The sky was cracked.
Clouds churned like beasts in agony, and lightning screamed across the shattered dome of the heavens. The winds howled in fury, tearing through mountain peaks like blades. And atop the tallest of them all—Voidfall Summit—stood a man.
Alone.
His black robe billowed like a broken banner in the storm. His long silver hair whipped wildly behind him, a stream of light in the dark. Blood soaked through the side of his robe, trailing down one arm. In his right hand, he held a sword—not gleaming, not sharp—but chipped, blackened, humming with a silent power that did not belong to this world.
Yun Zai, the Sovereign of the Nine Skies.
The strongest cultivator alive.
And now, the last.
Before him, the earth trembled beneath the corpse of the Demon Wielder—the final bearer of the Demonic Key, a cursed artifact from the age of forgotten gods. Yun Zai's sword had pierced its heart, splitting demonic essence from flesh, burning it into cosmic dust. Victory, yes. But not without cost.
Yun Zai's breathing was ragged. His cultivation, divine and vast, was unraveling thread by thread. The Demonic Key's explosion had pierced more than flesh—it had stabbed the very roots of his soul. Cracks formed along his skin like porcelain fracturing under heat. His body was dying. His spirit was flickering.
The winds stopped. The clouds ceased their fury. Even the lightning bowed in silence.
Yun Zai looked up at the heavens—shattered, bleeding light—and laughed.
"Alone again," he said softly. His voice echoed across the broken sky.
His seven disciples were scattered across the continent. He had sent them away long ago, to walk their own paths, never wanting to burden them with his battles. His sect had dissolved ages ago. The world bowed to his name, yet none stood by his side.
He had lived alone.
He would die alone.
And he accepted it.
As his body dissolved into light, the sword in his hand gave a final low hum—a sound like mourning—and shattered into ash.
A gasp.
Air rushed into his lungs. Sharp. Cold. Too loud. A pounding in his head. His chest rose with rapid breaths. Sweat drenched his back.
He sat up.
The ceiling was wooden. Low. Cracked.
Not the sky.
He blinked. His hands—thin, pale, trembling. Not his hands. Not the calloused hands of a Sovereign. These were soft. Fragile. Mortal.
"What…?"
Memories poured in.
Lin Feng. Sixteen years old. Student of East Sky Academy. Labeled talentless. Frequently sick. Bullied. Beaten. Orphaned.
This body was dying only yesterday.
Yun Zai's soul had taken its place.
"Reincarnation?" he muttered. "No… Soul Transference."
He stood—or tried to. His knees buckled. No spiritual energy flowed through his meridians. He was truly mortal now. Crippled. Powerless.
But his mind was sharp. His soul, intact. He grinned despite himself.
"The heavens play games, do they? Very well."
He examined the room. A shared dorm. Old scrolls, broken shelves. Dust coated everything. A chipped mirror hung on the wall. He staggered to it.
A pale face stared back. Eyes sunken. Bruises under the skin. A body used to suffering.
But now, home to a Sovereign.
Suddenly—the door slammed open.
Three boys barged in, laughing crudely.
"Well, well," said the tallest. "Still breathing, trash?"
They were students—same uniform, better condition. One cracked his knuckles. Another twirled a wooden staff.
"You missed yesterday's chores," the second sneered. "And the day before. You know the rules."
"I'll beat you half-dead, like usual."
Yun Zai blinked slowly.
He saw everything. The weakness in their stances. The gaps in their footwork. Their foolish confidence.
His eyes sharpened.
"Trash?" he repeated.
A grin stretched across his face.
"You dare bark before this Sovereign?"
He raised a hand—slowly. They laughed.
Then they flew.
A wave of pure soul force blasted from his body—unrefined, unfocused, but overwhelming. The three bullies slammed into the walls with cries of pain. The mirror shattered. The wooden bed snapped in half.
Dust settled.
The tallest boy groaned, coughing blood. "What… What was that?!"
Yun Zai walked forward, each step controlled.
"You have no idea who you're dealing with," he said calmly. "But allow me to reintroduce myself."
He reached down, grabbed the boy by the collar, and whispered:
"Lin Feng… has changed."
He let him drop.
Behind him, the wind whispered through the broken window.
The world would soon remember a name long buried.
Not Lin Feng. Not the sickly orphan.
But the Void Lord who once walked alone—and had now returned.
To be continue...