Heretical Impermanence 1

“Joining Luoshan…”

Zhu Shi stared blankly for a moment before sighing.

“Is it still not possible?” I asked hesitantly.

“It’s not that it’s impossible. If you truly possess such extraordinary power, whether you want to join Luoshan or pursue other endeavors, I have neither the reason nor the right to stop you.”

“So, you think I’m exaggerating about my power?” I felt her reaction was entirely understandable.

But she shook her head. “I don’t doubt your account of the battle.”

You should at least have some doubt.

I was even prepared to demonstrate it on the spot.

“Before, I thought you had flaws in combat, which is why I opposed your joining Luoshan; but now, it’s quite the opposite—great strength has its own drawbacks.” Zhu Shi seemed to be pondering something as she glanced at the shattered remains on the ground, her expression tinged with sorrow. “I will explain the details to you later. For now, let’s deal with the remnants of the fallen demon hunter.”

Agent Kong appeared to be an acquaintance of Zhu Shi’s. Seeing a familiar person turn into a villain and then die must have stirred complex emotions in her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to kill him,” I said.

“No need to apologize to me. I know it wasn’t you who killed him, but some unknown cause. Even if it were you, the fault lies with Agent Kong, not you.” Toward the end, a look of guilt crossed her face. “Besides… I am the demon hunter responsible for this area, so this is a burden I should bear.”

Originally, I felt a faint, irrational guilt for causing the death of Zhu Shi’s acquaintance, but now it was she who felt sorry for me. It then occurred to me that when Agent Kong was still disguised, he mentioned one of Zhu Shi’s reasons for not wanting me to join Luoshan was her hope that I wouldn’t kill anyone.

That wasn’t just idle talk from Agent Kong; Zhu Shi truly had an innocent side.

Agent Kong wasn’t directly killed by me, but his death surely involved me. Unlike the last fallen demon hunter, Agent Kong had always seemed human to me. Perhaps I should feel guilty about killing, yet my heart was utterly unmoved.

Instead, I felt more regret that, with Agent Kong’s death, many truths I didn’t understand had been buried in darkness.

The fallen demon hunter incident clearly held many mysteries. Where did Agent Kong get such power? Why did he suddenly self-destruct in the end? Why did the last fallen demon hunter know me? What were the ritual formations and caves in the fifteenth-floor room about? I felt like after speed-running a game, discovering there were many collectibles I hadn’t obtained. Reality, however, offered no do-overs, and it seemed I could only throw myself into the next adventure.

I deeply regretted losing the chance to enter the Shadow World again through Agent Kong.

I could not describe the interior of the Shadow World in human language; even I could not quite grasp what it felt like to be there. If I were to liken my existence to a software program, entering the Shadow World was like forcibly opening a video file with a text editor, almost turning me into meaningless gibberish.

So I had to endure with all my might to maintain my proper existence and consciousness there.

When Zhu Shi heard this, her gaze grew stranger, as if she couldn’t understand a word I was saying. Neither could I—I was just going by feeling.

Originally, I planned to observe longer there, but worried Agent Kong might escape during that time, and since capturing him again would reopen the passage, I hurried back. Yet I never expected…

---

After bidding farewell to Zhu Shi, I found other shattered remains of Agent Kong scattered nearby. Of course, they weren’t large pieces—just a finger broken off in the explosion and charred to a crisp. Out of a sense of loss, I picked it up and kept it. Perhaps because it was charred before his death, it still retained the form of a fallen demon hunter, making it somewhat of a memento.

Calling it a “souvenir” might make me sound twisted, but I expect I’ll encounter many strange things in the future. Compared to those, this charred finger was nothing special. Yet, at least for now, it held some meaning for me.

—

The next day, early morning, Zhu Shi and I met at a park near the university.

Perhaps she had done something—despite my dramatic act of cutting off the abandoned building, no official personnel had approached me for questioning. Or perhaps she was the official assigned to speak with me.

She still wore a white blouse and black skirt, carrying a large black guitar case on her back, looking like a band member.

Compared to yesterday, her complexion was much calmer, seemingly having dealt with the emotions of seeing a friend turn villain and die, or perhaps just locking them away deep inside.

With no one else around, we could talk freely. Now, as a Luoshan demon hunter, she was here to formally discuss my future.

She first asked me to demonstrate my skill of transforming my body into flames. I complied, and as she circled me, her eyes widened as if she had seen a ghost.

“…Although I never doubted your words and was mentally prepared, are my eyes really okay? Am I not dreaming?”

“Is this skill really that powerful?” I asked curiously.

“It’s no longer a matter of powerful or not. This is divine skill,” she said. “To freely transform your body into a natural element is considered ‘manifestation’ or ‘elementalization’ in the demon hunter world. Such skills are regarded as traits of gods or immortals. Though there are ways to forcibly imitate this divine skill, they come with conditions, costs, or restrictions, and cannot be wielded as naturally as you do.”

I replied with a detached tone, “So, I’m a god or an immortal?”

“That depends on how you mastered elementalization,” she said, clearly thinking that sounded a bit absurd.

Hearing this, I recalled my past experiences and explained.

My learning of elementalization—or the “second form”—wasn’t complicated.

Zhu Shi and Agent Kong seemed to think flame users were more like mortals wielding powerful weapons than “supernaturals.” In fact, in normal form, I felt the same way.

I always felt an invisible barrier between myself and the flames. When controlling fire, it was as if I were giving orders to a subordinate; there was always a delay between “me issuing commands” and “fire receiving them.” No matter how much I practiced, it felt like I was building a rapport with the fire rather than commanding it effortlessly.

Logically, the flame should be part of my spirit, so there shouldn’t be such an inexplicable delay. Hence, I hypothesized that “my own spirit” and “the spirit already turned into flame” were different.

Then I had this thought: I can’t control the flames effortlessly because I’m still human, not fire itself. So why not become the fire?

To realize this idea, I took a very simple and blunt approach.

I set myself on fire.

Unless I willed otherwise, the flames wouldn’t harm my body. I could fill every crevice of myself with fire, feeling the sensation of merging with the flames.

Until one day, I realized the boundary between myself and the fire no longer existed.

I had become the flame.

This process was actually quite baffling, even to me.

After hearing my story, Zhu Shi was dumbfounded.

“Your approach…” she struggled to say after a long pause, “I can only say, true gods and immortals understand their own path to elementalization, though they may not explain it to others. For the former, it’s innate; for the latter, it’s enlightenment.

“As for you, who just grabbed some vague idea and suddenly achieved it… In my experience, there’s no precedent for such a thing.”

“I see…”

It seemed I truly had no connection to gods or immortals. But as a superhuman, I was certainly special.

I wasn’t sure if I should be glad about my uniqueness. Such singularity meant I could hardly find any reference, making it harder to understand the cause of my superpower awakening.

“I roughly understand why you’ve never encountered anomalies before,” she said with relief. “Anomalies attract one another, but extremes repel. Your power is so immense that anomalies actively avoid you. Not only those with instinct and intelligence, but even anomalies existing as phenomena cannot connect with you for some reason.

“This usually happens to the vast majority of the Great Impermanents and a few demon hunters with overwhelming power.”

I heard a new term and grew curious. “What is a ‘Great Impermanent’?”

“The Great Impermanents are the strongest demon hunters reigning at the pinnacle of Luoshan,” she explained. “They possess immense power but are very few in number. Currently, fewer than ten Great Impermanents are stationed at Luoshan.”

“You said they are powerful… how powerful exactly?”

As I asked, I speculated internally. Considering that organizations like Luoshan never ruled this country nor left notable historical records, the Great Impermanents’ power likely doesn’t surpass ancient armies, at most not exceeding modern military forces.

But… even I am confident I could defeat an ancient army. Could the strongest demon hunters really not?

Or am I underestimating armies, which have always had trump cards to suppress superhumans like me?

Then, Zhu Shi said something utterly absurd:

“Excluding certain special cases in history, as far as I know, the Great Impermanents generally possess the power to single-handedly destroy entire countries.”