The cold wind scraped against Jiang Xun's skin like dull knives.
He stood beside the well, staring at the faintly glowing system panel floating in the corner of his vision. It pulsed faintly, as if it, too, were alive—breathing with him. The sensation was strange, invasive, yet oddly comforting. For all its minimalism, it reminded him: he was not entirely helpless.
Still, the body he inhabited trembled with weakness. Each breath felt shallow, his lungs scarred by smoke and blood. The memories of the previous owner filtered in more clearly now—fragments of battles, names he didn't know, and faces already fading like dreams. He didn't know how much of "Jiang Xun" remained. But it didn't matter.
He was here. The only way was forward.
"Ironblood Saber Arts."
The words echoed in his mind as he reached down and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the broken blade lying beside a corpse. Its owner—an older man in the armor of a slayer—lay face-down, his back torn open by something massive. Jiang Xun didn't look too long.
The saber was chipped, the edge dulled by countless strikes. But it would do.
As he gripped it, the system responded.
[Ironblood Saber Arts] – 14% Mastery → 15% Mastery
– First Weapon Reacquired – Synchronizing Martial Memory…
"Strike with force, not finesse. The Ironblood path is one of grit, of sheer endurance. Every slash should carry your will."
It wasn't a voice. It was a sensation—a memory embedded in the technique, unearthed like a fossil in stone. His fingers adjusted slightly on the hilt. His stance shifted, unconsciously mimicking something that had once been learned through pain and repetition.
So that's how this works.
He didn't just gain knowledge—he regained what had already been learned. But practice… that was still required. He couldn't just sit and absorb mastery. The panel was a tool, not a crutch.
He gave the saber a few tentative swings.
Clumsy. Off-balance. But with each motion, the system flickered.
15% → 16%
16% → 16.2%
Tiny increments. Each swing fed into the whole. This was the path of cultivation, not instant power.
...
A sound pulled him from his focus.
It was faint—like dragging cloth over stone. Then came a low hiss, the kind that didn't belong in the throat of any man or beast.
Jiang Xun tensed.
He crouched slightly, gripping the saber with both hands now. His breath slowed. His eyes narrowed, scanning the ruined street ahead of him. Amidst the haze of smoke and ash, something moved.
From behind the wreckage of a burned-out house, a shape emerged.
Its limbs were long, too long. Its skin, a patchwork of cracked scales and sinew. A black tongue lolled from a twisted mouth. Its eyes burned with pale green fire, and when it opened its jaws, a gurgling snarl poured out like rot-filled water.
[Lesser Bonefiend] – Demon Spawn
Threat Level: Low
Estimated Combat Efficiency: 42% (Host Injured)
Warning: Engagement Risk Present
The system offered a readout—but no plan. That part was up to him.
Jiang Xun's knuckles whitened around the hilt. He could feel fear stirring in his gut—but it was the distant, measured fear of someone who had already known death. The real Jiang Xun had died fighting. This one wouldn't fall so easily.
If this thing gives Demon Essence…
He lunged.
His saber hissed through the air, a downward diagonal slash aimed at the demon's shoulder.
The Bonefiend moved faster than he expected. It twisted unnaturally, its spine cracking, and its claw lashed out to meet his wrist.
Pain exploded through his arm as claws raked his forearm, but he twisted mid-motion and slammed his shoulder into the creature's chest.
They both stumbled.
He struck again—short, sharp, brutal. The saber scraped against bone, biting shallowly. The demon shrieked and retaliated, snapping its teeth toward his throat.
He ducked low.
The world narrowed.
A blur of movement. A clang of steel. His body burned with exertion.
He fought without grace, without elegance—just instinct and borrowed form.
And then—finally—his saber struck true.
It drove through the thing's abdomen, sliding between ribs with a satisfying crunch. The Bonefiend spasmed once. Twice. Then it slumped forward, claw still twitching feebly as black ichor poured from its mouth.
He staggered back, chest heaving.
Demon Slain.
+1 Demon Essence acquired.
[Ironblood Saber Arts] — 16.2% → 17.1% Mastery
[Insight Potential: 3%] Accumulated
He exhaled a shaky breath and looked at the corpse.
The smell was worse than anything he had ever known. The body already steamed, as if dissolving in the cold air. Corrupted Qi leaked from the wound, dissipating like smoke on the wind.
That… was hard. But not impossible.
A small victory.
But the system had made it clear: he was at only 42% of his combat ability. He was still weak. Injured. Vulnerable.
Still—he had killed a demon. Alone. With a broken saber and a ruined body.
It was a start.
...
He dragged the demon's body toward a half-standing house and used its broken beams to form a crude barricade. Not perfect, but it would do to keep scavengers out—for now.
Inside the ruins, he found a dark corner behind an overturned table and sat, saber resting across his lap.
His breath came slowly now, more controlled. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind dull, thudding pain.
He looked again to the panel.
Demon Essence: 1
Use Now? [Y/N]
He hesitated.
"Use it," he whispered aloud.
The essence dissolved into motes of light that sank into his chest like embers. They burned—oh, they burned—but it wasn't agony. It was... cleansing.
Something inside his body unlocked, just a little. Like a jammed door shifting on its hinges.
Bone Tempering Stage: 38% → 42%
Body Recovery: +8%
He slumped back, exhausted, but stronger. A bit more whole.
...
The night came fast.
Cold winds swept through the ruins. The fires died down. Ash fell like snow. Somewhere in the distance, something howled—long and mournful. The sound of a predator in a broken world.
Jiang Xun didn't sleep. Not really.
He sat with his back to the wall, saber across his knees, eyes half-lidded. The memories kept returning: not just from the old Jiang Xun, but from before. The man he had been.
A martial arts hobbyist. A nobody. Quiet. Forgettable. A man who had spent his nights watching old kung fu films, practicing forms in his garage after work, nursing the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, in another world, he could have been more.
Now, that world was gone. And this one…
This one was broken, bloodied, and real.
And maybe, just maybe, it was the one he was made for.
He closed his eyes.
He dreamed of fists wrapped in cloth, of thunderous strikes against monstrous forms, of standing atop mountains wreathed in crimson clouds.
When he woke, dawn had not yet come.
But his hand still held the saber.