The night air was heavy.
The mist over the burial grounds never lifted, but tonight it felt thicker, as if the graves themselves exhaled in anticipation.
Lin Tian sat cross-legged among the stones, his four servants kneeling in a loose arc before him—one skeleton, three corpses. Their stillness was absolute, a mockery of life that made the silence deeper.
He could feel the strain in his bones. His meridians ached from the constant pull of corpse qi. Sweat slicked his back beneath his tattered robes. Power was never free. Each step forward demanded flesh and bone to pay.
And yet, his lips curved faintly. For fifteen years he had possessed nothing. Now the dead obeyed.
But tonight the air itself warned him: something else was coming.
---
On the northern path, a lone lantern burned.
Its light barely pierced the fog, swallowed almost instantly by the mist.
An elder of the Bonecloud Sect walked with measured steps, robes dark, long beard gleaming faintly in the flame's glow. His presence weighed heavier than the night. Qi radiated from him with quiet authority, steady as a mountain.
This was not some frightened patrol. This was a cultivator deep in the late stages of Qi Refining, his foundation honed by decades of discipline.
He was not here to whisper rumors. He was here to end them.
The elder's gaze swept the stones, unflinching despite the fog curling around him.
"Show yourself," he said, voice calm but edged with steel. "The sect tolerates no defilement."
---
Lin Tian rose slowly from his place among the graves.
The skeleton shifted beside him, bones rattling like a war drum. The three corpses lifted their blades, pale eyes hollow yet fixed on the living intruder.
Recognition sharpened the elder's gaze.
"You…" His tone hardened. "The spiritless one. Cast into these grounds."
Lin Tian's smile was thin. "And yet, I still breathe."
"You should not," the elder said flatly. "Better men than you have been swallowed by these stones. What trick sustains you?"
Lin Tian stepped forward, the mist curling at his feet like loyal hounds. "No trick. Only truth. The heavens denied me. But the dead have welcomed me."
His hand rose. At the gesture, his servants moved.
The elder's brows furrowed. "Corpse refinement… filth!" His qi surged, robes snapping in the sudden wind. "You dare taint this sect with taboo?"
"Dare?" Lin Tian's silver-lit eyes narrowed. "I am the taboo."
---
The skeleton charged first, claws raised.
The elder's sleeve flicked, and a blade of condensed qi snapped into being. With one sweep, he shattered bone into splinters.
As the skeleton fell, two corpses rushed in. Their blades scraped against his shimmering qi barrier, sparks scattering. The elder's qi flared again, a burst of force hurling them backward into the mist.
"You think puppets can challenge me?" His voice was sharp as steel. "Child, I walked the path before your parents dreamed of you. Leave this grave filth and meet your end cleanly."
Lin Tian staggered from the backlash of their defeat. His servants were not invincible; against true cultivation, they crumbled like straw. Pain lanced his chest, qi screaming through overstrained channels.
But beneath the pain came a surge of clarity. The elder was strong—stronger than anything he had faced. But he bled. He breathed. He would die.
Lin Tian's voice rang out, heavy with will. "Rise!"
The shattered skeleton's fragments twitched. Bone scraped bone as unseen strings pulled them upright. Cracks spidered through its frame, but still it obeyed.
The fallen corpses, broken and bleeding, dragged themselves back to their feet. Hollow eyes glowed faintly as they lifted their blades once more.
The elder's composure faltered for the first time. "Impossible…"
"Not impossible," Lin Tian whispered. "I told you—the dead obey me."
---
The fight raged.
The elder's qi struck like storms, each wave blasting corpses apart. But every time they fell, Lin Tian forced them back up. Crawling, staggering, they rose again.
Each rise drained him. Sweat poured down his face. His limbs trembled. Blood flecked his lips.
But every death fed him too. Cold qi flooded in, patching what broke, forcing his body to endure.
The graves themselves seemed to answer his desperation. Mist thickened, curling like chains around the elder's feet. Bones rattled in chorus, an unseen army lending their weight.
The elder gritted his teeth. His qi blade cleaved through a corpse's chest, scattering blood across the stones. But the body shuddered, stilled—and then rose again, blade still clutched, eyes emptier than before.
"You…" His face paled. "You've become the burial grounds' will."
Lin Tian staggered forward, silver-lit eyes burning. "No. I've become its master."
---
The clash ended in silence.
The elder stood panting, blood staining his sleeve where a corpse blade had cut too close. His qi flared unsteady, his breath ragged.
Lin Tian knelt among the graves, body shaking, blood dripping from his mouth. His servants surrounded him still, broken yet standing.
The elder's face twisted with fury—and something else. Fear.
He turned sharply, retreating into the mist. His voice carried back, sharp as steel:
"You will be cleansed. The sect will burn this filth from its roots!"
His lantern light vanished into the fog, leaving only silence.
Lin Tian slumped forward, barely catching himself on shaking hands. His vision blurred, the world spinning. But his lips curved into a smile, thin and victorious.
He had stood against the sect's authority. He had not been crushed.
And though his body screamed, the graves themselves whispered their approval, rattling faintly in the dark.
---
Zhao Wu watched from the shadows near the wall, face pale, hands clenched. He had seen it all—the corpses rising again and again, the elder faltering.
His heart raced with terror. But his eyes burned with triumph.
Now he had proof. Proof that Lin Tian was no ghost story, no rumor. Proof that the sect's taboo had taken flesh.
He smiled, teeth bared like a predator. "You're finished, trash. Even if the dead kneel for you, the sect will grind you to dust."
---
In the burial grounds, Lin Tian wiped blood from his lips, forcing himself upright.
His servants surrounded him, battered but obedient. His qi channels screamed, but within his dantian, silver light pulsed stronger than ever.
He exhaled, voice low.
"They called me trash. They sent their elder to break me. But I am still here."
He raised his gaze to the sky, mist curling like a crown around his head.
"And soon, they will kneel—not in pity, not in contempt—but in death."
The graves rattled as if applauding, and the mist closed around him like loyal armor.
---