A split second before Lordi could form a coherent thought, reality splintered.
The world twisted, the ancestral shrine’s hall reassembling around him in a disorienting blink. Garrick Blackthorn stood nearby, his face a hollow mask, already turning toward Lordi as if to speak.
But Lordi didn’t wait. Couldn’t wait. The moment his boots touched solid ground, he moved. The Blood Spectre Footwork Art ignited under his skin, his body dissolving into a streak of crimson mist as he blasted past Garrick without a word. The air howled in his wake, the other sect members barely registering his flight.
He didn’t stop until the spooky shrine was far behind him, until the shadows of a secluded alcove swallowed him whole. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a war drum urging him forward. No time to think. No time to doubt.
"System!" The word ripped from his throat, raw with need. The holographic interface flickered to life before him, its cold blue glow cutting through the darkness. His fingers trembled—not with fear, but with kill hunger. "Bone Tempering Art. Smart Duration. One-click cultivation. Now."
Every syllable dripped with lethal intent. He wasn’t just preparing.
He was sharpening himself into a death weapon.
~ Ding! *System Notification Chime*
[AllFullOS: Version 1.0.0]
> All-Smart Full-Host Cultivation System™ is at your service!
> [OCC] - One-Click-Cultivation activated.
> Features: Temporary practice, smart duration, and questionable decision-making.
The moment the AllFullOS System seized control, the unnatural rage inside Lordi’s mind dissolved—not like a fire being doused, but like a parasite ripped from his skull, leaving behind a hollow, icy clarity. The killing intent that had consumed him moments before evaporated like poison mist under a merciless dawn, and for the first time since stepping into this cursed shrine, he could think. Official source is nοvelfire.net
And what he realized terrified him.
His breath hitched. Memories flashed—sharp, jagged, wrong. The Cherry Blossom Grove on their first day. The way the air had thickened, the way the petals didn’t fall so much as hang suspended, as if time itself had rotted. Garrick Blackthorn, a man who could shatter boulders with his bare hands, standing there like a doll, his eyes glassy, his voice not his own.
Lordi had barely escaped that day. Only because of the System.
And now, the truth slammed into him like a corpse falling from a noose.
It wasn’t the ghosts outside the estate.
No—not Krogh Hanz. Not anymore.
The evil ghost thing wearing Krogh Hanz’s face.
A second realization cracked through his skull, cold and grotesque. The Ancient Stone Well. The way Krogh had slaughtered Shirley Quinn’s entire Suicide Squad—stronger cultivators, veterans of the Abyss Pit Sect—without hesitation. Yet he’d spared Lordi. Not out of mercy. Not out of admiration.
Because they were useless to him.
Shirley and her squad? Eighth and ninth-layer experts, but fragile as paper against possession. Even if they were loyal, even if they fought with everything they had, the moment they stepped into the Ju-On’s domain, they’d become puppets or hollow shells. Just like Garrick. Blackthorn. Like the others now shuffling behind him, their souls gnawed out from the inside.
But Lordi? Lordi had survived.
Not because he was strong. Not because of some bullshit "genius resolve" or "Dao Will."
Because of the System.
That day at the Gloomwater Phantom Lily Array, he’d activated one-click cultivation out of desperation, letting the AllFullOS take over. And in its cold, mechanical efficiency, it had dragged him straight into the Ancient Stone Well, where the Foundation Stage Souleater Kodama lurked.
And what had happened?
The Kodama’s spiritual assault—the kind that should have splintered Lordi’s mind like kindling—had bounced off him. Not because he resisted it.
Because the System ignored it.
And Krogh Hanz—no, the thing beneath the Moon Reflection Mirror or was he really the true Krogh Hanz—had seen that. Had mistaken the System’s interference for strength. For a soul fortified against possession.
So he hadn’t killed Lordi. Instead he had recruited him.
The word slithered out of Lordi’s throat, half-choked.
This wasn’t a mission. This wasn’t a test.
This was a fucking dead trap.
And the Krogh Hanz in that Ancestral Shrine wasn’t a Senior Brother. Wasn’t even a man.
It was the Ju-On itself, a malice given flesh, wearing a dead man’s skin like a tailor-made shroud.
It had played him, dangled rewards in front of him like meat before a starving dog. And all along, it had been measuring him, waiting to see if he, too, would break. If his mind would snap like the others.
He’d end up just like Garrick Blackthorn.
Another human puppet on its malice strings.