Sword of Tranquility was the name of the technique taught to An Jing by the mysterious voice. This contemplation technique allowed An Jing to visualize a rusty sword in his mind. By purifying it with his thoughts, conquering it with his will, and refining it with his persistence, he could eventually forge a pure and bright sword heart, subduing his inner turmoil and obtaining true freedom. Furthermore, it was a method of cultivating the spirit, expanding his perception while suppressing the negative mental effects of the Imperial Sky Seethrough Nurturing Art.

An Jing didn't have to master it. It wasn't yet time to attempt breaking through to the Aura Realm. He simply had to visualize the sword, quell the rising tide of demonic urges and fight off the cumulative effects of the beast flesh and anhedonic he had consumed for so long.

Muttering a low chant, he held the rusty blade in his mind's eye. As he carved the image with tenacity, his mind cleared completely, and his focus remained absolute. Fifteen minutes later, An Jing's eyes snapped open. A sudden, sharp edge of pure killing intent cut through the thorny constraints that had shackled his soul, leaving his mind clear and acutely attuned to his innate qi.

He stood up. "I hear something."

The midnight hours were loud with the raging rain and the crack of thunder. While the flicker of lights suggested the presence of others, An Jing's attention was drawn to a distinct sound from a nearby building. It was the sound of children wailing and crying. Some were still alive.

The voice instructed, "Go into the dungeon and you'll find a key. You'll need it to unlock power beyond measure."

"I understand."

Though An Jing couldn't identify the source of the mysterious voice, he could tell the speaker was certainly no ally of the demon cult. Quite the opposite in fact; they were enemies. The voice had also helped him several times, so he was willing to do as the voice instructed.

"How do I get in?"

He had located the "dungeon" from which the sound originated. It was a structure built directly into the mountain itself. Only a small portion of it was visible externally, as the vast majority of the building’s architecture lay deep within the mountain's core. The main entrance was a metal gate, and An Jing had no key. Using brute force to break in was out of the question, as the noise would certainly draw the attention of the many guards and instructors stationed at the eastern farm plots.

"There's a window on the side." The voice pointed out. "You can enter from there, but you'll have to figure it out yourself."

An Jing soon found the "window" mentioned by the voice. It was a vent on the side of the building, covered with a metal grate, through which the flickering light of the dungeon was vaguely visible.

Though years of corrosion had weakened the inferior metal bars, they wouldn't snap easily. Breaking them by force would undoubtedly create enough noise to alert those nearby. However, An Jing had ample wisdom, and even if his current life’s knowledge wasn't enough, he could fall back on the Spark.

Scanning the area, An Jing quickly found some wooden sticks in a corner. He tore off the inner lining of his clothes to create cloth strips and wet the cloth strips in the rain, fashioning a makeshift lever by arranging the wooden pieces in a cross shape.

Then, wrapping the damp strips between the wood and two metal bars, he created a tight knot and slowly twisted the wood as tension pulled the cloth strips taut. The wet cloth had greater tensile strength, so An Jing was able to bend the weak metal bars to create a gap wide enough to squeeze past.

So that's the principle of leverage. Seeing the metal bars yield to his strength, An Jing was in awe. He never imagined that such basic knowledge could yield such amazing results when applied, turning common materials into something magical. In truth, there was little difference between using a lever and prying it open with brute force. The former simply offered better control. He was just being cautious to avoid being noticed.

But he couldn't afford to dwell on these thoughts now.

An Jing slipped through the vent and silently dropped into the dungeon like a cat. The dim chamber felt heavy with the dampness of the wind and rain, and the only illumination came from a handful of swaying kerosene lamps down the corridor. Beyond the acrid smell of burning kerosene, the dungeon air was thick with the stench of urine, rot, and the cold, metallic scent of old blood that was accompanied by weak cries and groans.

He carefully observed his environment. The straight, bluestone corridor was caked in filth and cast in lighting so hazy that it took him several moments to grasp the full picture. At this point, a paralyzing chill shot up his back, stealing his breath. This was a slaughterhouse.

Anyone fortunate enough to witness a real slaughterhouse would understand real cruelty. There, butchers hoisted animals onto frames and secured them completely before driving bolts or nails into their skulls with heavy hammers, or simply knocking them unconscious.

After that, skilled butchers deftly severed the major blood vessels on both sides of the animal's neck. The blood would drain rapidly into a waiting bucket, without a single drop wasted. Though the creatures might thrash, the sturdy frame anchored them firmly, so all they could do was scream and weep as their life ebbed away with the blood, until even their tears turned crimson.

Then, the drained carcasses were hooked and suspended from a beam, their bellies slit open, and the entrails spilled into the bucket below. As the butcher worked, the hanging carcasses swayed, and the pungent stench of raw meat grew stronger. A seasoned expert needed only a small boning knife to remove the flesh until nothing remained but bare bones.

Within a slaughterhouse, life was reduced to raw materials for consumption. Those unaccustomed to death would be frightened and repulsed by this scene, even if these were livestock, hence the saying "a nobleman stays clear of the kitchen."[1]

This was the fate of livestock, but what if they were people? What if those hanging bodies, those remains, the bones, the eyes, the blood, and the organs, belonged to someone familiar?

The demonic cult...heh. I never quite grasped the meaning of 'demon' before. Now, I'm beginning to understand.

The bone-deep chill that had him clenching his jaw was abruptly replaced by a rush of unbridled rage. Externally, An Jing was unfazed as he calmly observed his surroundings, his gaze sweeping over the bodies hanging on both sides of the dungeon walls.

Zhao Yong'an, Xu Yi, Xie Pinglan, Li Junyi, Zhao Ran'er... The names flooded back to him, each one unforgettable, seared into the recesses of his memory. His talent had spared him the fate of livestock, but what if he had no talent?

Remembering his mission, An Jing forced his eyes shut. He couldn't let anger cloud his judgment as there were still many children alive in the cells. Most of them had succumbed to exhaustion, save for a few who remained conscious enough to groan in a daze. He recognized the scent of the anhedonic and realized that it was used to keep these boys and girls docile, preventing them from resisting, harming themselves, or observing their surroundings.

An Jing silently gazed at their faces, recalling each of them with perfect clarity. They were the young disaster survivors who had been eliminated over the last few months. While a few were still missing, it appeared most of them had remained here, waiting for death to come.

"The keys are up ahead."

Guided by the increasingly cold mysterious voice, An Jing looked up and found the dungeon exit. The exit was manned by an older cultist who was currently fast asleep in his chair with his head tipped sideways. Despite a full head of white hair, he seemed surprisingly hale and hearty. An Jing recognized the man as Instructor Song, whom he only saw occasionally. So this was his guard post.

It made sense. No matter how lax the oversight or how easy it was to watch over the children, someone still had to guard the exit. On closer inspection, An Jing noticed an empty glass on the table. Was the old man taking the anhedonic to help him sleep?

Hah! So the cruelty and horror makes him uneasy? He's completely unworthy of the demon cult!

An Jing spotted multiple sets of three keys hanging on the wall.

"Take the keys."

Narrowing his gaze, An Jing stared at the old man in front. While the old man was also an Aura Realm martialist, he was thankfully past his prime. So if he suddenly woke up, An Jing might still have a chance for a quick win. The old man slept deeply while An Jing moved silently, retrieved the key, and returned without making a sound. Instructor Song remained completely unresponsive the whole time, and An Jing even caught a whiff of alcohol.

He's mixing herbs and booze?

An Jing was speechless. Given that level of competence, he could twist the old man's head off with just one hand. But it wasn't the right time for that.

Keys in hand, An Jing quickly crawled out the vent and painstakingly restored the metal bars with the wooden sticks. Though the bars had a slight bend, it was imperceptible to the average eye.

"Go now." The mysterious voice sounded almost excited. "Head to the hidden room in the next building."

"Alright."

An Jing's heart hammered in his chest as he drew a deep breath, his eyes abruptly snapping toward the main building. "Wait, I hear something over there!"

Having mustered the fundamentals of Sword of Tranquility, An Jing tempered the rusty blade with his anger, hatred, and powerlessness, which dramatically heightened his perception. The contemplation technique significantly sharpened his senses, enabling him to spot shadowy figures slowly converging on the eastern farm plots.

"Perhaps this is another test. Indulgence has its limits after all." The mysterious voice sounded calm once more. "Will you use this chaos to retreat, or will you follow my instructions?"

"Do you even have to ask?" An Jing headed straight for the hidden room. "Once I make up my mind, I never change it."

He walked briskly down the long path that connected the dungeon and the hidden room, arriving within moments. Like the dungeon, the hidden room was located within the mountain, locked behind large black metal doors.

"Open the door." A tremor ran through the mysterious voice, breaking its usual calm.

Setting the dungeon key aside, An Jing proceeded to test the two remaining keys. The first wouldn't turn, but he calmly inserted the second. He turned the key and the door was unlocked. The Heavenly Demon Cult's hidden room revealed itself to An Jing.

1. A nobleman who has seen a living animal cannot bear to see it die, hence he keeps away from the kitchen. ☜