Chapter 4 The Supreme Demonic Sect and Its Fine Traditions

He swept his gaze around the room. No one dared to meet his eyes, and no one had the courage to mention their patron or boast of their backing.

In a world so accustomed to the law of the strong—where the weak are prey and the powerful rule—reasoning in this way proved all the more effective.

“Very good. Since everyone here is so sensible, the matter ahead will be easily resolved.” Chen Yang smiled faintly and continued, “I am a man who loves to rescue those in distress and do good for the land. Now that I have come to this place, you are fortunate indeed. From this day forth…”

“Oh, by the way, what is this place called? Never mind, it is all the same. From this day forth, all that is here—be it man or beast, even a single grain of dust—belongs to my Supreme Demonic Sect.”

As he uttered the final sentence, his voice echoed grandly throughout the entire marketplace.

Some faces turned ashen, lips parted as if to speak, yet none dared utter a word. Some stood in bewilderment, while others—those for whom life had promised little—saw in this a chance, their faces brightening with hope.

Status shaped reaction, and so among the crowd, a thousand faces revealed a thousand tales, each more vivid than the last.

Regardless of their responses, Chen Yang continued, “Recite my revered name, and you shall receive the true teaching and join my Supreme Celestial Demon Sect.”

[Supreme Demon Lord, Sovereign of Primordial Yang]

“Supreme Demon Lord, Sovereign of Primordial Yang.”

“Supreme Demon Lord, Sovereign of Primordial Yang.”

…

The crowd began to chant the honored name, each syllable woven with his demonic spell. Waves of demonic thought surged toward him, sending the Six Desires Shadow Demon into gleeful frenzy.

Chen Yang smiled to himself, quietly sending back another magical art, its core a hidden method—transforming oneself into a divine demon.

As some among the lowly cultivators received his magical feedback, their chanting grew louder, more fervent, more fanatical.

A world without the Heavenly Dao, without immortal or Buddhist sages to guard it—what a paradise for those of the demonic path. Here, nothing was forbidden; one could play however one pleased.

It was as if this world had been crafted solely for the demonic arts.

“Hmm! I shall place a curse upon my true name as well—whosoever utters it shall be planted with a seed of Shadow Demon.”

…

Divine demons are divided into two categories: those with form, and those without. Of the former, there are seventy-two kinds; of the latter, thirty-six.

What Chen Yang imparted was the method to forge the Mighty Divine Demon among those with form.

Once formed, this divine demon bestowed upon its host boundless strength; to bear mountains or fill seas would be mere trifles.

Immortals regard vital energy as the root, believing all things are transformed from a single primordial breath. Demons, however, take thought as their foundation, akin to the Buddhists: what I see is real, what I do not see is illusion.

Long ago, at the Dharma assembly on Vulture Peak, the Buddha smiled while holding a flower. None understood but Kassapa, and so the Zen lineage of heart-to-heart transmission was born.

Buddhism and the demonic path are one; their truth can be summed up as “when the flower blooms, I see people, and people see me.” As the Sixth Patriarch’s Platform Sutra says, “It is not the flag moving, nor the wind, but the mind that moves.”

Thus, everything in the world is seen as the rise and fall of thoughts; the world as perceived is reality, what is unseen is illusion, and all in the world—love, hate, passion, material form—are but thoughts in the mind.

Not only do their paths of cultivation differ, but their entire worldviews are distinct.

Hence, the immortal path values steady progress, each step firm, building a solid foundation for unceasing ascension.

The demonic path, by contrast, is exquisite in its focus on the power of one’s own thoughts.

Because of this, those who cultivate the demonic arts can advance with remarkable speed in the early stages, far surpassing those who practice the breath of immortality.

Yet human thoughts are ever turbulent, changing a thousand times in an instant. Countless demonic intentions rise and fall like tides. The further one advances, the harder it becomes to control oneself. Often, without realizing it, one becomes enslaved by their own demonic thoughts, transformed into a servant of demons without even knowing it.

In all of Shushan, those who truly master the demonic path are but a handful.

Now that Chen Yang had passed down his magic, the people of this world—unaccustomed to such a refined method, one that required neither spiritual roots nor innate talent—were eager to accept it, especially as it allowed them to willingly transform themselves into divine demons. Their progress was nothing short of astonishing.

In just a few days, some had already entered the gateway of the path, forging the Mighty Divine Demon body and acquiring several powers of great strength. With a mere punch, they could unleash formidable might; a ten-thousand-jin weight in their hands felt light as a reed.

In terms of strength, they already rivaled the Foundation Establishment cultivators of this realm.

Inspired by these examples, those who had once resisted quickly opened their minds and devoted themselves wholeheartedly to practicing the “Mighty Divine Demon Art.”

Time passed; within half a month, more than a hundred had successfully forged their Mighty Divine Demon bodies.

Inevitably, those suddenly endowed with such power entertained thoughts of rebellion.

Chen Yang understood well; after all, betraying one’s master and harming disciples was an honored tradition in the demonic sects.

If he had the ability, he too would wish to oust Mara from the position of Demon Lord and claim the seat himself.

Compared to himself, the patriarch, these new disciples were mere saplings.

He could understand such ambitions, but for those foolish enough to plot rebellion before they even possessed true strength, there was little value in cultivating them further; they were better served as materials.

The moment their thoughts turned, he sensed it at once. Silently, he cast a spell, compelling them to come to him of their own accord, where he dismantled them entirely.

The essence of their flesh fed the Celestial Demon Blood-Transforming Blade, granting it even greater power; their bones were forged into a White Bone Divine Demon, and their souls spun into threads, laying the foundation for the Supreme Celestial Demon Banner he would one day craft.

Not a scrap of their being was wasted.

The entire marketplace was sealed within by his magic, and without by the Celestial Demon Blood-Transforming Blade. Any who entered became property of the Supreme Demonic Sect.

Thus trapped, unable to leave, the place naturally attracted the attention of countless powers over time.

Some spies he enticed with magic, drawing them in to join his sect; those with stronger minds managed to escape.

Chen Yang paid them no heed. With each passing day, the Supreme Celestial Demon Sect grew stronger. The more disciples who cultivated the divine demon, the more magical power he could command.

He no longer feared these local cultivators, mere chickens and dogs in his eyes.

If these cultivators had any sense, they would stay away—but should they come seeking trouble, regardless of their power, they were nothing more than high-quality materials for magical weapons or divine demons.

Content, he continued to study the herbs and medicines of this world, seeking to refine the Pure Yang Revitalizing Pill to restore life to the dead.

Though he now possessed great magical powers, his physical body was entirely lifeless, kept animated only through sheer force of will.

But this could not last; within three years, if he could not restore his body, he would either become a corpse-fiend, treading the path of the drought demon, or abandon his body and seize another. Yet, if flesh and soul were not united, he could not hope to achieve the supreme arts, nor even reclaim the heights of his previous life.

Another path was the Nascent Soul method—not the common kind, but rather the forging of a divine body, like the legendary Nezha, using mystical herbs and his own magic.

Yet, though ingenious, such methods bore many limitations: one could become immortal, but attaining supreme magical power would remain impossible.

The human body, created by heaven and earth, is filled with limitless potential. Since the times of the ancient sovereigns, it has been regarded as the wisest, most suitable vessel for cultivation.

As for reincarnation, he doubted whether this world even possessed such a cycle.

It was strange indeed: ordinarily, his kind of soul transmigration should not fit so perfectly with this body. Yet, as with his form in the world of Shushan, this body seemed made for him, with no hint of disharmony.

This was why he was so reluctant to relinquish his already lifeless form.

Establishing the Supreme Celestial Demon Sect was, of course, part of his plan.

After all, three years was far too short; relying on himself alone to seek out the treasures of yang or gather the many rare herbs required for his elixir would be a slow and exhausting task.