'This is the Demonic Cult,' Yuan Ming thought, the words repeating in his mind like a mantra. 'This is what they truly are.'
He felt his hands trembling. He clenched them into fists, forcing himself to remain still, to keep his breathing steady, and to maintain his disguise.
The cheerful young men who'd been demonstrating sword stances were now pale and shaking.
The hopeful teenagers huddled together, some openly weeping. The confident youth who'd been so excited was on his knees, vomiting.
The central elder opened his eyes, looking refreshed. He surveyed the remaining candidates with those hollow, terrible eyes.
"Don't be so surprised. This is the demonic cult. We don't need dregs who, despite spending their entire lives, could not even reach the foundation realm."
"They will only leech on the name of the demonic cult."
He gestured casually at the scattered possessions on the ground. "Junior disciples, collect those items. They will be redistributed to those more worthy."
