The storm broke over the horizon like a beast unleashed.
Rain lashed against the tall windows of the ducal estate, sheets of water hammering against stone walls and drowning the gardens below. Thunder shook the heavens, and lightning clawed across the sky, illuminating banners that bore the crest of House Ardent—an eagle wreathed in flame.
Inside his chamber, Alex sat cross-legged upon a polished wooden floor, his body steady though the storm roared outside. His eyes were closed, breaths even, his consciousness sunk into the calm sea of cultivation. Qi swirled through his meridians like a flowing river, bright and vibrant, pulsing with the vitality of youth.
At fourteen, Alex was already a phenomenon. Scholars traveled from distant lands to see him practice, to witness the clarity and force of his qi. Some called him the empire's future, others whispered he might one day eclipse even the king's bloodline. He had inherited his father's steel, his mother's cunning, and a lineage rich with power.
Tonight, though, unease tugged at him. The qi that normally flowed like a river now stumbled like a stream clogged with stones. He opened his eyes, exhaling sharply. "Strange…" he muttered. "Why does the storm feel so heavy?"
He rose, stretching, intending to find his father. But before his hand reached the door, a sound cut through the storm.
A scream.
High, sharp, and suddenly silenced.
Alex froze, every hair on his body standing upright. He had grown up around soldiers and sparring steel—he knew the sound of death. His chest tightened.
The door slammed open.
A maid staggered in, her pale dress soaked crimson, her eyes wide with terror and disbelief. Blood bubbled from her lips as she tried to speak. "Y-Young master… run…"
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed face-first onto the floorboards.
Behind her stood a man garbed in black, his face hidden by a mask, his dagger dripping blood that mixed with the rain and the maid's lifeblood.
Alex stumbled backward, his heart hammering. "Who—?"
The assassin lunged.
Steel shrieked as a blade intercepted the dagger. One of the estate guards—a burly man Alex had sparred with countless times—burst into the chamber, his sword flashing. "Young master, run!"
The two clashed, rain and blood spraying across the floor. The guard roared with fury, each swing heavy, desperate. But the assassin was quick, darting like a snake, his blade seeking gaps.
"Go!" the guard shouted again, glancing back for only an instant.
Alex's feet wouldn't move. His body screamed to obey, but his heart was a storm of fear and disbelief. The estate was supposed to be impregnable. His father commanded the empire's finest troops. His mother ruled with brilliance unmatched. They were untouchable—weren't they?
A sickening crack tore through the air. The assassin's dagger buried itself in the guard's chest. The man coughed blood but did not fall—he shoved Alex backward with the last of his strength. "Live… young master…"
The assassin twisted his blade. The guard's body went limp, collapsing onto the floor.
Alex's breath caught in his throat. His vision blurred with tears, his stomach heaving at the stench of blood.
He turned and ran.
The corridor was chaos. Torches flickered wildly as shadows darted across walls. Servants screamed, soldiers shouted, steel clashed. Blood smeared the polished floors, staining portraits of long-dead ancestors.
"Protect the lady!" someone shouted from beyond the hall.
Alex's legs carried him toward the voice. He burst into the grand courtyard, and the world seemed to shatter.
Bodies littered the rain-soaked stones—guards, servants, kin. Corpses piled like refuse, crimson washing into the drains as though the estate itself bled. Above the carnage, steel rang like thunder.
At the center stood his father, Duke Ardent, clad in hastily donned armor, his halberd cleaving through men like wheat. Each strike was a tempest, each swing a storm, his roar echoing even over the thunder.
At his side, Alex's mother wielded no weapon but her voice, commanding the remaining soldiers. "Hold the line! Protect the family crest! Buy time for reinforcements!"
Her gown was torn, her hands stained with blood, but her eyes blazed unyielding. She was the flame of the dukedom—fearless even before death.
"Father! Mother!" Alex cried, stumbling forward.
His father's gaze snapped to him, hard and fierce even amid battle. "Alex! Run! Protect yourself!"
"I can fight—"
"You will do as I say!" his father's voice was iron, cutting deeper than any blade.
The order rooted Alex in place, shame and fury boiling in his chest.
But then he saw it.
Shadows flitting at the edge of the courtyard—men stronger than common assassins. Their qi pressed down like a storm, suffocating, cruel. Cultivators far beyond the reach of the estate's defenders. This was no simple assassination. This was extermination.
His father roared, cleaving two more assassins apart. But for every one he felled, three more replaced them. His mother's voice never faltered, even as blood streaked her face. Yet Alex's heart sank deeper with every passing breath.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the moment his father's halberd snapped under the force of three blades.
"No!" Alex screamed, rushing forward.
A burning pain exploded in his side. He stumbled, looking down to see a dagger buried in his ribs. The assassin yanked it free, and Alex collapsed, his blood mixing with the rain.
But worse than the pain was the shattering within. His qi—his meridians—his cultivation. He felt it rip apart, his dantian hollowing into a void.
His gift was gone.
The assassin raised his blade for the final strike—
—but a horn blared in the distance. Reinforcements.
The masked killers hesitated, retreating into shadows as swiftly as they had come. Like ghosts, they melted into the storm, leaving ruin in their wake.
Alex lay gasping in the mud, the taste of iron thick in his mouth. His vision blurred. His father's roar silenced. His mother's commands faded into nothing. When the thunder ceased, only the rain remained.
By dawn, the estate was silent.
The storm had washed away much of the blood, but the stench lingered, heavy and unrelenting. The once-proud ducal mansion stood in ruins, its banners shredded, its halls filled with corpses.
Alex staggered through the wreckage, his hand pressed to his wound. His body trembled, but the greater agony was within—his shattered cultivation, his broken pride.
He found them at last. His father, his armor shattered, halberd broken in two. His mother, cradled in his arms, her eyes forever closed, her face serene even in death.
"Father… Mother…" Alex fell to his knees, the world collapsing. His cries tore from his throat until his voice broke, but the dead gave no answer.
He remained there until the sun rose, the light falling pale upon the graves hastily dug by survivors. Villagers whispered, fearful eyes darting to him.
"The young duke… crippled…"
"Without cultivation, he's nothing now."
"He should have died with them."
Alex heard every word. His fists clenched until blood dripped anew. He raised his head at last, his crimson eyes burning with grief and fury.
"If the heavens mock me," his voice rasped, "I will defy them. If fate toys with me, I will sever its strings. If I rise again—" His gaze swept the graves, the ruined banners, the ashes of all he loved.
"—I will drown this world in rivers of blood. I will build mountains of corpses. And I will carve my family's name into eternity once more."
The storm had passed, but within Alex Ardent, a darker storm had just begun.
The saga of revenge was born.