Paragon Of Sin

Chapter 1729: The Red Dust Flows; Fourth Calamity (2)

With practiced etiquette, the youth with two distinctively unique pupils—a peerlessly sharp saber and an all-encompassing sunlit star—carefully cleaned up the table, doing so with diligence and movements that could inspire indescribable emotions, entirely unbefitting a five-year-old youth, as if this specific event, this specific activity was mentally executed an uncountable amount of times.

Each piece of tableware was emblazoned with marks representing the Red Dove City’s Wei Clan, and as they were collected, flashes of nostalgic emotions flickered within the youth’s uncommonly steady gaze.

The young man, beautiful woman, and middle-aged woman had long since left. An extraordinary impulse crashed into the youth’s mind repeatedly, insisting and luring him outside to follow.

Needing him to follow.

The sounds of loud voices outside rang, indicating a great commotion was occurring, yet none of that moved the youth’s heart. Not even the faint, indistinct calls of his older brother were enough to do so. His mental fortitude prevented such indirect influence from affecting his heart or soul in the slightest.

This task wasn’t something he could ignore.

Not again.

After cleaning and clearing the table, the youth deeply inhaled before exhaling a breath of turbid air laced with expelled regret that no longer existed.

To him, this moment happened over a century ago. To many cultivators, this degree of time was utterly insignificant, like a single day for a mortal, easily forgotten. But there were things where, even after an eternity had passed, the feeling would feel as recent as a mortal’s current exhaled breath.

The youth caressed the chair that sat the beautiful woman. Her face was hazy here, but in his soul, that visage of unsurpassed grace that no other woman could hope to match in his eyes was something that couldn’t be forgotten even if Hell succeeded in eradicating his existence.

She had asked him to clear the table all those years ago, yet despite being so young, the youth’s rebellious streak often reared its head, and he stubbornly refused. He had so stupidly refused!

But just as his father was about to deliver some old-fashioned teachings to the youth, she—his mother—started to convulse mid-sentence. And then… and then… when she opened her eyes, well and healthy, her eyes no longer contained the warmth that his mother had. She no longer had the faintest idea who she was or where she was.

He could still recall the feeling of his heart sinking as he tried to reach out with his tiny hands to the bottom of the coldest depths from a single sentence:

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”

That moment… changed… everything.

It spurred his father into desperation to find a solution to her condition, leading them out of that door, and then out of their lives—forever.

“Chains of my past life;

shackles of unknown future;

Present is unchanged.”

The youth recited this poem that his older brother had taught him, repeating that it was often the mantra that he used to ease the difficulties of cultivation.

ʼThe fourth calamity—The Pit of Mortal Despair,ʼ the youth mused thoughtfully as his heart settled down.

ʼThe faces are unclear, lacking soul and essence, yet the situation and circumstance blinds the eyes and fools the soul. To grant them their greatest wishes…ʼ

In the vast world of cultivation, there was a universally recognized mental affliction referred to as mental demons. They affect the psyche, influencing one’s operation of mental energies, distorting memories, affecting decisions, and corroding the normally healthy psyche. If a mental demon entrenched itself deep enough in one’s heart and mind, Cultivation Deviation could occur as well as Cultivation Mutation.

The term ʼdemonʼ for beings born out of the Heavenly Phenomenon, the Soul Impartation of the Heavens, often generated a naturally occurring power that could influence mental, physical, and essence in strange ways, causing Cultivation Deviation and abnormal unpredictable mutations. Demons were referred to as such as a whole and viewed as vile beings because of this. They were even called the physical embodiment of mental demons.

Only by having a strong Heart of Cultivation and stronger mental strength can a cultivator dispel these mental demons or ward them off from occurring, staying true to themselves, and maintaining the stability of their psyche.

The fourth calamity, the Calamity of Mortal Despair, was the tribulation of mental demons. Throughout one’s whole life, especially for sentient and sapient creatures such as humans, beasts, etc., essentially, living beings with strong intelligence and control, were prone to making mistakes and continuously developing mental demons.

It could be something almost insignificant, such as peeing one’s bed until they were fifteen years of age, and if their society and culture saw this in a negative light, it would become a mental demon that could erupt off some light taunting or be called an incompetent child.

It could be something significant, such as watching your entire family die one by one to hunters, unable to stop them, and then surviving by sheer luck, constantly reminded that the ones responsible continued to breathe fresh air and live comfortable, unrepentant lives.

These things could distort otherwise normal personalities in ways akin to mutations. They can affect cultivation as well, both negatively and positively, largely dependent on the strength of one’s Heart of Cultivation.

ʼTo twist past regrets into hope, radiant and pure.ʼ The youth thought as he gazed at the opened door that pulsated with a beckoning power, urging him through.

In the eyes of others, this door led to an outside world, but to youth’s Celestial Eyes, it was red dust swirling chaotically like the walls of a hurricane. Currently, he sat at its center—the eye of the storm.

This calamity would be the youth’s hardest yet.

After all, was he not a cesspool of despair? If not for his Heart of Cultivation and willpower that had been repeatedly refined and tempered by so many tribulations, he wouldn’t be here. If not for his support, those who stood beside him, urging him to continue forward, would he still be here?

Mei Mei.

Her words had saved his life after he claimed absolute brutal revenge, causing enough death to fill a cemetery and rivers of blood for everything he’d lost.

Phantom Rogue.

If not for that Dark Cultivator’s valiant resistance against fate, using whatever means necessary, and failing despite struggling so deeply, would he not have conceded to his fate? The fate that mortals could never challenge the eighteen levels of Hell and possibly survive was crushed by that staunch will, reminding Wei Wuyin that he could never stop struggling, never stop fighting, and must always move forward.

Always.

ʼBrother…ʼ The youth hesitated as all those guiding memories that were as bright as the most brilliant light surged within his mind. While completing the task that his mother had said in another life was important to lift that burden on his heart, there was a hint of stalling. No matter how fake the world felt, how could he follow along to such depressing depths? Willingly sink further into this… reality.

But he must.

The Calamity of Mortal Despair was not about seeing through the illusions, but experiencing it and resisting the despair. To live it.

That reality.

With solid, firm steps, the youth exited the room to the outside as his Celestial Eyes receded in full force. Since he began cultivating this Spiritual Spell, his Celestial Eyes, something a part of ancestral lineage, he had never once deactivated its passive functions, especially the Gaze of the Celestial.

“Past ties bind present;

Will resets, mind resets, free;

Future in my eye.”

The red dust formed objects, weather, and people that were as true as one could imagine. The youth felt the red dust enter his lungs, caressing his soul, attempting to adhere to it when despair was generated from its deepest depths, desiring to entrench itself within.

As long as he felt true despair, plunged into the darkest depths of that negative, irrevocable emotion, the red sand would gather onto his soul and body until the very end. Then, Soul Deterge Mist would descend in full, cleansing him of his memories and sense of self as if justifying such eradication of himself.

But for those like him, Inheritors of Sin, if their souls and bodies could not withstand such forceful cleansing, they would vanish entirely—body, soul, and existence.

There was no afterlife.

There was no samsara.

This was it. Their final fight.

And he refused to lose.

“Little Wei! Come here!”

The voice of that steady, strong, masculine voice that was unmistakable to the youth, belonging to none other than his father, resounded out with authority.

Wei Wuyin reaffirmed his heart as the throbbing of his grey, draconic heart warmed his body, his two pupils and the mark on his glabella released gentle glows of light.

Today—he will not despair.

No, today—they will not despair.