At dawn, the city guard discovered Fang Zhi's body—burned from the inside, no wounds, no struggle. The report spread fast through Shang City.
Some whispered of a spirit. Others, of a cultivator enacting dark justice.
Zhen Yu read the report with a pale face. His hands trembled.
"Who dares kill a Zhen clan servant?" an elder asked.
Yu's voice was low. "This was no ordinary killing. This… was a message."
---
Back at the academy, Zenin sat beneath the library's ancient willow tree, eyes closed, absorbing natural Qi. But his thoughts were far from peaceful.
"Fang was only the start," he whispered. "The rest will follow."
Lin Yue approached silently, holding two scrolls.
"Combat formations. You'll need these in the test tomorrow."
Zenin opened his eyes. "I'll need them for war, not a test."
She sat beside him. "Why do I feel like you're preparing for something far greater than just passing?"
Zenin gave no answer. But Yue wasn't wrong.
He could feel it—the threads of fate were moving. His path no longer belonged to the mortal world.
---
That evening, Zenin entered an underground black market disguised in a gray robe. Cultivators, mercenaries, and thieves filled the cavernous hall.
He approached a masked vendor and laid down a silver jade slip.
"I need a soul blade," Zenin said.
The vendor chuckled. "Dangerous tool for someone your age."
Zenin's voice turned cold. "I didn't ask for your advice."
Moments later, the vendor returned with a wrapped cloth. Inside: a slender, curved blade, dark as obsidian and humming with ancient spirit energy.
"The Whispering Blade," the vendor whispered. "It drinks soul essence."
Zenin took it. "Perfect."
---
That night, under the blood-red moon, Zenin practiced with the blade.
Each swing was clean, controlled. It whispered as it cut air, almost like a voice from the abyss echoing his own.
And it pleased him.
---