Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 49: A Journal

Chapter 49: A Journal

Kael’s boots crunched on the cave floor, the air heavy, like breathing through a wet cloth. His Abyssal Fang Dagger hummed in his grip, its edge glinting faintly. The primal energy in the tunnel buzzed against his skin, tugging at his Devour Essence skill.

"Absorb it. Grow stronger," a voice whispered in his mind.

He gritted his teeth. "Not now," he muttered, shoving the urge down. Cultivating here was suicide. It was too exposed and filled with many unknowns.

The tunnel sloped deeper, the air chilling. His silver eyes flicked to the walls—there were claw marks, fresh and rough. Arveth’s team had passed through, maybe hours ago. Kael’s Night Predator trait pinged, a faint warning in his gut.

Something was off.

A low hum suddenly vibrated the stone pathway. Kael froze. Runes ahead flared, shifting from blue to blood-red.

Click!

The floor sank under his boot.

[Danger Detected!: Trap Activated]

Kael’s instincts screamed danger, and his hair stood on end. He dove forward as needles erupted from the walls, their tips glowing green. His Eclipse Step kicked in—shadows cloaked him, his body blurring.

Needles whistled past, one grazing his arm, slicing through his Bloodthread Mantle. Pain flared, sharp and hot.

He landed in a crouch with his dagger raised. The needles clattered, venom sizzling on the stone.

[Status: Minor Poison (Weakened). HP -5] [Bloodthread Mantle has reduced damage by 20%]

Kael glanced at his arm—it had turned red and was swelling fast. He ripped a strip from his sleeve, tying it tight. His vision wobbled, then cleared.

"An aged trap. Thankfully it was a weakened venom," he muttered. Time had saved his life again and he’d live.

He pushed forward, the tunnel narrowing. The runes dimmed, mist curling at his feet. The air tasted like iron, thick with primal energy. His bloodline hummed, urging him deeper.

The tunnel opened into a chamber. Broken gear littered the floor—torn cloaks, cracked runestones, a dented helm. Blood stained the stone, still wet.

Kael knelt, spotting a bundled item under a shattered sword. He unwrapped it and flipped it open, "A journal?" he muttered.

The pages weren’t much, only a few, but the weight shocked him. It was as heavy as a knight’s sword. With his senses in high alert of his surroundings, he went through the first page.

The first entry wrote:

———

> 1,104th Cycle, Final Phase of the Blood Moon Shift

We were not born from shadow, but we embraced it. Not to hide from light... but to devour it.

The Crimson Veil was never a sect. Not truly. We were keepers, guardians. We were chosen to bear the fragments left behind by something far older than spirit, sword, or soul. That truth was never written in the sect’s scrolls—but it bleeds through the bones of every ruin we sealed.

Master Xuanyan Qiu warned us:

> "The Lotus burns not to illuminate—but to consume what should not be seen."

He was right.

His cultivation surpassed the Ascendant Realm, yet he sealed himself here. Not out of fear, but to stop something that followed him back from the outer dominions of the void. He called it a whisper of the "The Last Devouring Heir." A hunger older than the Neo-Dawn.

He said if his tomb ever opened again—

> "The world will either witness renewal... or erasure."

If you are reading this and you hear voices behind the bone door, turn back.

If the lotus burns in your dreams, turn back.

If your blood stirs in response to the runes, it may already be too late.

If you still walk forward...

> Then perhaps you are what he foresaw.

> We were not meant to outlast him. But you? You were meant to end it—or become it.

———

Kael’s fingers froze on the journal’s page, his silver eyes wide, shock twisting his face. The words burned into his mind—Last Devouring Heir.

"Is this some kinda joke?" he muttered, his voice echoing in the dim chamber.

The air was thick, the primal energy pressing against his skin like a living thing. He flipped the page, half-expecting a punchline, but the next refused to budge as if it was locked in place, the weight of the journal heavy in his hands.

"Me? The big bad Devourer? Yeah, right," he scoffed, a nervous chuckle escaping. "Someone’s screwing with me."

His smirk faltered, the cave’s silence mocking him. He shut the journal, tucking it into his Bloodthread Mantle, but the words clung like damp rot. ’Hunger older than the Neo-Dawn’.

His bloodline stirred, a faint pulse in his chest as if answering the journal’s call. He shook his head, shoving the thought down. "Bullshit," he said louder, as if to convince himself. "Just a dusty old prank."

BOOM!

A thunderous pulse suddenly exploded in his skull, his vision warping. The chamber vanished, stone walls melting into a swirling void. Kael stumbled, his dagger raised, but his body wouldn’t move.

His consciousness was yanked free from his physical form and dragged into a strange realm—a boundless expanse of gray mist lit by faint, flickering stars. The air hummed, heavy with ancient power, and Kael’s bloodline roared, alive, hungry.

In the mist’s heart sat a figure—a short, skinny old monk, cross-legged on a slab of cracked stone. His golden robes were tattered, his bald head gleaming under the starlight. His eyes were closed, his lips moving in soft Buddhist chants, the words vibrating like a distant bell.

Kael’s breath caught in his throat, his hand tightening on the Abyssal Fang, but his feet were rooted in place. His body felt like a passenger in this dreamlike prison.

The monk’s eyes suddenly snapped open, twin voids of sorrow locking onto Kael. The chants stopped, the silence heavier than stone. "Ah..." the monk sighed, his voice soft but carrying the weight of ages, laced with defeat and resignation. "So even the Cycle’s last barrier could not hold you back."

His gaze pierced Kael, not with anger, but with a weary acceptance that chilled deeper than any blades.

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