The Heroine Must Die

Flower Wife immediately raised a hand, blocking his view. “None of your business. This is between Lauren and me.”

“Tsk. Stingy as hell. What’s wrong with letting us take a look?”

She spat lightly in his direction. “Get lost, you damn butcher. Since when do men get to peek at women’s business?”

Butcher clicked his tongue and retreated awkwardly. “Fine, fine. Keep your secrets.”

Flower Wife’s expression darkened as she finished reading the jade slip. Lauren was going to the Dark Souls Land.

Even most demonic cultivators wouldn’t dare step into that place. What the hell was that girl thinking? She looked up at Kareem. “Kid. What’s Lauren’s cultivation level now?”

“Miss Lauren is in the late Spirit Severing stage.”

“What?” A sharp inhale swept through the gathered crowd.

Late Spirit Severing? It felt like only yesterday that scrawny little girl had stumbled into Sky-covering Valley, barely at Qi Refining. How many years had it even been?

And now she was already late Spirit Severing. No wonder she was the chosen one—the one favored by the dragon behind her.

Flower Wife let out a long breath. “Since that’s the case…”

She slid several items off the ring paddle wrapped around her finger—protective talismans, devil crystals, a black robe woven with demonic threads. One by one, she placed them into a storage pouch and handed it to Kareem.

“Give this to her. Tell her to be careful.”

......

Kareem delivered the pouch without delay.

Lauren opened it and silently examined the contents. Her fingers tightened slightly around the fabric of the black robe.

She lifted her gaze toward Sky-covering Valley in the distance.

If she hadn’t met Flower Wife back then—hadn’t been taken in and protected—her life would never have been this smooth.

Hell, she might not even have survived. She set out after personally escorting Kareem back to the Thunder Sect.

......

For miles around, the land was desolate. Not a single bird call. The silence was oppressive.

When she reached the Demon River—the boundary dividing north and south—Lauren stopped and put on the black robe Flower Wife had given her. A faint demonic aura seeped from its threads, perfectly masking her spiritual presence.

“Once we cross the Demon River, we enter Demonic Cult territory,” Edmund reminded her.

“I know.” He hesitated. “I didn’t want you to cause trouble.”

She pulled up the hood calmly. “He’s my senior brother. Of course I’m going.”

Her voice was steady. “When Yusuf hunted us like dogs back then, he was the one who came to get me. Now he’s in danger. I won’t stand by.”

“I know,” Edmund said quietly. “That’s why I didn’t stop you.”

She adjusted the robe and stepped forward. “Then let’s go.”

Her destination was clear. Dark Souls Land.

......

In this world, there were many invisible forces—things you couldn’t see, but that undeniably existed.

Spiritual energy. Demonic energy.

Spiritual energy was subtle, flowing gently through heaven and earth. Demonic energy was different—violent, turbulent, raw.

Immortal cultivators selected spiritual roots to guide their cultivation. The Demonic Cult wasn’t nearly as picky. Anyone willing could absorb demonic energy.

And the speed? Terrifyingly fast. Far faster than orthodox cultivation.

The exception was the Dark Spirit Root.

Those born with it were considered to possess demonic physiques—natural vessels for demonic power. They could purify demonic energy to an extent, reducing the risk of losing control.

Ordinary demonic cultivators weren’t so lucky.

Demonic energy was inherently harsher than spiritual energy. Reckless absorption led to instability. During breakthroughs, many would lose control entirely—descending into bloodthirsty madness, killing indiscriminately until they either self-destructed or were cut down.

That unpredictability was why righteous sects treated them as threats.

Years ago, after a brutal war, the Demon River was established as a boundary. North and south were divided. Demonic cultivators would not cross into immortal territory, and vice versa.

The younger generation had never even seen a true demonic cultivator.

Lauren herself knew little—so Flower Wife anticipated her prejudice and included a detailed explanation in a separate letter.

Over millennia, the Demonic Cult had gradually uncovered the root cause of demonic deviation.

Demonic energy stirred agitation. Combined with unchecked greed for rapid strength, collapse was inevitable. So their leaders preached restraint—absorb slowly, stabilize the foundation, endure tribulations steadily.

But reality was cruel. Why did most people join the Demonic Cult in the first place?

Because they lacked talent. Because they were desperate. Because they wanted power fast. And in the demonic realm, strength was everything. The weak were prey. There was no room for slow progress.

So the mortality rate was horrifyingly high. And yet their numbers always exceeded those of immortal cultivators.

Lauren was certain Tarot had been absorbing demonic energy.

His Dark Spirit Root allowed purification—but even so, Master had never allowed him to absorb recklessly. That was why he’d been sent out for centuries to collect debts and temper himself.

As Drake’s disciple, cultivating for hundreds of years and still stuck at Nascent Soul… He was probably the slowest “genius” in history.

If not for the fact that he would age out without breaking through to Spirit Severing, Master would likely have kept suppressing his advancement.

By the time she finished organizing her thoughts, she had already reached the first teleportation array marked on the map.

In Demonic Cult territory, it was called the Heavenly Demon Well.

She handed over a Devil Crystal. The demonic cultivator guarding the array barely glanced at her before letting her pass.

The teleportation array cut the distance drastically. When she stepped out again, the air itself felt heavier.

She unfolded the map. Dark Souls Land lay fifty miles west.

Lauren moved to a deserted area and attempted to contact Tarot through their communication method.

No response. Her expression tightened.

She immediately activated a sword talisman and sent a message to Gerald, asking about Tarot’s soul lamp. The reply came swiftly.

The flame was dim. Its fate uncertain.

She had rushed here the moment she learned the lamp was unstable. Only half a day had passed since Gerald reported the anomaly.

“Senior Brother… hold on.” Lauren closed her eyes for a brief second, then stepped into Dark Souls Land.

The forest swallowed her whole. More than eighty percent of the trees towered over ten feet high, their trunks twisted and blackened as if soaked in centuries of demonic energy. The air was thick, oppressive—like something watching from every direction.

The birds perched above were wrong. Jet-black feathers. Blood-red eyes. Too much demonic energy.

They tracked her movements with unnatural focus. A few bolder ones launched themselves at her face with shrill screeches.

Lauren didn’t even slow down. She flicked her fingers—ice condensed instantly, freezing the birds midair into solid lumps. With a casual motion, she smashed them against nearby tree trunks.

Crack. Frozen bodies shattered into shards.

Flower Wife’s notes had mentioned the first danger in Dark Souls Land: the Bloodthirsty Black Crow. So this was it.

The number of crows grew steadily. They didn’t attack all at once—just probed her defenses, circling, waiting. Testing her.

“Edmund,” she said quietly, “have you located Senior Brother yet?”

Edmund perched on her shoulder, his senses extending outward. “No. But there are two Demonic Cultivators about ten miles ahead. We should detour. No need to complicate things.”

“Alright.” Lauren had no intention of exposing herself as an immortal cultivator before she found Tarot.

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