odds are against you. This old man… can only atone with his death first. Souls, arise!"
The old chief and the villagers behind him dissolved into countless white sparks, swirling into Wang Zhi's spirit. Her form blazed with light before it faded, revealing an ancient Chinese general's armor now encasing her. The dark steel scales clung to her body, each overlapping like dragon's plating, gleaming with an eerie blue sheen under the spirit's radiance. At the shoulders, the snarling heads of Yazi—the vengeful dragon—bared fangs, their ruby eyes leaving crimson trails as she turned. A gilded belt cinched her waist, sharpening her silhouette. The breastplate wasn't smooth but forged from layered steel, patterned like phoenix feathers—protective yet fluid. Cloud-thunder motifs were etched into the vambraces, and hidden blades lurked beneath the forearm guards. The most striking was the winged helmet—its towering plume dyed deep crimson, the steel wings splayed like blades, the beaded visor veiling all but her ice-cold eyes.
Wang Zhi suddenly felt as though she had transformed into a battle-hardened warrior of many years, but the sensation came and went as quickly as it arrived. She couldn't help but suspect that the overwhelming arrogance and bloodlust she had just experienced must have belonged to the armor's previous owner. After all, Wang Zhi was just a modern high school girl who had never lifted anything heavier than a textbook. If not for the armor's uncanny ability to adjust itself to fit her body perfectly, she would have suffocated under the exaggerated chest plate before even stepping onto the battlefield.
Wang Zhi quietly pondered, feeling as though she had gained crucial insights and important clues, yet her situation remained largely unchanged. She seemed to have become a Godwalker—but then what? How was her soul supposed to return to her body? And once it did, how was she supposed to face those cultists head-on? A blood sword? If she tried to grab a magic blade, wouldn't she just get cleaved in half? She needed to figure something out.
As she was thinking, her soul suddenly felt dragged downward by an overwhelming force—and Wang Zhi's agonized scream echoed endlessly…
When Wang Zhi awoke, she saw that the village chief had already completed his ritual and incantations. Unsure how she should react, she thought to herself, This ritual must have some kind of negative effect, probably related to my perception. I'll just play dumb. Adapt to the situation as it unfolds.
Truthfully, Wang Zhi didn't even need to act. As a typical high school graduate, she naturally looked clueless as long as she kept her mouth shut. Of course, the village chief had no way of distinguishing between genuine stupidity and the real thing.
The chief nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Wang Zhi, from today onward, you are the chosen priestess of the Dark Lord. For the next two days, you must recite the sacred chants and purify yourself in His name."
His piercing gaze locked onto hers, and he began chanting the same scripture again. Wang Zhi had intended to play along, but this time, the words seemed to churn like a violent storm in her mind, splitting her skull with agony. The surrounding villagers joined in the chant, their necks slowly snapping as their heads slid off their shoulders and thudded to the ground—plop, plop—blood spilling freely across the ancient stone floor of the ancestral hall.
Wang Zhi writhed in pain, her terrified screams tearing from her throat as she stared at the severed heads around her. The village chief's mad laughter bubbled up from his stomach, reminding her of the grotesque idol.
"Did you really think we didn't know you discovered the sedative?" he cackled. "Hahaha! That wasn't meant to erase your memories—you lost them because under the gaze of our Almighty God, you will forget everything… until you willingly offer yourself as sacrifice. Every scheme, every trick, was designed to make you struggle until the very end, only to realize there's no escape. Your soul is now layered with human despair and terror, yet scrubbed clean by my God into a blank slate. That is the finest offering. No matter what plans you had, after today, you will never escape His control. Hahahaha! For all eternity, your soul shall reincarnate and serve as His sacrifice!"
The chief's deranged laughter, his unrestrained malice, and the utter dismantling of Wang Zhi's plans left her truly hopeless.
She, an 18-year-old girl who had just graduated from high school and was about to embark on her journey to her dream university, was now condemned to endure endless cycles of soul reincarnation in this world, suffering the torment of sacrifice. Bullied by the evil gods, she refused to submit, struggling and screaming in defiance. Tears streamed down her face as she cursed, clinging to the belief that her parents would avenge her.
Upon hearing this, the village chief's mocking expression pierced Wang Zhi's heart like a sharp blade. "After today, no one will remember you. You will belong to the Samsara world. How could anyone in the human world still recall you? I can't wait to see your pure, luminous soul consumed by despair as you slit your own throat in our sacrificial rite." The village chief threw his head back in laughter, laughing so hard that his own head slowly slid off...