Volume One Chapter Two: The Torch Dragon Carries the Flame

"Ah... You actually possess the 'Candle Dragon Holding Fire' fate—this is impossible..." The faceless beggar screamed in terror.

Drip... Drip...

Blood streamed down Montage’s arm, and wherever it touched, the black leeches instantly turned to ash. Even the bone spike lodged in his shoulder blackened and corroded as though eaten away by acid. The stench of rot was overwhelming, making Montage’s head spin and his vision blur.

Seizing the opportunity, Montage kicked the beggar away and staggered backward. The spots where his blood had splattered on the faceless beggar’s body were now pitted and scarred, as if splashed with sulfuric acid.

Despite such a heavy loss, the monster had no intention of giving up. It began to emit the wailing cries of an infant, its form twisting violently before exploding in a burst of flesh.

A fine drizzle began to fall from the sky.

The beggar’s body dissolved into countless tiny leeches, all surging toward Montage, quickly engulfing him.

Agony!

A pain that tore at his very soul!

The leeches frantically gnawed at his flesh—though each one died, burned to ash upon contact with his blood, more and more kept coming, drilling desperately into his body.

Loss of blood made Montage’s consciousness waver. In the haze, he seemed to see a blazing sun, its light so warm, so inviting. Instinctively, he reached out, trying to grasp it, but it was always just out of reach. His eyelids grew heavier, until finally, they closed.

A dragon’s roar erupted from the flame-shaped birthmark on Montage’s chest.

The leeches clinging to him disintegrated instantly into dust. A bronze-colored seed fell beside him, and in the next instant, it moved on its own—flying straight into Montage’s brow.

A surge of mist, and a shadow appeared, sweeping Montage’s body up and whisking him away.

Gong... Gong... Gong...

Deep, resonant chimes sounded.

Montage slowly opened his eyes to find himself lying inside a dilapidated building. Around him, several others lay sprawled in disarray.

"Where am I? Wasn’t I eaten by a monster? How did I end up here?"

Montage rubbed his head, trying to recall what had happened. His memory ended with the moment he was enveloped by the creature—he had no recollection of how he got here.

He looked around; the environment felt strangely familiar, as if he’d seen it before.

"Bird Street?"

When Montage saw a tattered mural, realization struck. This was the old cathedral in the rundown district where he lived.

Since childhood, his family had warned him never to go near the cathedral. But they never told him why.

Just then, the mural before him began to writhe, as if coming to life. By the moonlight streaming through the window, Montage saw what the murals truly were—not paintings at all, but human skins, stretched and hung up like grotesque trophies.

He even recognized two familiar faces among them—former neighbors who had once argued with his family, then vanished one day without explanation. His grandmother had told him they’d moved away. He never imagined they’d been devoured by the monster lurking here.

The skins twitched, something beneath them shifting. Suddenly, the skins fused together, forming a monstrous being crowned with nine human faces.

"Five?"

The nine-faced creature glanced at Montage and the others lying on the floor, murmuring softly.

Before Montage could grasp the meaning, the faces on the creature’s body began to move, each one extending from its flesh, jaws opening to bite down on a different target.

Montage was not spared. The face that lunged for him was that of a child—an innocent visage now twisted and grotesque.

"Ah—"

A sharp pain shot through Montage’s arm. He looked down in horror to see a child’s face growing from his flesh, contorted and grimacing, its mouth working open and shut. Every time it opened its jaws, he felt as if he were being bitten anew. The skin of his arm turned deathly pale, like a corpse’s.

"Is this it? Am I going to die?"

The thought flickered through Montage’s mind. In this era, death was nothing unusual—especially in the outer districts. Yet now, faced with his own end, he felt a surge of unwillingness, of fear.

He was so close to the college entrance exams. Soon, he’d be able to take his family into the inner city. To die now... he couldn’t accept it!

A fierce desire to survive surged within him, and deep in his consciousness, a seed of spiritual essence began to sprout.

Boom—

A sound like muffled thunder echoed in Montage’s mind.

Instantly, the world before his eyes shifted and changed, and he found himself standing on barren, desolate ground. A withered, giant tree loomed over him.

"Where is this place?"

Montage looked around—the sky was gray and oppressive, the earth scorched and lifeless as if ravaged by flame. Except for the tree, there was nothing.

"Are you willing to become the new guardian of the Myriad Demon Tree?"

A voice spoke suddenly.

"Who’s there?"

Montage glanced around, but saw nothing.

"Could it be... this tree?"

He eyed the withered giant skeptically.

"Are you willing to become the Myriad Demon Tree’s new guardian?"

The voice came again, and this time Montage noticed it emanated from the tree itself. The tree was so massive that its boughs blocked the view of whatever might be hidden above.

"The guardian of the Myriad Demon Tree? I’d like to, but I don’t even know if I’ll survive this ordeal," Montage replied helplessly.

No sooner had he finished speaking than a shadow emerged from within the tree—a beast, enormous as a hill, resembling a wild boar. It lowered its head, regarding Montage with solemn eyes.

"You need only answer me—will you be the Myriad Demon Tree’s guardian, or not?"

"Senior, could you tell me what the Myriad Demon Tree is? What does it do?" Montage asked, seizing the chance to converse.

"The Myriad Demon Tree is an ancient spiritual root. It can absorb spiritual essence, refine it, and even create living beings. Its uses are endless. In time, you’ll come to understand its powers. Now, tell me—will you be its new guardian?"

The beast asked again.

"It’s not that I’m ungrateful, but I’m under attack by a monster. I might not survive. If I accept and then die, wouldn’t that waste your good intentions?" Montage said, bitterness in his voice.

"Once you become the guardian and awaken the Myriad Demon Tree, none in this world will be able to harm you," the beast replied with disdain. To possess such a treasure and still fear a mere pest—one might as well bash their own head in.

"What must I do?" Montage’s eyes lit up.

"Listen with your heart for the Myriad Demon Tree’s pulse. Form a connection with it. Then nurture it with your spiritual essence," the beast instructed.

Montage did as he was told.

Crack—

Before Montage could make sense of what was happening, fine cracks appeared all over the giant tree before him.

"Damn!"

His scalp tingled. The towering tree was toppling toward him, its immense trunk blotting out the sky. There was nowhere to run.

"I’m doomed!"

He hadn’t expected that pouring his spiritual power into the Myriad Demon Tree would cause it to split.

Boom!

The giant tree crashed down.

Montage squeezed his eyes shut instinctively.

Moments passed.

He realized he wasn’t crushed.

Puzzled, he opened his eyes and found himself back in the cathedral.

A searing pain in his arm snapped his thoughts back to reality.

He looked down—the child's face had reached his shoulder.

"Little one, I’ve exhausted my strength and must sleep for a while. You’ve now established a connection with the Myriad Demon Tree. From here on, the path is yours to walk," the beast’s voice faded into nothingness.