The world remembers heroes. It carves their names into stone, builds temples to their shadows, and sings of loyalty as though it were gold.

But the murim does not run on gold.

It runs on blood.

I was once a fool who believed in brotherhood. I bled for others, killed for their cause, and called them family. When my blade grew dull, I trusted their steel to guard my back.

Instead, their steel found my heart.

On that night, when snow buried the fields and crimson smoke curled from my chest, I learned the first truth: loyalty is a leash, and the neck that wears it is already broken.

Death was meant to be the end. Yet the heavens spat me back, twenty years younger, with the taste of betrayal still fresh on my tongue.

What is a second life but a debt?

Not a gift — a debt to every drop of blood I wasted on trust. A debt to every smile that hid a knife. A debt I will repay in full.

I do not dream of glory. I do not dream of honor. The world may keep its heroes and its temples.

I dream only of knives behind smiles, of leashes turned into nooses, of webs woven so tight that even the spider cannot escape.

If fate gives me twenty more years, I will carve my name not into stone, but into the bones of those who betrayed me.

This is no chronicle of loyalty.

This is the Chronicle of Blood Dao.

From Chapter 32 onward, the story continues! I'll be updating at least one new chapter every single day, so stay tuned — the journey of Xuan and the Blood Dao has only just begun.


Author's Note