Sixteen years ago, the eastern region of the continent Taizen was engulfed in the fires of war.
Strong sects, powerful kingdoms, and noble clans alike—forces that had once dominated their do-mains—were now brought to their knees, fighting not for dominance, but for survival. Even the lofty Upper Planes, usually silent and indifferent to mortal affairs, were drawn into the chaos. The land of Taizen trembled under the weight of endless con-flict.
But while the battles in royal capitals and sacred sect lands captured the world's attention with their gran-deur and power, the war quietly infected the edges of civilization too—small cities, remote towns, and forgotten villages were pulled into the conflict's ruth-less current. One such place was the village of Qingming.
A rebel faction, born from unrest and fed by cruelty, had overtaken a swath of land in the east. With ruth-less ambition, they set their eyes on Qingming next. The village's defenses had begun to collapse. Walls crumbled. Defensive arrays faltered. Screams echoed through the night as the rebel army stormed forward, wave after wave, hungry to claim more.
Soldiers of Qingming, bloodied and battered, stood their ground. Despite their hopeless odds, they fought—not for power or glory, but for the homes and families behind them. Formation Masters chant-ed with trembling voices, weaving barriers and traps. Mages hurled destructive spells that lit up the sky. Archers unleashed volleys until their fingers bled.
At the front of this desperate line stood a few brave souls who still refused to retreat. Among them, a powerful figure moved forward, unwavering. His au-ra was that of a veteran soaked in a hundred battles. This man was Shinag, the 21st Leader of the Xenic Moon Sect.
His sword gleamed beneath the stormy sky, and with every step he took, the tide of rebels parted—each swing of his blade sending enemies into an eternal sleep. His very presence breathed courage into the hearts of his soldiers.
The battlefield was soaked in blood.
Amid the chaos, two young women also fought at the frontlines—both fierce, both determined, both warriors in their own right. Their movements were swift, blades carving arcs through the air. They were not fighting for glory or recognition. They were fighting for their land... and for their father.
Their eyes, fierce and desperate, turned toward Shinag—locked in a brutal duel with the rebel com-mander. The clash between them sent tremors through the earth. Sparks flew, blood scattered. Shinag, already bearing injuries, struggled to main-tain his balance. And then, in a heart-stopping mo-ment, the rebel leader's blade pierced through his chest.
His body staggered and collapsed.
The rebel leader raised his sword again, intending to finish him.
But before the blade could strike—two shadows ap-peared.
One of them stepped forward, clashing with the re-bel leader's blow and halting its fatal course. The other knelt beside Shinag, her hands trembling as she held his limp body.
Jinnia, his daughter, gazed down at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she whispered, "Father…"
But Shinag, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, weakly lifted his hand and gently wiped her tears. His vision blurred, but he could still see the two girls before him. His voice, hoarse and strained, came out as a whisper, "Retreat… from here. Run away. My attacks will buy you some time…"
Jinnia couldn't stop crying as she leaned down and embraced him tightly.
Beside her stood Shuna, silent but burning.
She looked at her sister, then at her father, her eyes heavy with emotion. But unlike Jinnia, she did not cry. Not even a single tear. From the moment She was born, Shuna had been thrown away like garbage. A forsaken child with no one to protect her… except Shinag. He had taken her in. Raised her. Loved her like his own blood.
And in doing so, he had given her a family. She had gained a doting older sister in Jinnia. And Shuna—she had gained something even rarer: a reason to fight.
Through clenched teeth, she spoke. "I won't."
Shinag's fading eyes turned to her.
She stepped closer, her tone steady, filled with fire. "You taught me never to show weakness. Never to let anyone harm those we care about."
As she spoke, something stirred within her. A strange energy gathered around her—a dormant force that none had sensed before. It swirled like a storm around her feet, rising slowly, silently.
Under the full moon, Shuna bent over, her fingers closing around the hilt of her father's sword. Tears finally traced down her cheeks—not from sorrow, but from resolve.
Looking down at Shinag, she whispered, "I will fol-low your teachings. I won't let anyone hurt my fami-ly… not anymore."
In that moment, a sudden explosion of energy erupt-ed from her body.
The battlefield fell still.
Everything stopped—soldiers, beasts, spells mid-flight—frozen in awe as they turned toward the source.
Shuna stood tall. Her eyes glowed. Her hair danced in the wind. The sword in her hand pulsed with power.
Without hesitation, she dashed toward the rebels. Her blade moved with blinding precision, slicing through their defenses like paper. In seconds, the re-bel front was annihilated. Then, without pause, she reached the core—where the three leaders of the re-bel army stood.
All three charged toward her.
But her body flowed like water, precise as lightning. She paused, raised her sword, then drew her arm backward. Energy gathered around her like a coiling dragon.
The rebel leaders, sensing danger, prepared their own techniques. But it was too late.
With a single thrust forward, her sword erupted.
A roaring shockwave tore through the air. The very space in front of her shattered like broken glass. Eve-rything—leaders, weapons, formations, the very ter-rain—was reduced to dust.
The rebel army screamed in panic. What remained of them turned and fled.
Shuna turned back toward her father. His breaths were shallow—each one weaker than the last. But he was smiling.
Looking at his two daughters, he gently closed his eyes and whispered, "Honey… this place… is in good hands. I can finally… come home."
And then, his body fell still.
Shinag, the brave leader of Xenic Moon Sect, had breathed his last.
Elders and sect executives surrounded the scene, mourning in silence. After a moment, one of them stepped forward and declared, "Let Shuna take his place as the new leader of Xenic Moon."
But Shuna only lowered her head. She slowly stepped forward, thrust her sword into the ground, and turned away.
"I'm not qualified," she said quietly. "Jinnia is better suited. I'm sure… Father would've agreed."
And just like that, she vanished into the rising dust.
Jinnia, still kneeling beside her father's body, wiped her tears away. Her expression changed—no longer that of a weeping daughter, but a warrior's resolve.
She stood and spoke with firm clarity. "I'm done just lying around. I'll kill every last one of them who plotted against us."
Cheers erupted. Elders, warriors, and commoners alike raised their weapons. The war had not ended—but the spirit of the Xenic Moon Sect had been re-born.
For the next three years, under Jinnia's leadership and with Shuna's unrivaled strength, the Xenic Moon Sect pushed back every invading force. Victo-ry after victory, battlefield after battlefield, their name echoed across Taizen. Shuna, who always fought at the frontlines, was soon hailed by all as the War Goddess of Qingming.
But peace never came easily.
One fateful day, a dark figure approached the vil-lage. Alone. Silent. A force of terror. In a matter of minutes, all of Qingming's defenses were torn down.
Shuna arrived, blocking the figure's advance.
A white beam of light struck through the sky, aiming directly at her. She deflected it casually. Then, from the shadows, a woman emerged.
The battle that followed turned the sky dark. The ground cracked. The air trembled.
They fought for hours. And in the end, Shuna won—piercing the woman's heart with a clean, final strike.
But as Shuna turned to leave, a glint flashed behind her.
A needle. Almost invisible.
It pierced her back and sank into her body.
Shuna collapsed.
A deadly poison spread through her veins like wild-fire.
The elders rushed in, killed the hidden attacker, and carried Shuna's body to the medics. For hours, they worked tirelessly. In the end, they stabilized her… but the price was high.
Her cultivation dropped to Saint Level Nine.
The doctor handed over a report with a grim face. "The poison severely damaged your energy paths. Healing it naturally is impossible. There's only one hope—a Juvenile Fruit or a Nature Life Arc Pill. And even then, a fraction of the poison remains… buried deep."
Shuna said nothing.
Her eyes were empty.
Sixteen years later…
Inside her office, Jinnia stared quietly at the docu-ments for the Pulkina mission. Her eyes were distant, her fingers idle. Slowly, she turned toward the tall window and looked at the mountain far away.
Her lips moved.
"I wonder if… she's alright."
At that very moment, atop a towering peak near Qingming's border, a lone figure sat in absolute si-lence. Shuna. Still. Composed. Breathing slowly.
Dense spiritual energy swirled around her, drawn like moths to a flame.
She focused her consciousness inward.
The Juvenile Fruit's energy surged through her veins. But there was something else—something faintly purple, unfamiliar… yet calming.
She didn't have time to ponder.
The energy surged again. This time, violently.
It rushed through her damaged pathways, strength-ening them. Rebuilding them. As the lingering poi-son tried to resist, the purple aura devoured it com-pletely. Every strand of venom was erased without effort.
Within hours, her suppressed power—locked away for more than a decade—erupted.
The ground trembled.
An earthquake shook the region.
The sky darkened. Clouds swirled overhead. Fire and lightning burst through the heavens.
Back in the village, Jinnia felt the change. She stood in alarm. "That's… the Emperor Core Three Ritu-al?!"
The city went silent.
All eyes turned to the mountain.
There, Shuna floated in the air—her body engulfed in flames and lightning, undergoing the world's re-taliation… the final test of nature for one who dares break through.
She endured every bolt. Every flame. Until finally… it ended.
She descended slowly. Stronger than ever. Her culti-vation not only restored—but surpassing her past self.
She could now challenge even Helmen. Jinnia her-self… no longer stood on equal ground.
Villagers gasped. Tears welled in their eyes.
Before them stood the warrior who had once saved their land. Now reborn.
The War Goddess of Qingming… had returned.
In a flash, her body vanished from the mountaintop.
She reappeared beside Jinnia in the office.
"Is everything alright?" she asked softly.
The elders and warriors gathered, cheering and con-gratulating her.
But Shuna only nodded. "I'll be working on a pro-ject… I won't be available to address any matters for a while."
With that, she left.
Jinnia exhaled and chuckled under her breath. "Typi-cal sister…"
She returned to her desk, but a smile remained on her lips.
Far beyond the familiar lands of Qingming, a large beast—majestic and cloud-piercing—soared high through the sky. Its wings stretched wide like the curtains of dusk, casting massive shadows on the clouds below. Upon its sturdy back stood numerous figures—executives and elders of various ranks—each silently preparing for the upcoming challenges that awaited them.
They moved with discipline, adjusting scrolls, whis-pering commands, and reinforcing barriers. Tension lay hidden behind their composed expressions. The journey ahead was not just important—it was criti-cal. Everyone sensed it.
Then, from the front of the beast's back, an old woman—calm and composed in her demeanor—spoke softly.
"Stop."
Her voice did not echo, yet it carried weight heavier than steel. Instantly, as if compelled by ancient obe-dience, the beast halted midair. Its wings stiffened. Its eyes, glowing with restrained power, locked in place. The air grew still.
Helmen, the seasoned general and leader of the Knight Soul Academy, turned to face her. He had sensed something too.
"Miss Kiana," he said with curiosity and respect, "what's the matter?"
Kiana didn't respond immediately. Instead, her aged face softened into a faint, knowing smile as her eyes slowly turned to fix upon a specific point in the emp-ty space ahead.
Then—without warning—that space trembled, frac-tured, and shattered like fragile glass. A glowing, rift-like path opened up, spiraling softly with a flow of spatial energy.
From the broken fold in the void, two shadows emerged.
The first was a middle-aged woman, graceful in stat-ure and composed in expression. The second was a boy, youthful yet calm, walking just half a step be-hind her.
Helmen's eyes widened slightly as recognition dawned.
"Elder Juvika... so she's here."
In an instant, the two figures vanished from the air where the rift had opened and reappeared upon the beast's back.
The executives didn't hesitate. They all bowed in unison, offering deep respect.
Helmen stepped forward and greeted Elder Juvika with measured reverence.
Juvika, calm as still water, cast her eyes over the people gathered. Then, with a warm expression, she stepped toward the old lady at the front and bowed deeply.
"At your service, Miss Kiana."
Kiana smiled once more, her eyes full of distant wis-dom. "Raise your head," she replied gently.
Her attention shifted to the boy who had accompa-nied Juvika. As soon as the boy noticed Kiana's gaze upon him, he respectfully bowed with flawless eti-quette and addressed the crowd.
"My name is Johan."
A moment passed, quiet and respectful.
Juvika gave a soft sigh. "He is my direct student."
Kiana's smile deepened slightly, touched with the kindness of years passed. "You've grown a lot, Jo-han."
With a slow wave of her hand, she signaled for the beast to continue its flight. The air stirred again, and the creature resumed its journey through the skies.
Five days later
Far away, near the southernmost edge of Pulkinā, an ancient terrain of tall, rugged mountains stretched endlessly under the sky. Today, unlike most days, the solemn atmosphere of these hills was replaced with vibrant commotion.
The roads snaking through the base of the mountain were newly decorated with bright banners and flut-tering streamers. Cultivators from many local sects had gathered, their tents and insignias dotting the slopes and fields.
This place, usually silent and undisturbed, had awak-ened from its slumber. The reason? The legendary Void Haul was opening.
Everyone wanted a glimpse.
Hundreds of young cultivators climbed the steep paths, striving to reach the trial platform. They were eager—desperate even—to earn a chance to enter the Void Haul, a place where ancient secrets and impos-sible treasures waited beyond understanding.
Among the chatter of the crowd, a voice whispered eagerly, "Did you hear? Niharika from the Kreek Union Sect is coming."
Up the mountain, where the great shimmering seal of the Void Haul hovered with ethereal light, the elders of Kreek Union Sect stood in solemn watch. Seven-teen cultivators had already stepped up to face the trial. Only five had barely passed.
This was no ordinary test. The Void Seal adjusted its difficulty automatically, attuning itself precisely to the challenger's potential.
Then, the crowd stirred.
A girl began to rise slowly toward the platform. All eyes followed her ascent with awe.
She moved gracefully, her posture commanding. The moment she stepped forward, the formation activat-ed with a different intensity than before. The energy it produced surged, stronger than any challenge seen earlier.
Without hesitation, the girl drew her spear.
From the seal emerged ten shadowy figures, all pow-erful, all deadly. The battle commenced.
For twenty minutes, she danced among the shad-ows—piercing, slashing, moving with precision and ferocity. When it ended, she stood victorious.
Her performance—equal parts strength and beauty—threw the younger cultivators into a trance. Whispers became praise. Admiration turned into fantasies.
High above, among the elders of Kreek Mountain, a young leader observed silently. He turned to the man beside him.
"She's improved significantly under your training, Father."
The elderly man beside him, whose eyes remained closed, didn't immediately respond. His presence was tranquil yet commanding. He was Keal, the Grand Priest of Kreek Mountain.
Without opening his eyes, he murmured, "She has improved, yes... but her overconfidence and arro-gance are starting to cloud her judgment."
Even Karnmash, Niharika's father and the King of Kreek Mountain, sighed at those words.
"She needs more experience," Keal continued calm-ly. "The challenges she has faced so far are nothing compared to what awaits beyond."
Karnmash nodded. "Do you think anyone will reach the end of the Void Haul this year?"
Keal's lips curved into a rare smile. "I can't say for sure... but I feel something big will happen."
His words trailed off as his mind drifted.
He thought of a boy—seven years ago. That full moon night when the mountains almost collapsed. When a light shone and saved them all.
"I wonder... have you regained your memories yet?" he whispered to himself.
Back on the platform, Niharika accepted the golden token—proof of her victory. She glanced at Keal, searching for a flicker of approval, but his eyes re-mained cold, unreadable.
She clenched her teeth and muttered to herself, "Even this wasn't enough to impress you... What magic did that boy work on you? He's not even a cultivator..."
Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud, arrogant voice slicing through the crowd.
Clapping followed. Then came the words.
"Niharika! Look at you—more beautiful and strong-er than ever."
It was Lamar, a smug and talented cultivator from the rival Galopin Sect. His presence was sharp, and his smile full of challenge.
When he noticed Niharika's murderous eyes, he cas-ually strolled onto the platform and issued his chal-lenge.
Though he struggled, he too passed—and earned a golden token. Yet, when he looked at Niharika again, she ignored him entirely. He joined the wait-ing area, still smirking.
High in the sky, all the sect leaders gathered, watch-ing from above. Whispers turned into murmurs. The seal would open soon.
Keal, whose eyes had remained closed for long, suddenly opened them. He looked toward a distant point.
He smiled faintly. "So... you came."
The ground shook.
A roar echoed across the entire region. It wasn't just a sound—it was a declaration.
A large, grey-scaled dragon entered the mountain range, its wings folding like thunder. Above it stood a boy cloaked in black robes, unmoved by the wind or the awe-struck stares below.
The crowd fell into stunned silence.
Even the sect leaders stood speechless.
The boy scanned the crowd with an expression de-void of emotion. Then, slowly, a smile curled on his face as he guided the beast downward and dis-mounted before Keal.
He bowed deeply.
"Thank you for inviting me."
Keal stood up, smiling warmly. "Welcome, Sheo."
The moment the name was spoken, Niharika's heart burst into flame.
On instinct, she raised her spear and charged, but Keal's gaze stopped her mid-motion. It was like a wall she could not pass.
Sheo, sensing the sudden aggression, turned around. His expression shifted into one of slight confusion as he met Niharika's glare.
She grit her teeth, hatred burning in her eyes.
Keal said softly, "Ignore her, Sheo. I assume you know why I called you."
Sheo gave a simple nod and looked toward the trial platform. Keal offered a small gesture of approval.
Niharika, now trembling with anger, whispered, "Let's see how you activate the formation now... Your elder isn't here this time."
But as Sheo stepped forward toward the seal, the temple bells rang out in a slow, rhythmic pulse. The earth shook faintly.
The moment the formation activated, the very fabric of the sky twisted.
Darkness, thick and suffocating, poured over the mountain valley like liquid shadow. The air turned colder—so heavy it felt like it might collapse upon the earth. The cloudless skies that had watched si-lently all day were now swallowed whole.
Then... it began.
A shadow—immense, formless at first—emerged be-tween the center of the platform and the stunned young cultivators watching below. The shadow pulsed, deep and slow, as though a great heartbeat echoed from within it.
Gasps swept through the crowd like wind across leaves.
One elder stood abruptly. "T-That's... a Grand Spir-it!"
Another choked on his words. "A spirit chose to test this boy?"
Even the boldest among them froze.
Niharika's eyes widened as disbelief crept across her usually composed face. "No… this must be a mis-take," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Even after years under my grandfather's guidance, I could only summon a few lower-tier spirits…"
The shadow took shape slowly—gracefully—until it became the figure of a tall, ethereal woman. She stood still, as if the world itself bent around her presence. Long obsidian hair flowed behind her like silk in moonlight, and her robes shimmered with a darkness deeper than the void.
A chilling silence fell across the entire arena.
Then an elder finally spoke, his voice trembling.
"Death Queen... Wani."
Murmurs of her name passed like sparks through dry grass.
Keal stepped forward, his face unreadable, and de-clared aloud, "The boy… has summoned the Thir-teenth Empress of the Lumane Dynasty. The woman once feared as the Death Queen."
Heads turned sharply toward Sheo. He, however, remained quiet—calm.
He didn't know much of Wani's history. But it didn't matter.
There was an opponent before him—and he only needed to survive.
The woman opened her violet eyes slowly, gaze lock-ing onto Sheo's with ancient weight. "So," she spoke, her voice soft yet laced with finality, "you managed to summon me. If you can survive three of my moves, you will pass."
Sheo nodded once.
Before even a breath could be drawn, her hand moved.
A massive energy blade materialized before her—dark, translucent, and sharp beyond comprehension. With terrifying precision, it sliced forward, aiming straight for Sheo's neck.
Sheo moved.
Not with raw speed, but with impossible angles—grace refined through his Nine Path Movement Technique. His body twisted unnaturally mid-air, narrowly avoiding the blade. The moment it struck the stone behind him, the entire edge of the platform was reduced to rubble.
Gasps erupted.
She waved again.
A piercing black beam, condensed and violent, tore through the air toward him. But Sheo only smiled. His blood surged with excitement. For the first time, his instincts were forced to sharpen like never before.
He took a common sword from his side, channeled his energy, and thrust forward. Divine lightning danced around his arm as his strike roared like a dragon. The two attacks met—and canceled each other out in a burst of static light.
Wani's hollow eyes flickered.
For the first time, they seemed… interested.
Sheo, still warm from battle, called out casually, "Hey, Miss. What say we do this properly—with swords?"
There was silence. Then, Wani raised an eyebrow. "You want to challenge me... to a sword duel?"
The watchers broke into madness.
"Is he insane?!"
"That's the Death Queen!"
Sheo didn't hear a word. His eyes stayed locked on hers.
Wani smiled darkly. "Very well."
An energy sword formed in her hand, shimmering with pale darkness. As it touched her palm, a sword mind surged forth—ancient and overpowering. Pres-sure swept the entire field.
"My powers are limited here," she said, "but you are the only one in 700 years who has managed to sum-mon me."
Sheo's own sword mind slowly emerged. It wasn't nearly as fierce—but it stood firm. And where hers was cruel and domineering, his radiated clarity and unshakable resolve.
The pressure eased slightly.
"Seven hundred years, huh?" Sheo exhaled. "Must've been boring."
They vanished.
Their swords clashed mid-air—once, twice, a dozen times. Blades moved so quickly the air screamed. The sky was sliced apart. Energy waves danced cha-otically through the clouds, yet each motion had ele-gance.
It was a dance of death.
Each strike could end a life. Each movement was an art of its own.
The arena blurred. Weaker cultivators couldn't even perceive what was happening. Even those with trained eyes felt overwhelmed. Only the high-level elders could follow the deadly exchange in its entire-ty.
Then came a sudden pause.
Two shadows—Sheo and Wani—slid back across the platform, both with faint smiles on their lips.
Wani spoke first. "If I were in your realm," she ad-mitted, "I might have lost. You're worthy."
She raised her sword once again.
"This is the technique I created at the cost of my life. Witness… my Death Sword Art."
Dark, cursed energy twisted from her hand, flowing into her blade. The ground beneath her cracked and wilted. The sword pulsed with a dreadful light—capable of draining life itself. The space around it fractured like broken glass.
Sheo didn't flinch.
"I'm honored," he replied, raising his sword.
Hundreds of stars suddenly appeared around the platform—each glowing with refined energy. They spun, merged, and condensed around Sheo's blade. He had reached the second level of the Saint Realm, allowing him to use False Star Convergence far more effectively.
While Parth, in his prime, could conjure over a mil-lion stars—Sheo was far from that. But even his hundreds roared with terrifying power.
The two attacks met.
A colossal boom thundered across the sky. Dust swallowed everything. The earth trembled.
When the haze cleared—
Two blades rested inches from each other's necks.
Then, without warning… both swords shattered.
Gasps filled the air once again.
The two warriors reappeared—standing a few steps apart. Quietly… smiling.
Wani lowered her arms. "It's been centuries since I've had a fight like that," she said softly. "Let's call it a draw."
Her body began to dissolve into wisps of black mist.
"But you passed," she added, just before vanishing completely. "If fate wills it… we'll meet again in the Void Haul."
Sheo stood silently.
This fight had tested his strength—but more than that, it gave him insight into his growth. He hadn't even used everything he had. Yet, it had been… thrilling.
Then, from the sky, a black token descended—floating gently toward him.
He caught it, examining the intricate markings on its surface. Around him, the crowd broke into chaos.
"He drew with Death Queen Wani!"
"He got the legendary Black Token!"
Sheo ignored the noise and descended from the plat-form.
Walking straight toward Keal.
Keal met him with a nod and a smile. "Well done, kid. You've come far since the last time we met."
Then, more quietly, he asked, "How's Shuna?"
Sheo smiled. "Elder is doing great."
Watching from nearby, Niharika's fists clenched. Her grandfather—smiling at him? Talking to him like they were family?
It burned her up inside.
I'll destroy him inside the Haul, she promised silent-ly. I don't care how strong he is. I'll find a way.
But then, her expression faltered.
Deep down… she wasn't sure anymore.
Beside her, Lamar was gritting his teeth as well.
Keal, meanwhile, waved Sheo forward and began in-troducing him to the elders and sect leaders formally. As the crowd quieted, Keal gestured to Niharika next.
"She's my granddaughter," he said. "You might re-member her."
He sighed faintly and added, "Her temper's never been great. If you don't mind—look out for her in the Void Haul."
Sheo simply nodded and raised his hand in polite greeting.
Niharika slapped it aside.
"I don't need anyone's help," she snapped.
Before more words could be exchanged, a deep crack echoed through the valley.
The Void Seal above the platform—glowing, mas-sive—shattered silently.
Dozens of eyes turned toward it.
The gate to the Void Haul had opened.
Sheo reached into his robes, quietly placing the Arc-tic Dragon into his folding space. He looked up at the ruins ahead—the place he had come for. Behind those walls, long-buried memories waited.
I will keep my promise, he told himself.
Without another word, Sheo stepped forward—toward the entrance of the Void Haul.