Chapter 1:Dawn Over Ruins
The night was silent, yet the silence was wrong. It was not the peace of rest, but the silence of death. Smoke curled from blackened beams, the once-mighty Lin Clan's ancestral hall now nothing more than smoldering ash. Statues of past patriarchs lay shattered, their faces broken and unrecognizable, as if Heaven itself had erased their glory.
Lin Feng staggered barefoot over the ruins, his fifteen-year-old frame trembling, his breath ragged. His robes were torn, soaked in blood—some his, some his family's. His hands, cut and burned, clutched tightly at a shard of a broken sword, though even he knew it was useless.
The clan that had once stood above all others on Tianyu Continent was gone.
The Lin Clan, bearers of the Primordial Lin Bloodline, had been betrayed and slaughtered in one night. Allies had turned to enemies, Heaven's will had descended, and their rivals had struck with merciless precision.
He stopped before the collapsed altar of his ancestors. Only fragments of tablets remained, names carved across generations now covered in soot and blood. He remembered kneeling here as a boy, reciting his lineage, dreaming of glory. Now it was nothing but ruin.
"Father…" His voice cracked as he looked toward the broken wall where his father, Lin Tianxuan, had made his last stand. He remembered the image vividly: his father's spear flashing like a comet, blood spraying, enemies falling. Then the crushing wave of heavenly lightning that silenced everything.
Live, Feng'er, his father's final words still echoed in his mind. Even if Heaven rejects you, live… and walk your path.
Tears blurred Lin Feng's vision. He clenched his teeth so hard blood seeped from his lips. He wanted to scream, to roar, to curse the heavens—but he dared not.
Because they were still hunting.
In the distance, boots crunched over rubble. Voices whispered.
"Search every corner. The Lin heir must not live."
"The Mo Clan paid handsomely. If we return without his head, our sect will suffer."
Lin Feng's heart pounded. The assassins. His body pressed against the ground, his breath shallow. He could smell the stench of burning flesh, the coppery tang of blood, the dampness of dew settling over corpses.
He wanted to run. His legs twitched with fear. But he remembered his father's words and forced himself to stay still, burying his face into the dirt. The assassins' footsteps passed close, then faded into the ruins beyond.
Only then did he dare breathe again.
But the world he once knew was gone. He was alone.
---
The night stretched endlessly. Hunger gnawed at his stomach; thirst burned his throat. He searched the ruins for anything—roots, herbs, even burned grains—but found little. His hands bled as he dug through rubble, uncovering nothing but broken bones and shattered hopes.
By dawn, Lin Feng's face was pale, lips cracked. His Immortal Body had not yet awakened fully; to him, suffering was as real as for any mortal. His body shook, but his eyes hardened.
"I will not die here," he whispered to the ashes. "If Heaven itself seeks my death, then I will live to spite it."
---
As the sun rose, a shadow fell across him. Lin Feng froze, heart leaping. A figure stood at the edge of the ruins—black robes, a cruel smile, eyes cold as steel.
A Mo Clan assassin.
"So it's true," the man sneered. "The last rat still breathes. The Mo Clan will take pleasure in crushing the Lin bloodline completely."
Lin Feng's chest tightened. His broken sword shard trembled in his grip. He knew he was no match. His enemy was a Qi Condensation cultivator, trained and merciless.
The assassin lunged, blade flashing. Lin Feng's body reacted before his mind. He stumbled, dodging narrowly, but the blade grazed his arm, spilling blood. Pain seared through him.
I will die here…
Then something stirred within him. A faint pulse deep inside his chest, like a heartbeat that wasn't his own. His blood burned, his vision sharpened. For an instant, time seemed to slow—the assassin's movements sluggish, the air heavy.
Lin Feng's eyes widened. He felt warmth, power, something ancient awaken. His body drank in the assassin's killing intent, the energy in the air, even the faint embers of his fallen clan's qi.
And then he struck.
The broken sword shard in his hand glowed faintly, not from its own strength, but from his blood. With a roar torn from the depths of his soul, Lin Feng thrust it forward.
The assassin sneered, blocking with ease—only to stagger as a strange force erupted from Lin Feng's body. His blood felt like it was being pulled out of him, his qi drained.
"What—!?" The assassin's eyes widened in shock.
Lin Feng drove the shard deeper, screaming, tears mixing with blood. The assassin gurgled, eyes full of disbelief, before collapsing.
Silence.
Lin Feng stood over the corpse, panting, his hands shaking violently. The shard clattered from his grip. He had killed. His first kill.
His stomach churned. He retched, bile and blood spilling from his lips. He wanted to collapse, to crawl into the ashes and disappear.
But then he looked at the assassin's face. And he remembered his father's last words.
Slowly, Lin Feng bent down, gripping the assassin's sword. His reflection in the blade was pale, eyes hollow, but deep inside burned a flicker of something unyielding.
"I will live," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Even if Heaven itself rejects me… I will live."
The wind blew over the ruins, carrying ash like drifting snow. Above, the sky was clear, mercilessly blue, as if mocking his pain.