The sun dipped behind the jagged ridges of Bonecloud Mountain, plunging the world into chill twilight.
Lanterns flared to life along the sect walls, their wavering glow casting pale light across the northern path. Beyond those walls, the burial grounds slumbered under their usual shroud of mist.
Lin Tian sat cross-legged among the graves, his two servants standing sentinel at his sides. His breaths came steady, misting silver in the night air. With every cycle of corpse qi through his channels, the hollowness within him shrank. What had once been an empty shell now pulsed with life—or rather, with death's echo.
The skeleton creaked as it shifted, sockets glowing faintly. The corpse gripped its blade in lifeless hands, body sagging but still obedient. To any outsider, they were grotesque mockeries of life.
To Lin Tian, they were proof. Proof that he had grasped something greater than fate had ever intended him to hold.
They cast me into the graves to rot… and here, I found power the living could never dream of.
But even as qi surged through him, the night carried unease. The mist curled thicker than before, coiling between grave markers like smoke from an unseen pyre.
And in the stillness, he felt it—eyes. Watching.
---
On the other side of the wall, a squad of outer sect disciples crouched in the shadows, lanterns dimmed. Each wore a talisman tied at the wrist, glowing faintly with protective wards.
"Orders are clear," one muttered, glancing nervously toward the mist. "Sweep the outer rows. Nothing more."
Another scoffed, though his voice trembled. "What, afraid of a few bones? The elders just want us to keep appearances. Two missing disciples and everyone's whispering ghosts—bah. We go in, we come out. Easy."
Yet none could hide the tightness of their grips on their swords, nor the sweat on their brows. The burial grounds were taboo for a reason.
From the shadows behind them, Zhao Wu leaned against a tree, lips curled in a smirk. His crimson robes had been traded for darker garb, but arrogance still clung to him like a mantle.
He had heard the rumors all day: spiritless Lin Tian, thrown into the graves. Two disciples missing. Whispers of ghosts.
He didn't believe in ghosts. But he believed in leverage.
If that trash still breathes… I'll be the one to drag him out.
---
Lin Tian rose slowly as the mist stirred. His servants shifted with him, silent and alert.
Qi prickled inside him like sparks racing through dry grass. Something was coming.
Shadows flickered at the edge of the grave mounds. Lanterns bobbed faintly in the fog. Footsteps crunched against brittle bones.
"Form up," Lin Tian whispered.
The skeleton clattered forward, its stillness uncanny. The corpse raised its blade, jerky but unwavering.
Figures emerged from the mist—sect disciples, weapons drawn, faces tense. Their eyes darted across the graves, searching for threats they half-believed in.
Then they saw him.
A boy in tattered robes, standing tall amidst bones, flanked by horrors that should not walk.
Shock rippled through their ranks.
"That—what is that?"
"He's… he's commanding them—"
"Impossible! That's corpse refinement! That's forbidden!"
Lin Tian's lips curled into a cold smile.
"Forbidden? Then remember me as forbidden."
His hand fell.
"Strike."
---
The skeleton charged first, bones clattering like war drums. Its sockets glowed faintly in the mist.
The nearest disciple screamed, blade flashing down in a desperate arc. Steel met bone with a ringing clash. Sparks burst orange against the fog.
To his horror, the strike didn't stop the skeleton—it only cracked ribs before the bones snapped back together, creaking but unbroken.
"Monster!" he cried, stumbling back.
The skeleton lunged. Bony fingers clawed, its mindless force driving him sideways.
Beside them, the corpse soldier lurched forward. Its slash was clumsy, jerky, but relentless. The second disciple caught the blow, sparks shrieking as steel locked against steel.
"Hold! Don't give ground!" he shouted, though fear cracked his voice.
The corpse pressed harder, blade trembling in its grip, forcing him back step by step.
Lin Tian's qi surged with each clash. Cold power poured into his veins. His dantian pulsed with faint silver.
His voice cut through the chaos.
"Together."
The skeleton shifted, circling. Its claws hooked under the first disciple's blade, wrenching it wide. At the same instant, the corpse soldier hacked downward, its crude slash finding flesh.
The boy screamed as steel bit into his arm. Blood sprayed across the stones. He staggered, clutching the wound, terror blazing in his eyes.
The second disciple's face drained white. "This… this can't be real—!"
He swung wildly at the skeleton, blade cleaving through its shoulder and snapping bone free. But the thing didn't falter. It seized his wrist, grinding down with crushing force.
"Break," Lin Tian whispered.
A crack like thunder split the night. The boy's wrist bent at an unnatural angle, sword clattering into the dirt. His scream shrilled until the skeleton's other hand snapped around his throat.
He flailed, kicked, and then another sickening crack silenced him forever.
Corpse qi rushed into Lin Tian, a torrent of icy power. His chest heaved, veins burned, but exhilaration drowned the pain.
The last disciple dropped his weapon outright. Eyes wide, he stumbled backward as the corpse soldier stalked toward him, blade raised.
"No—stay back! Elders save me!"
He turned to flee.
"Stop him," Lin Tian commanded.
The skeleton pivoted, clattering across the stones to cut him off. Claws dug into the boy's shoulder. The corpse soldier followed, blade driving into his chest in a grotesque parody of teamwork.
Blood poured. His scream cut short. He crumpled lifeless to the ground.
Lin Tian's breath trembled as cold qi poured into him again. His channels stretched, his dantian flaring silver.
Before the bodies cooled, his command rang clear.
"Rise."
The corpses shuddered. Fingers curled. Limbs jerked like puppets on strings. Pale eyes opened—lifeless, waiting.
Now four figures knelt before him—two flesh, one bone, one broken hybrid.
The air thickened with the stench of blood and the hiss of corpse qi.
Lin Tian's lips curved into a dangerous smile.
"This is my army. And it has only begun."
---
From the treeline, Zhao Wu watched, mouth dry. His smirk had frozen into something brittle.
"That… that's…"
Lin Tian stood amidst the graves, undead servants kneeling, his aura like a dark star pulling all light toward it. Disciples lay broken in the mist, and Zhao Wu felt the oppressive weight of his presence even from a distance.
"Taboo," Zhao Wu whispered. Fear gripped him—but rage followed. How? How can trash wield such power?
His fists clenched. No. I will not let him rise.
---
The disciples' screams faded. Silence returned to the burial grounds.
Lin Tian exhaled, chest rising and falling as corpse qi hummed in his veins. His body ached, but his dantian blazed bright.
He had clawed his way from emptiness into the first true layer of Qi Refining—and faster than any genius of the sect could dream.
The mist curled closer around him, drawn to his presence. Whispers licked at his ears, soft and chilling. Perhaps the voices of the forgotten. Perhaps the Dao itself.
Lin Tian smiled thinly.
"The living cast me aside. The dead… they crown me."
Bones rattled as if in agreement.
And from the treeline, Zhao Wu's eyes blazed with hatred.
If the sect won't see the danger, then I'll drag it into the light. Trash or not, I'll see him crushed beneath the weight of his own taboo.
---