Cultivator of the End: I Refine My Own Death-Chapter 119 – Cult of the Living Husk

The path through the desolate hills was cloaked in an unnatural silence. Rin walked alone, his cloak tattered from the relentless winds and dust of the barren landscape. The sun hung low on the horizon, its crimson glow casting long shadows over the land, as though the world itself were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. In the distance, a faint but unmistakable aura of death lingered in the air—subtle, but undeniable. It was a scent that Rin had become intimately familiar with in his journey, the odor of ancient and forbidden things. He had crossed paths with many strange cults and twisted sects, but this one was different.

The Cult of the Living Husk.

Rin's senses were acute, sharper than ever before, and as he drew closer to their temple, he could feel the heavy presence of fanaticism hanging in the air, thick and suffocating. It was as though the very earth itself was imbued with the dark teachings of the cult. The Cult of the Living Husk believed that death was not an end but a transcendence, a state of being that transcended all human understanding. They worshipped death as the only truth, the only true existence, and they had taken their reverence to grotesque extremes. Their teachings were whispered through generations of death-obsessed adherents, passed down from the elders who had tasted death and lived to speak of it.

Rin's footsteps slowed as he approached the entrance, a massive gate adorned with the images of skeletal figures draped in tattered robes, their hands raised in eternal supplication. The temple itself was carved from the very bones of fallen giants, their bleached remains still holding the shape of some ancient beast long forgotten. The walls were etched with the dark symbols of death, runes that Rin recognized but had never bothered to study—symbols of Corpse Flame and Breathless Cultivation, techniques that many in the underworld had long sought to understand. These were not just rituals; they were the essence of life's inevitable decay.

As Rin stood before the gates, two robed figures appeared from the shadows. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes sunken as though they had long since given up on the world of the living. Their steps were slow, deliberate, as though the weight of their own mortality hung heavily on their shoulders. freewebnσvel.cøm

One of the figures stepped forward, eyes gleaming with a fanatical light. "You... you are the one, aren't you?" The voice was hollow, a rasping whisper, yet there was an unmistakable reverence in it. "The Herald of Death... the one who has transcended all limits. We have awaited your coming, child of decay. You walk the path that we, too, have walked—through death, through the ashes of the living. You are the one who will lead us to the next stage of existence."

Rin tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "The Herald of Death?" He repeated the words, his voice cold, indifferent. He had no time for the titles they bestowed on him. His gaze swept over the two cultists, studying them with clinical precision. The fanaticism in their eyes was palpable, and Rin could feel the weight of their devotion pressing in on him. "What is it that you worship?"

The cultist did not flinch at his coldness. "Death, the ultimate truth. The end of all things. The Cult of the Living Husk understands that only through death can one find true freedom. We shed our mortal coils to become one with the eternal cycle. We cast off our flesh and give ourselves fully to the void. It is in this, our death, that we become eternal."

Rin's lips twisted into a thin, cynical smile. "You speak of transcendence, yet you are bound by your own delusions. You are no different from the millions who cling to their fleeting lives. You seek to escape the inevitable by worshipping it."

The cultist's eyes gleamed. "You understand, then. You, too, have felt the pull of the void. You, too, seek the truth that lies beyond the veil of mortality. Join us. Become one with us. We will offer you everything—the deepest secrets of death, the rituals to bring forth the Corpse Flame and the art of Breathless Cultivation. You will have the power to transcend, to be reborn in death and become as we are—nothing but husks, living without breath, existing without fear."

Rin's gaze shifted to the massive stone door behind them. "And what do you ask in return?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the fanatic's speech with practiced ease.

The cultist bowed low, almost bowing to the earth itself in reverence. "We ask nothing but your allegiance. Your presence will guide us in our rites. The Cult of the Living Husk has always been a quiet force, moving in the shadows. But with you, with your power, we will finally step into the light."

Rin's eyes narrowed, a slow, deliberate calculation flickering behind his gaze. "Allegiance, you say? What makes you think I would align myself with a group of death-worshipping zealots like you?"

The cultist raised his head, his eyes wide with fervor. "Because you, Herald of Death, are destined to lead us. Your path is our path. Our strength will become yours. The ritual of the Living Husk awaits, and you alone can unlock it."

Rin took a step back, his expression impassive. "I don't need your rituals." His eyes hardened as he studied the cultists. "But you do have something I want."

A ripple of surprise passed through the cultist's expression, but he quickly masked it with a placid smile. "And what might that be, great one?"

Rin's voice dropped to a cold whisper, one full of disdain. "Knowledge. You speak of Corpse Flame and Breathless Cultivation—arts that are of interest to me. But the truth is, you are nothing but pawns in a much larger game. You have nothing of value that I cannot take from you."

The words hit like a strike to the gut, and for a brief moment, the cultist hesitated, but only for a moment. He recovered, his worshipful gaze not wavering. "Then... take what you wish. We are but vessels for the truth. If it serves the greater purpose, we shall offer you all that we possess."

Rin stepped forward with a calm, purposeful stride, his hand brushing against the surface of the temple's sacred altar, a great stone slab engraved with the runes of death. He could feel the energy pulsing beneath it—old, stagnant, but still potent. He turned to face the cultists once more, a flicker of cold amusement in his eyes. "I'll take everything. All of it. Your knowledge, your power, your lives."

With a sudden motion, Rin drew Mourning Fang from its sheath, the blade gleaming with a cold, dark light. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing the death energy around him to swell, to grow and thicken. He could feel the influence of the cult's rituals seeping into his senses, a maddening hum of power, of life and death, of flesh and spirit. It was intoxicating, yet shallow.

The cultists did not resist. They had already offered themselves, and Rin could taste their fervor, their blind belief, like the sweet tang of ripe fruit ready for harvest. He raised his dagger high, and the blade pulsed with energy as the air around him thickened, charged with the weight of death.

"Hundredfold Dying Intent," Rin murmured under his breath, the technique forming in his mind as the flames of death ignited within him. The energy surged outward, consuming everything in its path. The cultists stood frozen, unable to move, as the air around them thickened with the weight of a hundred thousand deaths. The flames of death curled from the dagger, wrapping around them like the tendrils of a ravenous beast, suffocating them in their own beliefs.

Rin did not pause, did not hesitate. He pulled the energy deeper, feeding it, nurturing it, until it exploded outward in a wave of devastation. The walls of the temple crumbled under the weight of the technique, the very bones that made up its structure turning to ash in an instant. The cultists screamed, but their cries were drowned by the flames, their bodies consumed by the very death they had worshipped.

In moments, nothing remained but the smoldering ruins of the temple and the twisted remnants of the cultists' once-proud devotion. Rin stood amidst the destruction, his breathing steady as he absorbed the last remnants of their power, their knowledge. He could feel the techniques of Corpse Flame and Breathless Cultivation unraveling in his mind, taking root in his Death Core. He had taken everything—everything they had to offer.

But something inside him shifted, something that hadn't been there before. There was no sense of victory, no sense of pride. Only emptiness. The cult's devotion had been hollow, and now it was gone—consumed by death, just as everything eventually would be.

Rin turned away from the smoldering remains, his steps deliberate, his mind turning over the knowledge he had gained. He no longer needed to justify his actions. Death was his path now, and those who worshipped it were just as fleeting as the world they inhabited.

"Death transcends all," he muttered to himself. "And I am its herald."

As he walked away, the smoke of the burning temple curling into the sky behind him, Rin could feel the first stirrings of the Heaven Chains beginning to tighten once more.

To be continued...