Bound by the Box: The Cost of Conformity

"Ugh… what happened? Where am I?"

Azrael murmured groggily as he opened his eyes. Sunlight poured through the open patio door, illuminating his crimson neon eyes and momentarily blinding him. The sudden brightness snapped him out of his trance, forcing him fully awake.

As he looked around, Azrael realized he was lying on a futon. The warm breeze drifting through the patio carried the scent of sakura blossoms, filling his nostrils and easing his mind with an unexpected sense of peace and stability.

"Is that… f-f... food?" Azrael stammered, his voice tinged with disbelief as he spotted a massive tray beside the futon. His stomach growled, and drool escaped the corner of his mouth.

Without hesitation, he ignored everything else and lunged for the feast, devouring enough food for twenty people in mere minutes.

"What's that stinging sensation on my tongue… is this food poisoned? Can't I catch a break?" Azrael sighed, his tone a mix of annoyance and resignation.

Despite his suspicions, he continued eating without hesitation. His body had long grown accustomed to countless poisons, and this one—regardless of its potency—was no exception. It wouldn't affect him, no matter the dosage.

"Now that I think about it, I don't have any injuries anymore. What happened to the bear—ACK!"

Azrael grunted, clutching his head as a sharp pain tore through his skull. Suppressed memories of the brutality in the isolated mountain flooded back all at once, raw and relentless. His entire body trembled as he fought the overwhelming nausea, struggling not to vomit.

"KEKEKE, what a strong mentality... very rare for a five-year-old. Many of your clansmen immediately tried to kill themselves as soon as they woke up," a hoarse voice chuckled, startling Azrael.

His head snapped up, and as he saw the source of the voice, his face drained of color.

"ARGGHHHH!!! WHAT THE F*CK IS THAT ABOMINATION?! CAN A PERSON—NO, A THING—BE THIS HORRIFIC?!"

Azrael shrieked, scrambling backward in terror. Clinging to the ceiling was a man who looked like a beggar, his yellow, rotting teeth bared in a twisted grin.

But what truly froze Azrael in fear was his face—so grotesque that even a toad would seem like Prince Charming in comparison.

"TSK! Boy, I'm a cultivator at the—"

"A CULTIVATOR?!" Azrael cut him off, his voice rising in panic. "AREN'T CULTIVATORS SUPPOSED TO BECOME MORE GOOD-LOOKING AS THEY GET STRONGER?! HOW UGLY WERE YOU IN YOUR YOUTH IF YOU LOOK LIKE THIS NOW?!"

The man silently descended from the ceiling, his grin fading. With a sudden movement, he swung his hand, slapping Azrael so hard that the impact cracked like thunder.

Azrael's head snapped to the side as he flew across the room, crashing into the wall. Blood sprayed from his mouth, and several teeth clattered to the ground as his vision blurred from the sheer force of the blow.

"ARGGHHHH!!! DON'T EAT ME"

The beggar's lips twitched at Azrael's words, a flicker of irritation crossing his grotesque face. Without a word, he approached Azrael, who was still groaning from the brutal slap.

Reaching into his storage ring, the beggar pulled out a pill and shoved it into Azrael's mouth. Instantly, the pill worked its magic, healing him completely. Even the teeth he lost reappeared instantly.

"Who are you and where am I" Azreal inquired with a polite tone while starring down

"That's more like, I can easily kill you with a flick of my finger so use your words wisely

I am Daoist Southern Turtle, and this is the sanctuary where the survivors receive their true combat training after passing the culling test. "

"A.. culling test " Azreal interrupted with a stutter

"Yes, your sister found you and the demonic beast buried under the snow… the bear did not survive. Only its legs remained.

Of course, your heart was destroyed in the process… you were on the brink of death. The rest is history," Daoist Southern Turtle said, his profound gaze fixed on Azrael.

"Why?" Azrael muttered, his voice trembling as he touched his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his beating heart. His teeth clenched, and his veins throbbed with rising intensity.

"Why?" he repeated, louder this time, his words laced with a mix of confusion and anguish.

"Why what... you should sp..."

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!" Azrael shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "MANY KIDS DIED A DOG'S DEATH FOR WHAT… TRUE COMBAT TRAINING?!"

He glared at Daoist Southern Turtle, his disbelief turning into fury. His body began to shiver uncontrollably as he met the Daoist's cold, uncaring eyes, the indifference only fueling his frustration further.

"Have you wondered why you were pushing four-ton cubes? Don't answer; it's a rhetorical question," Daoist Southern Turtle began, his voice cold and deliberate, his piercing gaze locking onto Azrael.

Azrael stayed silent, his body tense as the man continued.

"The cubes contained food, fasting pills, Qi replenishment pills, swords capable of fighting demonic beasts, and teleportation talismans that, when used, could have sent you to the sanctuary.

Everything you needed to survive was inside them. All you had to do was shatter them to access those resources."

Azrael's breath hitched, a wave of disbelief washing over him.

"B… but why didn't you tell us?" he stammered, his voice unsteady.

"We shouldn't have had to," Daoist Southern Turtle replied, his tone sharp and unyielding. "You only needed to think outside the box. Instead, you took the instructor's words as absolute, never questioning the reason behind them.

There were countless paths leading to the sanctuary. Each path had its challenges and rewards—no single route was correct.

Some chose the easiest path, others the hardest, and many died because of their choices. But you? You chose the smartest path.

You suffered losses, yes, but you became stronger. You learned the weight of sacrifice when you gave yourself up to protect others.

Now, you no longer hesitate to kill because you understand the true value of life. And those who followed you? They now know the harsh truth of this world: it's kill or be killed, devour or be devoured."

Azrael clenched his fists as he listened, his emotions a maelstrom of anger, guilt, and frustration. Despite the cold logic in the Daoist's words, he couldn't ignore the lingering pain of the lives lost.

After a moment of silence, he muttered, "Did all of them survive?"

"Yes and no," Daoist Southern Turtle answered bluntly. "It doesn't matter. You may call this cruelty, but it's necessary. The brutality of the world cannot be ignored, and it's better you learn it now, while you're still young.

This wasn't just a trial for survival. It allowed us to evaluate each of you individually, to assess your strengths, weaknesses, and potential.

The results determine the battle styles, cultivation manuals, and techniques most suited for you—a gift, forged from blood and struggle."

As he finished speaking, Daoist Southern Turtle's form began to dissolve, shadows curling around him until he disappeared entirely, leaving Azrael alone with his thoughts.

...

"Did you find anything interesting? Were you perhaps amused?"

A man meditated beneath a serene waterfall, his voice calm yet tinged with curiosity. The rushing current fell heavily around him, but it was as if the water carried no weight at all. He remained motionless, savoring the tranquility.

"Not particularly," a hoarse voice replied, breaking the stillness. The sound reverberated unnaturally, carrying with it a menacing tone. "The boy caught my attention, though. He told me I shouldn't eat him."

The words hung in the air as shadows began to twist and writhe, pooling together to form a dark portal. From its depths emerged Daoist Southern Turtle, his grotesque form almost grotesque enough to shatter the peaceful scene.

"Pah! I'd tell you the same thing," the man under the waterfall remarked, a smirk playing on his lips. "But honestly, why bother sticking to that hideous form?"

Daoist Southern Turtle's lips curled into a sneer before his form began to shift. His grotesque features melted away, his body reforming into a new shape. What remained was an unsettlingly majestic figure—his true self, Azazel.

The man under the waterfall regarded him with a calm gaze. Though his expression remained impassive, there was an unmistakable sharpness to his eyes.

He was one of the great hidden elders of the Demiurge Clan, the same man who had once approached Haniel.

Azazel's voice softened, though the sinister edge remained. "My nephew is a curious one, isn't he? Using this form ensures he won't hate the real me. After all, I'm the cool uncle, aren't I?"

The elder's smirk faded, replaced by a contemplative silence as Azazel continued.

"His heart is fragile, yes, but his will is formidable. He has the strength to endure this cultivation world's brutality. And his sister?" Azazel paused, letting out a low, almost amused chuckle. "She's ruthless and brutal, just like her mother.

Their awakening is inevitable—one hundred percent guaranteed. That's all I'll say for now."

Azazel's words lingered in the misty air as he stepped back into the swirling shadows. His form dissolved into darkness, leaving behind only a faint, mocking laugh.

...