"Before I hand this record over to you," the old man said, "there are some truths you need to know."
His voice grew heavy.
"What you call the 'Heavenly Node Continent'… is actually my home world. Terra: The Blue Star.
We ventured out into the universe, spreading the path and evolving different worlds. Our martial empire ruled and protected our galaxy.
Most of the universe knew it simply as Earth. I was the Left Commander of the Seven Martial Gods."
Yantian blinked. He didn't dare interrupt.
"We were martial artists. Not those cowards who call themselves cultivators."
Each word he spoke was laced with venom. The hatred in his voice toward cultivators was so strong that Yantian instinctively tensed.
Could that hate be directed at him too?
After all… the old man could probably kill him in less than a second.
But Yantian remained silent. He chose to listen.
"Our human race thrived under the glory of the martial path. From birth to death, we lived by the code. We trained our youth, defended our mothers and grandmothers, and honored our ancestors through strength. We were the proud descendants of the Ancestral Martial God—Qin."
… his tone shifted.
"Then one day… they arrived."
His fists clenched.
"It started with a single cultivator. Lost. Confused. We welcomed him into the Hall of Martial Paths. He spoke of another world, strange and distant. And we, in our arrogance, believed his tales."
He looked away.
"He sold us the most dangerous weapon of all—curiosity."
The old man scoffed, bitter.
"Only three of us Martial Gods voted against opening the portals. We didn't need another world. We already had a perfect one."
But we were outvoted. The portals opened with the help of world governments and the other Martial Gods.
We left. The three of us took our legacies and vanished. We wanted no part of what came next."
His voice cracked slightly.
"Thousands of years passed. And when we finally awoke from our retreat… Terra was gone.
There were no more green pastures. No wheat fields. Just fire. Smoke. Corpses. A battlefield of unimaginable slaughter."
He closed his eyes, as if reliving it.
"We had fought in wars before… but never like this. Not this kind of inhumanity. Still, we held hope. We traveled to the capital of Great Qin."
His fists trembled.
"On the way, we encountered cultivators—slaughtering our people. Assaulting them like beasts. We stepped in. We killed them. Swiftly. Without mercy. Then we continued."
The old man fell silent for a long moment.
"When we finally reached the capital… we saw the most horrific scene of our lives.
They had built six hundred stone walls. And placed our people's heads side by side—covering the entire city in death."
A quiet fire sparked in Yantian's chest. It was as if he himself was on the battlefield. He felt as if the pain of these people was his own.
"What hurts most," the man said, barely above a whisper, "and what will never leave my soul… is that our leader—our general—betrayed us."
Yantian's eyes widened.
"The Storm Fist Martial God. The strongest among us… bowed to the cultivators like a coward. He watched—watched—as his brothers and sisters were tortured. And he did nothing."
The old man's gaze darkened.
"Our final counterattack. We'd planned everything. But he appeared—right in the middle of it—and killed the only two Martial Gods who stood with me."
His breath trembled.
"As if mocking me, he handed me over to the so-called 'god' of the cultivators. Heavenly Supreme Zai Zhen."
Even saying the name seemed to burn his throat.
"I asked him why," the old man whispered. "Why would he do this? Why would he betray everything we believed in?"
He shook his head.
"I was desperate. I still hoped… maybe there was a greater reason. Maybe our people died for something."
His voice cracked.
"But no. He just grinned. Looked me in the eyes. And said four words."
'To prove the Dao.'
The old man laughed bitterly.
"Prove the Dao? I shouted. He slaughtered all of humanity—for that?"
His jaw clenched.
"I cursed him. Spat in his face. I didn't care if he killed me. I would rather die a fool than live as a coward."
Zai Zhen, pleased, sneered at him.
'Oh, you poor thing,' he said.
"Of course a low-tiered being like you wouldn't understand. Listen closely. I strive to prove the Dao of Death and Despair.
That means every other path contradicts mine. So I pondered, waited, and continued searching. Then… I found a solution. Since they are against me, then I'll just erase them. All of them. Then my path will be the only one left.
The true proven Dao. And if your world must die for that—
Then so be it."
"He killed me," the old man said softly. "I thought that was the end."
He looked down at his hand.
"I accepted it. I embraced death. Regretfully… but peacefully. Yet fate had other plans."
Yantian leaned in.
"I was summoned," the old man continued, "into a space unlike anything I'd ever seen. A floating palace, suspended in a sea of stars. Inside it sat… a divine being. A true god."
He paused.
"He said he was fulfilling a pact made with the Martial Goddess who had once followed me. He told me the truth: Terra's fate… couldn't be changed."
The old man's tone hardened again.
"But he would preserve the bloodline of Humanity. And since I was the last one alive…"
He opened his hand.
"…he extracted my blood. And sealed it into a Star script."