Red frowned, still staring at the sword in Domeron’s scabbard without moving.

“Take a healing pill, quickly!” Aurelia’s voice reached his ears. “You are going to pass out from blood loss!”

The youth felt the blood pouring down from his back, pooling beneath him. He couldn’t imagine what his back looked like at that moment, but even then he was hesitating, lingering on the feeling that black-red flame invoked in him.

A resonance from something inside his own body. Something similar to the crimson mist, but not quite the same. Then, beneath that, a feeling of extreme anger and animosity, indignation at the existence of that flame.

Red knew these feelings came from the crimson mist, yet he couldn’t help but feel his own mind be affected by these emotions, too. He gritted his teeth and tried to push back against the invasive thoughts in his head, judging it to be of more importance than healing himself at the moment.

When Domeron saw the youth was still refusing to take a healing pill, the smile disappeared from his face.

“Is something wrong?” Domeron asked with concern.

“What are you doing, you moron?!” Aurelia was far less tactful. “Do you want to die?! Take the pill already!”

Their voices got fainter and fainter as Red focused on the feelings inside his body. He closed his eyes, and almost by instinct, entered the meditative state. He was at a point of mastery of this technique that a mere thought and intent of his part was enough to enter into this state.

When Red peered inside his own body, he was immediately shocked. The crimson mist, previously reduced to the weakest it had ever been, was now flaring through every part of his body, regaining its former strength and even going beyond it. It was under a tempestuous that just by peering into it was almost enough to make the youth lose his calm.

‘Where is it drawing this strength from?’

Red didn’t understand how the crimson mist still had power to rampage about his body, but he knew he couldn’t let it continue. He tried to reach out to it, to communicate with it through his expanded awareness like he did many times before. As soon as his consciousness touched it, though, he felt an explosion inside his mind.

Rage. Unbridled, powerful, primal.

Something that couldn’t be expressed into words for Red’s mind, but deep and insidious enough to drown his consciousness.

The crimson mist was outraged. It couldn’t accept what it just saw.

Red only felt this kind of reaction from the being inside his body a handful of times before and on all these occasions, he was just a few steps away from losing his mind to these overwhelming feelings. Back then, only one thing worked to keep himself sane.

The youth focused what little of his consciousness remained functioning into a single image. A white slate, an image he remembered clearly from when he escaped from the underground.

A headstone with a phrase and will that was uninhibited by time and space.

A cooling sensation spread through his mind, putting out the flames of anger that threatened to consume him. This feeling didn’t stop there either, though, as it seemed to reach towards the crimson mist inside his body, trying to instill serenity into it, too.

Red expected a fierce battle to take place inside his body between these two forces, but instead, the crimson mist offered no resistance. It slowly retreated into its original form, at the center of Red’s torso, still weak and in the process of recovering.

The youth reached out to it and the only response he got back was a sensation of relief. The strange energy coursing through his body disappeared just like that, as if it had never been there in the first place.

Yet, he didn’t have time to celebrate. As soon as the crisis inside his body and mind was dealt with, he felt a wave of weakness assault his physical form.

He opened his eyes in a flash. Aurelia’s alarmed voice immediately reached him again.

“… die here, I will haunt your soul in the afterlife!”

Ahead of him, he felt Domeron approaching fluctuation.

“Red, can you hear me?” the swordsman asked.

Red weakly raised his hand, as if to stop him from coming any closer. It seemed to work as Domeron froze in his steps. Then, with his other hand, Red reached into the side of his waist for his pouch.

Luckily enough, the bag was still there. Its materials were made sturdy enough so it wouldn’t be cut apart from his belt in case Red needed to reach for an item in an emergency. It just so happened the current situation was pretty dire.

He felt around before grasping a cold glass bottle. Without hesitation, Red dragged it out of his pouch and squeezed the bottle, shattering it apart and grabbing the two pills inside of it through the shards.

He shoved them into his mouth.

It took a few seconds, but the pills started to work on his wounds.

Red grunted in pain as the laceration and puncture all around his body started to close up. His back, most of all, burned with unbearable pain, as it seemed that even with two pills the healing power was not enough to close off all the wounds made to his flesh.

The youth could only grit his teeth and bear through the pain. A minute later, Red felt the healing power in his body wane, and while the wounds in his body were not all healed, he felt some semblance of strength returning to him.

He sat up and looked at Domeron, who was watching him with a concerned expression a few meters away.

The swordsman sighed. “I thought I was supposed to be the one protecting you.”

“None of us could have expected this.” Red shook his head. “Besides, you seem to have dealt with the biggest issue quite easily.”

He looked over at the ghoul. The black-red flames had disappeared, but the ghoul remained dead. It seemed all it took was a single blow.

“I wasn’t intent on using it.” Domeron said. “Unfortunately, I had to act quickly.”

Red frowned. “What is it? A treasure sword of some kind?”

The swordsman hesitated. “… Not a treasure. The sword is quite ordinary. It only serves as a host for the spirit.”

“A spirit?” Red was confused.

“A sword-spirit of slaughter, to be exact.” Domeron nodded.

“Damn it, I knew there was something wrong with him!” Aurelia said with genuine shock. “He’s a maniac!”

Red ignored her, but the alarm in her voice made him put his guard up.

The principle behind spirits was something that governed a lot of the knowledge of cultivation, and part of the reason why this energy was called Spiritual Energy in the first place. The youth’s limited understanding was that through Spiritual Energy, one could give anything meaning and in turn spirituality. It was how Spiritual Arts could come into being, how one could be corrupted by external energies, amidst many other things.

This principle could act through living matter or through inanimate objects. It could even manifest through something immaterial and abstract.

When this spirituality became powerful enough through deliberate actions or otherwise, a spirit would be born. It was a conscious being, granted life and meaning through the actions leading to its creation in the first place, composed entirely of Spiritual Energy and tied to object or principle that granted it life in the first place.

Spirits were capable of many impressive feats, some even beyond what humans could achieve, and as such, they were of invaluable help to a lot of cultivators, whether it be in making their treasures that much more powerful or in managing their hidden lands. The spirit hawk Red met before, for instance, was such an existence, responsible not only for managing the hidden inheritance realm but also for choosing a disciple for its master.

However, creating a spirit was a monumental task, deliberately or not. Often, one needed a deep understanding of principles governing the world around them and to immerse themselves into them wholly for untold or intense periods of time before a spirit could even be born. It was often something only a cultivator with a lot of time, knowledge, and resources in hand would be able to achieve.

Red could only imagine what kinds of actions and living would be required to birth a supposed spirit of slaughter, much more so by a mere mortal.

“Is it your spirit?” Red asked.

“… Yes.” Domeron nodded.

“How many people did you kill?”

“I don’t know.”

Red frowned, not quite sure what to say.

“You don’t understand, Red!” Aurelia said. “A spirit of slaughter is a demonic spirit! It thrives off of killing others to become stronger. Only absolute lunatics and mass murderers are capable of giving birth to one!”

For a sect cultivator to say that, Red could only imagine what kind of dangers this could represent. Even then, none of these demonic feats sounded too different from what he was capable of achieving with his own blood magic. It would be hypocritical of him to judge Domeron for it.

Above that, when he looked at the swordsman, Red just couldn’t see a lunatic or mass murderer the woman claimed him to be.

He gave the man a deep gaze. “The mountain of bodies you told me about before… That wasn’t just a metaphor?”

Domeron smiled. “Unfortunately not.”

“Do you regret it?”

“My only regret was that I should have been more cautious to not draw the attention of the wrong people.” Domeron said. “A bit of restraint would have allowed me to walk in this path for much longer. Everyone I killed either deserved it or was my opponent in battle. I took great joy in bathing in their blood, but never did I stray from my principles as a warrior.”

Red frowned, having a hard time matching the picture the swordsman was painting to him with the image he had of him in his mind.

“Is that why you and Hector never pressed me about my problems?” Red asked.

“I have an open mind, and Hector shares in my belief somewhat.” Domeron said. “Demonic and other heretical powers are dangerous and corrupting, but in the hands of a cultivator capable of resisting its influence, it is just another weapon. Of course, this is often the justification many cultivators who have fallen to corruption give for their actions, but it doesn’t make that statement any less true.”

“What about demonification? Did you suffer from it?”

Domeron smiled. “I was always left-handed. It’s why I had to cut off my own arm.”

Red was surprised. “… but you said-”

“I lied.” Domeron cut him off. “But now that you know the truth, do you still think that I’m a traitor?”

For some reason, knowing what he knew now made Red more compelled to trust the man than any of his earlier explanations.