Huff…
In the pale light of dawn, near the roar of a secluded waterfall, Wudi Egun sat cross-legged upon the wet stone. His breaths were slow and deep, his chest rising and falling with practiced rhythm. Each exhale carried a faint mist—not of ordinary breath, but of something far heavier, as though impurities themselves were being purged from his body.
Around him, an aura stirred.
A sinister, violet energy seeped from his pores, curling like smoke, cloaking him in a mantle of otherworldly presence. It radiated darkness—yet within that darkness was a strange purity, a quiet holiness, as if corruption and sanctity had been forced to coexist.
It was a sight that defied reason.
Any ordinary cultivator who saw it would have been shaken, unable to name the phenomenon. Even Wudi himself could not put it into words.
"The Underworld Breathing Method…" he murmured, eyes still closed, voice echoing faintly beneath the rush of water. "Even after ten years, it still astonishes me."
His lids lifted. For the briefest instant, his pupils glowed an eerie purple, deep and bottomless—like wells opening into another world. A heartbeat later, they faded back to ordinary black.
Memories stirred.
Before his reincarnation into this world, Wudi had not gone directly into the cycle of rebirth. No—his soul had wandered into the realm of the dead, the Afterlife. A place no mortal tongue could fully describe.
There, in that world of endless gray, he had encountered beings known only as Remnants—fragments of will and consciousness that lingered beyond death, neither alive nor entirely gone. It was from them that he had seized the Underworld Breathing Method.
This method was never meant for humans. Its practice twisted the body, eroded the spirit, and slowly transformed the cultivator into something not quite human, something closer to a Remnant.
Yet the power it granted… was impossible to ignore.
Already, his strength surpassed that of ten ordinary men. His body carried resilience beyond the mortal frame. He could summon threads of Underworld Energy, channeling the essence of death itself, even touching upon the mysterious force known as Afterlife Power.
It was intoxicating. It was terrifying. And it was his.
To cultivate this path meant abandoning his humanity piece by piece. But to stop now would mean throwing away everything he had endured—both in his previous life and in this one.
So he continued.
Still, a bitter truth lingered in his heart.
The Underworld Breathing Method, miraculous as it was, was not recognized as a Cultivation Mantra. It did not align with the orthodox paths of this world. No matter how far he advanced in this strange art, he could never be called a cultivator.
For all his strength, he remained an outsider—something between mortal and ghost.
And yet, as the first light of the sun touched the horizon, painting the waterfall in hues of gold, Wudi Egun's expression did not waver.
He simply tightened his fists, the violet aura around him trembling in response.
"Cultivator or not… I'll carve my own path."
The month-long journey had worn thin on Wudi Egun's patience. He had crossed rivers, climbed ridges, and trudged through the endless canopy of Black Serpent Forest. Now, at last, the trees parted to reveal the final stretch: Moonlight Forest.
The name promised mystery, but to his eyes, it was nothing more than another woodland—ordinary trees, ordinary undergrowth, and not a hint of silver radiance.
"So this is the famous Moonlight Forest?" he muttered, kicking a loose stone from the path. "People here must name things just to sound impressive."
He dismissed it with a click of his tongue and pressed onward. Hours passed beneath the shifting shade, until at last, the trees thinned and a sharp wind carried with it the faint scent of smoke and iron.
Then he saw it.
From atop a rugged hill, the view opened to the distance.
There it stood—Celestial Maidan City. Its walls rose like a colossal barrier against the world, tall stone battlements stretching across the horizon. Sunlight struck its surface, casting a blinding sheen that made the city seem both inviting and untouchable.
"Finally…" Wudi's lips curled into a smile, satisfaction flooding his chest. "Finally, I made it."
But his smile froze. His eyes narrowed.
Because beneath those towering walls, chaos reigned.
From his vantage point, nearly five kilometers away, he could see the battlefield clearly. Armored soldiers clashed against creatures that moved with terrifying ferocity—animals, but not ordinary ones. Their forms twisted, fangs bared, eyes gleaming with unnatural light.
"They're fighting…" Wudi muttered, brows furrowing.
The soldiers fought with disciplined precision, blades and spears flashing in the daylight. Their shields locked, their movements sharp, they held the line against the tide of beasts.
Beasts.
The word struck him. In the tales he had once read—back when he lived in another world—cultivation stories always spoke of spiritual beasts, creatures born from heaven and earth's essence, rivaling men in strength and cunning.
"So those… are the beasts," he realized, his chest tightening with both awe and unease.
Fortunately, the soldiers were skilled—far beyond the ordinary mortals he had known in the village. Even against such monstrous opponents, they did not falter.
And then a thought sparked in his mind, sly and dangerous.
"…This could be useful."
If those soldiers were truly strong enough to hold off beasts, then what better way to introduce himself than to fight at their side? To appear as though he had risked his life alongside them?
He could win their trust. Perhaps even earn recognition.
The corner of his lips twitched upward. "If I play this right… this might be my chance."
Without another thought, he broke into a run.
The wind tore at his clothes as he sprinted downhill, weaving through rocks and brush, the sound of battle growing louder with each heartbeat. His lungs burned, but his eyes gleamed with determination.
Ten minutes later, Wudi Egun arrived at the edge of the battlefield—where the gates of Celestial Maidan City loomed above, and fate itself waited.
The land before Celestial Maidan's towering walls was no longer earth—it had become a slaughterhouse.
The sun stood high above, its golden light dimmed by the rising veil of dust and smoke. Beneath it, the plain roared with chaos. Soldiers clad in iron clashed against wild beasts, every heartbeat punctuated by screams, howls, and the ring of steel.
These were not ordinary animals. Their bodies, once belonging to wolves, boars, bears, even great stags, now swelled with unnatural power.
Years of soaking in spiritual energy had twisted them beyond nature, forging muscles that rippled like stone and fangs that gleamed like forged blades. Their eyes glowed faintly—green, red, or gold—the mark of energy pulsing within. They were no longer prey or predators. They were beasts.
A giant boar, its tusks as long as spears, charged through the defensive line. Shields splintered under the impact, three men crushed in an instant.
A soldier screamed as the tusk pierced his chest, lifting him clean off the ground before the beast hurled him aside like a ragged doll. Blood sprayed, painting the dirt a deeper shade of crimson.
Yet even in despair, the line held. With a roar, another soldier leapt atop the boar's back, plunging his spear again and again into the creature's thick hide.
The beast shrieked, bucking, throwing its head like a storm, but the soldier clung on until at last his weapon pierced an eye. The boar collapsed, thrashing violently until it grew still. The soldier did not rise again.
Elsewhere, a pack of wolf-beasts darted through the melee, their fur bristling with unnatural silver sheen. They moved faster than arrows, their jaws snapping. One soldier's arm vanished in a single bite, ripped away as though it were nothing but meat.
He shrieked, blood pouring, yet still he raised his blade with his remaining hand, carving into the beast's throat even as he fell. The wolf staggered, throat torn open, but not before another wolf pounced, its fangs closing over the dying man's neck with a wet crunch.
The battlefield stank of iron and rot. Dust rose with every stamp of claw and boot, mixing with the copper tang of spilled blood. The cries of men blended with the roars of beasts until there was no line between hunter and hunted.
A great bear, its body larger than a carriage, reared on its hind legs, swatting soldiers aside with arms like battering rams. Armor crumpled beneath its blows, bones snapped, men sent flying through the air before crashing lifeless to the ground. Still, spears jabbed at its belly, swords carved deep lines into its legs.
With a deafening roar, the bear fell forward, crushing three beneath its bulk as a dozen blades finally pierced its heart.
Every victory cost blood. Every kill demanded sacrifice.
A stag with antlers glowing faintly blue lowered its head and charged. Soldiers screamed, scattering too late. The first was impaled through the stomach, lifted high as the stag shook violently, tossing him aside like broken cloth.
Another was gored and dragged across the ground before a halberd cleaved through one of the stag's legs, sending it crashing down.
There was no pause, no mercy. The beasts did not retreat, nor did the soldiers surrender. Both sides fought with equal ferocity—one for instinct, the other for survival.
The clang of swords striking bone. The tearing sound of flesh ripped apart. The dull thud of bodies hitting earth. The battlefield was alive with horror, yet also with courage.
For every soldier torn limb from limb, another drove his blade deeper into a beast's heart. For every beast that roared in triumph, another fell silent beneath the storm of steel.
By the gates of Celestial Maidan, war had truly come.
Wudi Egun stood at the edge of the battlefield, half-hidden among the fallen. His eyes swept across the chaos—blood spraying, beasts howling, soldiers screaming, swords ringing like bells of doom. The ground trembled beneath the clash of claw and steel.
A dead soldier lay not far from him, his body broken, one arm missing. The man's shield and sword were still clutched in rigid hands. Wudi Egun narrowed his eyes, stepped forward, and pried the weapons free. The metal was still warm, slick with blood.
For a moment, he simply weighed them in his hands. Then he drew in a deep breath.
If he fought silently, no one would notice. No one would know he had risked his life. His effort would vanish into the mud like spilled blood. That wasn't acceptable.
So he threw back his head and roared.
"AHHHHHH!"
It wasn't courage. It wasn't madness. It was a theater. His cry tore through the noise of battle, drawing eyes toward him—even if only for an instant—so that his "contribution" would be etched into memory.
The soldiers who heard him frowned in confusion. Their eyes flickered toward the ragged man now charging into the melee. Who was he? Another soldier? A lunatic? They didn't know, and they didn't dare spare more thought. A heartbeat's distraction here was a death sentence. Still, the echo of his cry lingered.
Wudi Egun was already moving, scanning, judging, weighing. He needed a beast that was neither too strong nor too weak—an opponent that would let him shine without killing him outright. His gaze slid past a monstrous stag, past a wolf pack tearing through the flank… and finally locked on a towering gorilla-like beast.
Eight feet tall, arms as thick as tree trunks, its black fur bristling with the shimmer of spiritual energy. Its eyes glowed with cold fury as it smashed its fists into the dirt, cracking the earth with each strike. A terrifying foe, but not impossible.
"Perfect," Wudi muttered.
He broke into a run, sword raised, shield braced. The gorilla turned toward him, nostrils flaring, teeth bared. Its roar was like rolling thunder.
Steel met flesh first. Wudi's blade slashed across its chest, sparks flying as if he had struck stone. The beast howled, swinging its fist with the weight of a falling boulder.
Wudi raised the shield.
CRACK!
The impact was catastrophic. The shield split down the center, shattering like brittle wood. Wudi's arm numbed instantly, his bones buzzing as if struck by lightning. His heart pounded.
"The hell is this thing's skin made of?!" he hissed, teeth gritted.
He tossed the ruined shield aside, hurled the bent sword after it, and rolled across the ground, dirt clinging to his body. He came up beside another fallen corpse—this one clutching a long iron spear. Without hesitation, he ripped it free.
The gorilla charged again.
This time Wudi met it head on. He lunged, spear flashing, stabbing into the beast's side. The tip pierced shallowly before the gorilla's massive hand clamped down on the shaft.
"Not good—"
The world spun. The beast wrenched the weapon and hurled Wudi into the air like a rag doll. He hit the earth with bone-shattering force, dust exploding around him. His chest convulsed, blood spattering from his lips. His vision blurred, ears ringing.
Before he could move, a shadow fell over him.
The gorilla's fist came down.
Instinct screamed—his arms crossed over his chest just as the blow landed.
BOOM.
Pain exploded through his body. His forearms screamed with agony, bones cracking like glass, ribs beneath feeling as though they had been shattered into splinters. His breath caught in his throat, his scream ripped raw from him, echoing across the battlefield.
He could taste iron. His entire chest throbbed with unbearable torment. Yet in that moment, he forced his lips into a grotesque grin.
"You hit like a drunk farmer."
The words were madness. He didn't even believe them. But he spat them anyway, because that was who he was—always pretending to have control, even as the world broke him.
The gorilla roared and raised its fist again.
Wudi rolled, snatched the spear, and thrust upward with every ounce of strength left in him. The tip punched through fur, skin, muscle—finally tearing into the beast's heart.
The gorilla froze, eyes wide, chest trembling. It staggered, tried to raise its fist again, then collapsed forward with a shuddering crash that shook the ground. Dust billowed. Blood pooled.
Wudi lay beneath its shadow, gasping, body trembling violently. His arms were numb, his ribs screamed with every breath, blood trickled freely from his lips. He looked like a broken man—yet his eyes still glimmered with feverish calculation.
He coughed, spat blood, and dragged himself to his knees.
Every muscle in his body screamed for rest, for retreat, but he forced himself forward. His gaze darted across the battlefield again, searching. Not the largest, not the weakest. Something in between.
He must fight more—intentionally, visibly. So that when this battle ended, no one could say Wudi Egun had hidden. No one could deny his presence.
Even if every breath tore his chest apart.
Even if every step was agony.