The Seven Sisters and Their Hidden King

When John reached the sixth floor, something felt off.

A wave of unease washed over him.

It was just like that night... only worse.

Far worse.

The unrest in his heart surged even stronger than before, gnawing at his control. He instinctively knew it had something to do with the oppressive heat—the fire blazing from the floors above. The higher he climbed, the hotter it became... and the more irritable he felt.

Recalling Mark's demeanor and words before he entered the tower, John began to piece it together.

Mark was testing him.

He wanted to know whether John was a sorcerer. And he was using the Cinnabar Tower's fire to find out.

But how?

It must be linked to the way he was feeling now. The instability. The rage. The disorientation.

John clenched his fists.

A disturbing thought flashed across his mind: Am I really a sorcerer?

No.

The old monk had assured him—the divine skill he practiced was not demonic. But now, doubt crept in. Was that old man lying?

Conflicted and confused, John hesitated on the sixth floor.

He desperately wanted to know the truth. Was his skill truly demonic? Was he unknowingly walking down a dark path?

But he was afraid of the answer.

Because right now... the fire was affecting him. He could feel himself unraveling.

He stood still for a long time.

Then, finally—he made his decision.

He would go to the seventh floor.

He couldn't keep running. Sooner or later, he had to face the truth.

Climbing the steps to the seventh floor, John grew more irritable with every step. Each footfall fed the chaos building inside him.

Until—

He reached the seventh floor.

John didn't even glance at the elixir tripods here.

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A storm exploded within him.

Suddenly, his expression twisted.

The rage inside him surged violently. A murderous aura radiated from his body—and in an instant, it spread down the tower, reaching the first floor.

On the first floor...

Mark's eyes snapped open, his gaze turning murderous.

He didn't need to wait for a report from Zack anymore. That wave of fury—he recognized it.

"He really is a sorcerer," Mark said coldly. "Nancy, activate the mountain-protecting array. Help me kill him!"

"Yes!"

Nancy's face turned solemn. The oppressive rage in the tower was identical to what they had felt that night.

A sorcerer had to die.

But just as the two were about to rush out of the tower, a calm voice stopped them.

"Wait."

Zack—eyes still closed—spoke without emotion.

Mark turned, frowning. "Mr. Lance, we've confirmed it. He's a sorcerer. Why are you stopping us?"

Zack slowly opened his mouth. "He's reached the eighth floor... Let's wait. I want to see how far gone he is before we strike."

If John had only just begun down the demonic path, there was still a slim chance to save him—if he was willing to give up practicing the skill.

But to determine that, Zack had to push him. Had to see how far John would go. The closer he came to the spiritual fire, the more likely he was to lose control.

Mark remained silent.

He didn't agree.

To him, all sorcerers should be killed on sight. Leaving any alive was a risk—a potential disaster.

But Zack wasn't just anyone.

He'd guarded the Cinnabar Tower since before Mark became sect leader. His seniority and experience demanded respect.

After a long pause, Mark turned to Nancy and said, "Notify the other presbyters. Tell them to prepare to activate the mountain-protecting array. I'll wait here—for now."

It was both a compromise and a show of deference.

"Understood!"

Knowing time was critical, Nancy quickly left the tower, rushing to mobilize the others in case the worst came to pass.

On the eighth floor of the tower...

John's eyes glowed red.

The violent energy inside him was now uncontrollable. It was far worse than the seventh floor.

Still, he didn't spare a glance at the elixir tripods here.

He didn't care.

Only one thing consumed him—the fire.

He needed it.

It called to him with terrifying intensity.

Driven by instinct and unquenchable desire, he ascended. From the eighth floor to the ninth. From the ninth to the tenth.

With each step, his rage grew more monstrous.

On the tenth floor, a lone elixir tripod glowed crimson. It was leagues beyond the others in quality.

The best in the entire Cinnabar Tower.

But John didn't even look at it.

His eyes were fixed on one thing: the eleventh floor.

That's where the fire was.

His rage and desire collided in a frenzy, forming a perfect storm.

And then—

Bang!

He stepped onto the eleventh floor.

His entire body trembled violently.

His pupils were crimson. In front of him roared a searing, blinding flame.

The heat on this floor was unimaginable. Even golden crystal cultivators would be reduced to ashes in moments.

And yet... John stood tall.

Naked.

His skin was glowing red, muscles torn and bleeding, scorched by the flame.

But he didn't flinch.

The pain didn't reach him.

He only stared at the fire—obsessed. Consumed.

His emotions had long since shattered. All that remained was raw, burning desire.

"Come here!" John growled.

His voice was hoarse, deeper than before. Still overbearing. Still terrifying.

Then—

John made an unthinkable move.

He reached forward with his bare hands and grabbed the spiritual fire.

And caught it.

But what happened next was even more horrifying.

John didn't just grab it.

He pulled it into his body.

Boom!

The instant the fire vanished into him, the entire tower's temperature plummeted.

And then it came...

A suffocating, indescribable aura exploded from the eleventh floor, engulfing the entire Cinnabar Sect.

The pressure was so great that the air itself seemed to freeze.

On the first floor...

Zack—the calm, silent guardian—finally opened his eyes.

For the first time, his aged body trembled.

His pupils dilated in terror.

And then he whispered—his voice cracking in disbelief:

"The monster... the great monster... the Demogorgon!"