Path of the Demon Ascendant

After returning to the fog-filled system space, Strider reflects deeply on the final moment of his life.

After some thought he thinks that the old man is the major villain in this copy world and the young man needed to be saved for the total completion of the copy world.

After finalizing all the leads in this copy world he decided to change his talent to resentment.

"System, start the simulation"

[Ok, host]

[Starting simulation

Talent - Resentment

3.2.1...]

Loading Environment...

Location: Rural Village |

[You awaken to the familiar thatched roof of a small hut, sunlight streaming through cracks in the walls.]

[At the tender age of two, you defied expectations. While most toddlers were still stumbling with their first steps, you not only walked confidently but also began to talk. The villagers, accustomed to the usual milestones of childhood, were astonished by your rapid development. You didn't merely utter incoherent phrases; your words carried clarity, a spark of intelligence that was far beyond your years.]

[By the age of three, you astounded the villagers even further. Your speech had evolved to mimic that of an adult, your vocabulary rich and your sentences precise. Conversations with you left the elders wide-eyed with surprise. You spoke with wisdom that seemed unbefitting of your age, offering insights and observations that hinted at a mind far more advanced than any child they had known. The villagers began to regard you with a mixture of admiration and awe, whispering among themselves that you were destined for greatness.]

[At six years old, you solidified your place as the most knowledgeable child in the village. While others your age were just beginning to grasp the basics of learning, you had already mastered subjects that even the adults struggled to understand. You could recite historical tales, explain the mechanics of simple tools, and even suggest solutions to small village problems. Elders sought your advice on matters of trade, weather patterns, and crop cultivation. Your unique combination of intellect and eloquence made you the pride of the village, a beacon of hope in uncertain times.]

[However, your idyllic life took a turn when famine struck the region. Crops withered, livestock perished, and the once-prosperous village faced the specter of starvation. Desperation hung heavy in the air, and the village elders convened to make a difficult decision. To survive, they would need to relocate to a more fertile region. The decision was not made lightly, but the people knew it was their only chance at a future.]

[The journey was long and arduous, but your group was not alone. As you traveled through the desolate landscape, others joined your ranks—families, farmers, and wanderers, all seeking refuge from the famine. The group swelled to 200 individuals, united by a shared objective: to find a new home where they could rebuild their lives. Each new addition brought stories of struggle and resilience, painting a grim picture of the widespread devastation caused by the famine.]

[Despite the dire circumstances, you remained a source of inspiration for the group. Your sharp mind and quick thinking often helped solve problems along the way—finding safe routes, identifying edible plants, and lifting spirits with your hopeful outlook. You became a symbol of determination and perseverance, reminding everyone that even in the darkest times, there was a glimmer of hope.]

[That night was unusually quiet, the kind of stillness that weighed heavily on the soul. The migration group, exhausted from their arduous journey, gathered around a makeshift fire to share their evening meal. The food, though meager, provided a semblance of comfort in the bleakness of their situation. However, you sat apart from the group, your sharp intuition warning you of impending danger. Somehow, you just knew that tonight's meal was poisoned, orchestrated by the same old man who had caused your death in the previous simulation.]

[With a grim determination, you skipped the meal, retreating into the shadows of the campsite where you couldn't be seen. Stripping off your clothes to avoid staining them, you bit down hard on your thumb until blood welled up. The pain was sharp, but you ignored it, focusing on the task at hand. Drawing on your knowledge of the forbidden Demon God Catalogue, you began tracing intricate symbols across your body with your own blood. Each stroke of the symbols carried a weight of ancient power, a dark energy that seemed to pulse with life. Your thumb bled profusely, the crimson liquid running down your arm, but you pressed on, unwavering.]

[When the final symbol was complete, the bleeding stopped abruptly, as though the ritual had sealed the wound itself. You stood, pale and trembling from the blood loss, but resolute. Pulling your clothes back on, you returned to the outskirts of the group and feigned weakness, collapsing among the others just as the effects of the poison began to take hold. One by one, the migrants fell unconscious, unaware of the sinister events unfolding around them.]

[As in the previous simulation, the old man's 30 hooded underlings arrived. These lifeless, rotting figures carried the unconscious villagers toward the hidden cave behind the waterfall. This time, however, you had prepared. Beforehand, you had collected animal blood, scattering drops of it along the trail as you were carried, knowing it would serve as a marker for someone who might intervene.]

[The cave was just as you remembered it: damp, dimly lit, and foreboding. The old man was already there, surrounded by the same mysterious array of symbols etched into the stone floor. His gnarled hands moved with practiced precision as he began chanting guttural syllables, filling the air with a dark resonance. The villagers, arranged in specific positions within the array, began losing their vitality. Their skin grew pallid, their life force draining away into the ritual.]

[But this time, your blood-marking plan worked. The young man from the first simulation arrived earlier than before. His voice boomed through the cavern, filled with righteous fury.]

"How dare you harm the innocent? Die!"

[With his sword raised, he charged at the old man, aiming for his neck. The old man hissed, enraged, as the ritual was interrupted. The clash between the two was intense, but the disruption had an unexpected side effect. The villagers, who had been drained to the brink of death, suddenly regained consciousness. Their bodies were frail, their breaths shallow, but their collective resentment surged as they realized who was responsible for their suffering.]

[You seized this moment. While the old man and the young man clashed, you began drawing a new array on the ground, using the techniques from the Demon God Catalogue. Your hands moved with frantic precision as you recited the forbidden syllables. With the last symbol in place, you sat in the center of the array, your voice rising in a final chant. As the ritual reached its climax, your heart stopped. Darkness consumed you, and you died.]