“Reborn with the Violet Bloom”

Chapter : 3 Reborn with the violet demon seed

Eryon Vale had been awake far longer than he cared to admit.

The room was dark, quiet, and still, broken only by the faint flicker of a dying lamp near the wall. Its light painted weak shadows across the ceiling, shadows Eryon had been staring at for what felt like hours. Maybe longer. Time moved strangely when your body refused to obey you.

No matter how many times he chased the thought, the memory refused to settle into something clear.

Lightning.

Pain.

Then nothing.

And after that, this body.

This world.

Death should have been the end. It usually was. Yet somehow, it had become a doorway instead.

He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.

Perhaps when the lightning tore through his body back on Earth, something had gone wrong. Not just with him, but with the Demon Game itself. Maybe at the moment his consciousness collapsed, the game glitched. Maybe that was when the Violet Phantasmal Seed detached from its digital prison and latched onto his soul, following him across worlds like a curse that refused to let go.

It was speculation. Guesswork. But it was the only explanation that fit.

The seed was already inside him now, embedded deep within his dantian, quietly existing as if it had always belonged there. Removing it was impossible. At least, impossible with his current strength.

Worrying about it would change nothing.

Eryon shifted slightly on the bed, feeling the familiar ache ripple through his limbs, and turned his focus inward.

The moment his consciousness sank into his body, the same grim sight unfolded before him.

His meridians were a mess.

Not just blocked. Choked.

Emerald-green masses filled every channel like hardened sludge, layered so densely that even the faintest circulation of spiritual energy struggled to pass through. Wrapped around those solid blockages were wisps of pale mist, clinging stubbornly, refusing to disperse.

Medicinal essence.

Ten years of it.

Every pill, every decoction, every expensive tonic forced down his throat since childhood had failed to absorb properly. Instead of nourishing him, the medicinal energy had piled up inside his body, stagnating and rotting, turning into something closer to poison than medicine.

In this world, people believed spiritual medicine could fix almost anything.

They were wrong.

The cultivation system of the Aetherfall Continent was advanced in some ways, yet painfully incomplete in others. It understood spiritual realms, ranks, and raw absorption, but it knew nothing of refined meridian theory. Nothing about acupuncture pathways. Nothing about micro-circulation within blood and marrow.

They treated the body like a container, not a system.

That ignorance had nearly killed him.

His father, Darian Vale, had noticed something was wrong years ago. A Ninth-Grade Spirit Fusion cultivator was no fool. Darian had seen the symptoms, felt the abnormalities, and tried everything within his power.

He had brought specialists. Even a Spirit Master from the clan had examined Eryon personally.

Every time they shattered a blockage, it reformed almost immediately, as if mocking their efforts.

An incurable condition.

A slow execution disguised as illness.

That was why everyone in the Vale estate believed Eryon would die young.

Just like his older brother.

Kael.

Eighteen years old.

The same age Eryon had reached this year.

The thought left a hollow ache in his chest.

“If the Fivefold Star Shift caused this, it would explain things,” Eryon muttered quietly. “But I was sick long before I ever cultivated.”

That was the part that never added up.

Kael had suffered the same fate. The same weakness. The same blocked meridians. The same useless medicines.

Identical symptoms.

Which meant it wasn’t coincidence.

It was inheritance.

Yet Darian Vale was perfectly healthy.

So the problem had to come from their mother.

And she barely existed in Eryon’s memory. All he knew was what others had told him. That his father had returned from a long journey one day carrying two children. A three-year-old boy and a newborn infant. Their mother had died during childbirth. Or so the story went.

No grave.

No name spoken.

Just silence.

That silence now felt heavier than ever.

That explained why Eryon had always been weaker than Kael. Why his condition worsened faster. Why survival itself felt like a borrowed miracle.

“So the blocked meridians are only the result,” he whispered to himself. “Not the cause.”

The real problem lay deeper.

Much deeper.

He stopped overthinking and began cultivating.

The incantation of the Fivefold Star Shift surfaced naturally in his mind, familiar despite how rarely it had ever helped him. His three spiritual apertures trembled faintly as strands of heaven-and-earth energy filtered into his body.

As expected, his absorption was terrible.

More than eighty percent of the energy dissipated before it could be refined. Less than twenty percent remained.

Any normal cultivator would have given up long ago.

Eryon didn’t.

He endured.

Time slipped by without notice.

Footsteps entered the room. Soft. Careful.

He recognized them instantly.

Liora.

She must have brought porridge again.

He didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t want to break his concentration.

The footsteps paused. Moved closer. Hesitated near the door. Then retreated quietly, careful not to disturb him.

Moments later, something changed.

A faint spark of refined spiritual energy finally formed inside one of his apertures.

And then it happened.

A ripple.

Not pain. Not blockage.

Movement.

The refined energy dissolved almost instantly, seeping downward, flowing not into his meridians but through something far subtler.

Blood.

The sensation was unmistakable.

His eyes snapped open.

“I found it,” he laughed softly, breath shaking. “The source is in the blood.”

“Ouch!”

Liora yelped, nearly dropping the bowl in her hands.

Their eyes met.

Her face was flushed, eyes wide with shock.

“U-Uncle… are you done cultivating?” she asked awkwardly.

“No need to change the porridge,” Eryon said, smiling faintly.

He ate quickly, hunger tearing through him like a beast. His body demanded nourishment after the strain.

Once he finished, clarity returned.

“How much money do we have left?” he asked casually.

Liora hesitated. “Forty-three gold coins.”

“That’s enough. I’ll need twenty.”

Her eyes widened in alarm.

Twenty gold coins for medicine was madness.

“You’ll see tomorrow,” he said gently.

When she left, Eryon’s expression darkened.

Just before the blood reacted, the Violet Phantasmal Seed had trembled.

That wasn’t coincidence.

Elsewhere, dusk settled over the Vale estate.

Rovan Vale slammed his palm against the table, rattling the cups.

“Useless idiots.”

Marcus, Joren, and Tavis stood silently, heads lowered.

Eryon had survived again.

That trash should have died long ago.

“Let him keep the Elixir of Renewal,” Rovan sneered. “I’ll collect it myself when he comes crawling.”

Laughter followed.

Six days.

Without medicine, Eryon would beg.

Night fell.

Nine golden needles rested atop black cloth.

Liora stared at them, pale and shaking.

“Will these really work?” she whispered.

“They will,” Eryon replied calmly.

When she stepped outside, he removed his clothes and sat cross-legged.

Thin. Frail. Scarred by illness.

He sterilized the needles carefully.

The Nine Needles.

An ancient art long forgotten.

The first needle pierced his chest.

Pain exploded.

The second followed.

Then the third.

Heart. Spine. Crown. Dantian.

By the final needle, the world hummed.

The needles trembled.

Connected.

Alive.

Eryon closed his eyes.

If this failed, he would die.

But if it succeeded…

Everything would change.