Lin Shu returned to his house and sat down, taking out the books he had set aside. The first one he opened was about pills. He flipped through the pages, carefully studying the descriptions, effects, and drawbacks of each type.
There were countless pills, each with unique traits—some enhanced speed or strength, others aided recovery or treated poisons. A few pills resembled the one he carried, but none were a perfect match. Still, he kept reading. The knowledge was too useful to ignore.
He read about Ironpulse Pills, which increased the user's physical strength for a short time but left the body sore afterward.
There were Serpentvein Pills, which could neutralize most common poisons but caused the user to experience numbness in their limbs temporarily.
He found mention of Ghosteye Drops, a rare pill that granted vision rivaling that of bloodbeasts, allowing one to see through mist and at great distances.
There was even the Swiftroot Pellet, which granted an explosive burst of speed—but caused exhaustion to set in minutes later.
And the Coagulation Flame, a pill that healed wounds rapidly by accelerating blood clotting and tissue binding, though it left deep scarring if overused.
But it was halfway through the book that Lin Shu finally found what he was looking for.
An image caught his eye: a deep red pill, thickly coiled with black stripes like snakes wrapped around it.
Berserker's Brand
The description read:
"A dangerous pill that forces the body to break through its current limits. When consumed, the user gains a significant enhancement in both physical might and cultivation, granting the ability to temporarily fight those in higher stages than themselves. Strength, speed, and recovery of both the body and Qi are drastically improved."
But below that, in smaller script, the cost was laid bare.
"The user will enter a berserk state. The pill stirs chaos within the mind. The weaker one's control over their emotions, the more they will resemble a beast—wild, violent, and without reason. Once the pill's effects wear off, the user is left in a vulnerable state. Their muscles weaken to the point where movement becomes difficult, and the mind remains clouded in confusion and instability for several hours."
Lin Shu stared at the page silently. This wasn't just a power-enhancing pill—it was a double-edged weapon.
He set the book down and looked at the small container holding his red pill. The black stripes matched exactly.
So that's what it was—Berserker's Brand. A path to victory in desperation... but one that demanded a brutal price.
Lin Shu decided to put the first book aside for later reading and picked up the second one—a thin volume, hardly worthy of being called a book by its thickness alone. Still, he opened it, curious. The topic was demonic beasts.
The text began with a distinction:
There exist many varieties of beasts in the world—ordinary animals, bloodbeasts, and the far more dangerous demonic beasts. Bloodbeasts possess a core, an organ that functions much like a human's dantian, allowing them to store and refine Qi to grow stronger. However, the Qi within a bloodbeast is fundamentally different from that of a human or natural Qi found in the world. While it is not as chaotic as one might expect, it is still inherently poisonous to humans in its raw, unrefined state. That poison, however, can be subdued—refined into something useful. Because of this, bloodbeasts are often raised, tamed, and used by cultivators. They serve as mounts, guardians, partners in battle, or even living resources. Their strength and the utility of their cores make them highly desirable.
But the focus of this book was not on bloodbeasts—it was on their darker, far more violent cousins: demonic beasts.
Unlike bloodbeasts, demonic beasts cannot be tamed. Historical instances where demonic beasts were used in battle were not cases of cooperation, but of enslavement or manipulation. In such cases, the beasts were either forcibly bound by formation arrays or used without their knowledge through binding techniques.
Demonic beasts do not possess ordinary cores. Instead, they harbor a demonic core, a vessel filled with demonic Qi—a form of Qi so virulent that, compared to it, the poisonous Qi of bloodbeasts seems almost benign. While the Qi of bloodbeasts may cause poisoning or weaken a cultivator, demonic Qi is far more insidious. It does not merely wound the body—it devours the mind. Prolonged exposure to demonic Qi can lead to hallucinations, madness, unbearable torment, and ultimately death—if the victim is still sane enough to take their own life before they completely lose themselves.
Demonic beasts are intrinsically violent. A bloodbeast, when disturbed, may issue a warning growl or attempt to intimidate before attacking. A demonic beast will lunge at the intruder without hesitation, seeking only to destroy. What makes them worse is their corrupting nature: prolonged exposure to demonic Qi can infect a bloodbeast, transforming it into a demonic one. This occurs when a bloodbeast consumes a demonic beast or comes into repeated contact with demonic Qi, especially if the demonic beast was not significantly weaker. The influence begins subtly—tainting the core, altering the Qi, and slowly eroding the creature's reason until it mutates entirely.
The corruption of demonic Qi is not limited to living creatures. It infects plants, water, minerals, and the soil itself. Entire regions have been defiled in this way—turned into wastelands where the land rots and the air stings. Even after a demonic beast is slain, the infection may linger for years unless purged through great effort. Thus, in most cases, the area is either sealed off or burned down entirely, with the land purified and rebuilt from nothing.
As for their origin, it remains a mystery. Some claim demonic beasts are the twisted remnants of ancient creatures, others that they were born from the evils of humanity itself. What is clear is that their history is painted in blood. And in their wake, chaos always follows.
The book concluded with a grim warning:
Demonic beasts are rarely left to roam free. If a sect or empire fails to hunt one down, it often means that a demonic organization has intervened. These are secretive groups—sects, clans, or institutions—that practice forbidden arts revolving around blood sacrifices and the use of demonic beasts as weapons or tools. Their techniques offer strength, but always at a cost. Sanity, morality, and the cultivator's very humanity are the price. What is gained is raw, monstrous power. What is lost is purpose, restraint, and reason. They cease to be cultivators—they become predators, no different from the beasts they exploit.
This is why demonic cultivators and demonic beasts are seen as one and the same. Devourers of order. Bringers of suffering. Creatures of endless hunger.
Wherever they appear, death follows, and wherever they linger, the world rots.
Yet, paradoxically, it is this very power—violent, chaotic, absolute—that tempts even the righteous.
Which is why, as long as ambition exists, the names of demonic beasts and their wielders will never leave the execution lists of the empire.
Lin Shu moved on to another book—this one focused on the Far Lands, the place he truly wanted to understand. He began reading:
The Far Lands lie to the north of the Stormridge region, beyond the treacherous Lightning Peak ranges. From the mountain heights, one can glimpse a vast, endless forest below, dotted with massive trees and winding rivers. For years, both the Zhaorath Empire and various sects have attempted to push into the Far Lands, but they have been repeatedly halted—by beasts of unnatural strength, strange and aggressive plant life, and phenomena that defy explanation. Some claim that even now, a decade after the mountain ranges were first crossed, the Empire has yet to breach the true boundary of the Far Lands. They remain halted at the fringes, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to step beyond the gates.
The book continued, describing a handful of discovered creatures and flora, but none of the information felt meaningful to Lin Shu. There was nothing of value—no secrets, no insights, not even a real glimpse into the heart of the region. He almost felt cheated.
"Maybe if I join one of the mid-sized sects, I'll find something more," Lin Shu thought, disappointed by the book's lack of substance. "The empire sure likes keeping things hidden... and so do the sects. But it doesn't matter for now. I'll let this go."
With those thoughts, he closed the book and returned to his reading, pushing the matter of the Far Lands to the back of his mind—for now.