The boy who had no name, once a beggar in a world where even ants were more respected, stepped out of the mountain cave with slow, steady footsteps. His clothes were torn and ragged, his hair unkempt, his face still as plain and forgettable as always. To anyone passing by, he looked no different from a starving refugee, skin thin and pale, eyes calm and without the sharpness of geniuses. Yet inside him, something vast and ancient coiled like a sleeping dragon.
The moment his bloodied hand had touched that statue, he had been drawn into the boundless sea of consciousness, where Sun Wukong—neither man nor beast, but the eternal Monkey King—waited with a spear in hand. It wasn't merely a meeting. It wasn't merely inheritance. Every spear thrust, every step, every roar that once shook galaxies had been burned into his mind like an eternal memory. Even now, as he blinked beneath the dawn light, he could still see the Monkey King laughing, wild and free, pointing that spear toward a horizon filled with gods and devils.
Remember, boy, the Monkey King's voice echoed in his mind, raw and untamed. You are not inheriting a legacy—you are devouring a memory. My victories, my defeats, my madness, my cunning… they are yours to recall when the world dares to trample you. But the path ahead? That belongs to you alone. Go. Kill. Break the heavens if you must. No one remembers the weak.
His injuries had long been healed by the Monkey King's casual flick of divine energy, yet Wushen didn't look like someone freshly empowered. His body was still thin, his aura restrained, his expression calm. He looked ordinary, but ordinary in a way that felt… unnatural. Like a blade so sharp it had been hidden within a sheath of wood, giving no hint of its edge.
The boy who had been nameless had now taken a name from the echo of his inheritance: Jian Wushen. "Sword Without God." A name both arrogant and absurd, but it rolled in his mind with a cold clarity.
He descended the mountain quietly, the vast inheritance running through his blood like burning rivers. His cultivation had leaped to the 6th Stage of Qi Refining, a height most orphans would never dream of reaching in their entire lives. Yet this was merely a beginning. He had no clan, no backing, no wealth. Only the memories of a mad Monkey King who had once torn galaxies apart with a spear.
As he reached the base of the mountain, voices drifted through the trees. Cold laughter. The rustle of blades.
"Search carefully! That little rat couldn't have gone far. When we find him, cripple him slowly. The young master wants his head delivered on a plate."
Wushen's steps did not falter. He recognized the voice instantly. Luo Fan. One of the local bullies from the outer sect he had once begged to join. A petty young master, arrogant only because of his clan's backing. It was Luo Fan's gang that had chased him to the brink of death, forcing him up the mountain. Without them, he would never have stumbled upon the statue. Without them, he would never have met Sun Wukong.
Perhaps, in some twisted way, he owed them thanks.
The forest rustled, and soon a group of five youths appeared, blades glinting in the dim light. At their head was Luo Fan, dressed in silk robes that looked utterly out of place in the wilderness. His eyes lit up with cruel delight the moment he spotted Wushen.
"Well, well, look who crawled back from the grave. I thought you'd be feeding the wolves by now." Luo Fan sneered, stepping forward. "Still dressed in rags, still looking like trash. You really don't know when to die, do you?"
Wushen's expression remained calm. His ordinary face betrayed nothing. His eyes, however, were different now. They were deeper, sharper, as though something vast watched from behind them.
"You chased me once," Wushen said quietly, his voice like still water. "For that, I'll give you a chance to crawl away."
For a moment, silence blanketed the forest. Then laughter erupted. Luo Fan doubled over, clutching his stomach. His lackeys cackled like hyenas.
"You? Trash like you? Giving me a chance? Hahaha! Kill him! Break his legs! Let's see how long his tongue stays sharp."
The five lackeys surged forward. Blades gleamed, Qi flared.
Wushen moved.
It wasn't flashy. It wasn't overwhelming. His step was light, almost casual, but the way his body shifted was wrong. His foot pressed into the soil at an odd angle, his torso twisted just slightly, and he slid through their encirclement like water slipping through cracks. Blades that should have pierced his flesh cut only air.
Footwork.
It was simple, yet impossibly profound. A memory etched into his mind by the Monkey King himself. Each step seemed ordinary, but when combined, they formed an invisible rhythm, an untouchable path.
Before the five could even react, Wushen's hand flicked, and a long, broken spear that he had picked up from the forest floor thrust outward. It wasn't even a proper weapon, merely a snapped shaft of iron, but in his hands, it became something else.
A thrust. Clean. Precise.
One lackey screamed as the spear pierced his shoulder and sent him sprawling into a tree. Another swung his blade desperately, but Wushen's foot shifted, his body flowed around the strike, and the spear's butt smashed into the boy's jaw with a sickening crack.
It was over in moments.
Only Luo Fan remained, eyes wide with disbelief. The five companions he had relied on were writhing on the ground, groaning in agony. And Wushen… Wushen looked like he hadn't even tried.
"You… what are you?" Luo Fan hissed, fear seeping into his voice. "Trash doesn't become strong overnight. Who are you?"
Wushen's gaze locked onto him. Calm. Cold. Ruthless.
"Someone you shouldn't have chased."
He raised the broken spear. Luo Fan's instincts screamed. Desperate, he shouted, "Don't! I… I have the Starseer Eye!"
For the first time, Wushen's calm expression shifted slightly. His brow arched. Starseer Eye?
Luo Fan's pupils suddenly glowed faintly, like starlight flickering in a night sky. His movements sharpened. His body blurred, predicting Wushen's strike before it even came. The spear thrust—and Luo Fan twisted aside at the last possible instant, his blade flashing toward Wushen's ribs.
It was true. His eyes could see ahead.
The broken spear scraped against Luo Fan's blade, sparks flying. Wushen's foot shifted again, his body swaying like a leaf in the wind. The blade cut nothing but air.
Wushen's eyes narrowed slightly, analyzing. So this is the Starseer Eye… able to glimpse the trajectory of attacks, to see steps before they fall.
A powerful gift indeed. One that made ordinary geniuses into legends.
But gifts were useless without the heart to wield them.
"Nice eyes," Wushen said softly, almost amused. His spear whirled, striking again and again. Luo Fan's glowing pupils widened, his body twisting desperately as he tried to keep up. Each thrust was a memory of Sun Wukong's madness, spears that had once torn gods apart, distilled into simple, brutal thrusts. The Starseer Eye predicted—but prediction was useless when the strikes were too fast, too fluid, too overwhelming.
Finally, the spear stopped an inch from Luo Fan's throat. The silk-robed youth froze, his legs trembling, sweat pouring down his face.
"Keep your eyes," Wushen said flatly. "But remember this moment. Remember that they couldn't save you."
With that, he withdrew the spear and turned his back, walking away with calm, unhurried steps.
Behind him, Luo Fan collapsed to his knees, gasping, the glow fading from his eyes. The lackeys lay groaning. And Jian Wushen, plain and forgettable in appearance, walked into the forest like a shadow that the world would never forget.
In his mind, the Monkey King's laughter echoed again.
Good. Good! That's how you use power. Not to flaunt, not to beguile, but to crush when needed and walk away when you choose. You're learning, boy. You're learning.
Wushen's lips curved just slightly. His path had begun. And in this vast cultivation world, littered with remnants, sects, and galaxies thought to be legends, he would carve a place for himself with cunning, ruthlessness, and a spear that remembered the madness of Sun Wukong.
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