The night burned like a wound upon the heavens.
The once-proud banners of the Luo family—crimson silk embroidered with gold-threaded dragons—hung in tatters, swaying above a courtyard drowned in fire and blood. The manor that had echoed with the laughter of scholars and the clash of sparring blades now roared with the screams of dying servants.
Among the smoke and ruin stood a young man no older than eighteen, his face streaked with ash, his eyes fixed on the crimson horizon as if it held his destiny hostage. Luo Zheng.
He knelt beside the still body of a man—his father, Luo Xiao, Patriarch of the Luo Clan. The man's robes were torn, his chest pierced by a single, elegant sword. The blade still gleamed faintly with an aura of spiritual energy, its runes glowing cold blue in the dark.
"Father…" Luo Zheng's voice cracked, barely audible over the inferno. "I couldn't protect them…"
From the shadows of the collapsing hall, another figure emerged—Luo Yan, his younger sister, her silk robes scorched at the hem, her eyes red from tears and smoke. She stumbled toward him, clutching a jade pendant, its light flickering weakly.
"Brother… they've broken through the last barrier," she whispered. "The inner disciples… the elders… they've all fallen."
A thunderous crash followed, shaking the marble floor beneath them. Spiritual energy crackled in the air as armored silhouettes appeared at the courtyard gate—disciples of the Yun family, their silver armor etched with serpentine sigils that pulsed with malicious light.
At their front stood Yun Ling, the once-ally, now usurper. His voice carried the ease of victory and the venom of betrayal.
"Luo Zheng," he said, his smirk glinting beneath his helmet, "your family's arrogance ends tonight. The Luo dared defy Heaven's will. Now you'll witness what divine retribution looks like."
Luo Zheng rose, trembling—not from fear, but from the weight of his rage. Spiritual energy flared briefly from his dantian, but his cultivation was sealed; his meridians had been crippled by poison hours earlier. He could barely stand, much less fight.
"You call this Heaven's will?" he spat. "This is greed wearing a divine mask."
Yun Ling's expression hardened. "Say what you like. In the new era, the weak are sacrifices, and your father was the altar."
A flash of light—then silence.
When Luo Zheng opened his eyes again, he was lying in the ashes of his home. The Yun family had taken everything—his father's relics, the Luo scripture, even his sister. Only the pendant remained, lying in his hand like a dying ember of memory.
He pressed it to his chest. "I'll find you, Yan," he murmured, voice hoarse but resolute. "And I'll take back everything they stole—from Heaven itself if I must."
Above him, the moon bled red over the ruins of the Luo.
---
Two: Years Later — The Slave Forge
Chains clinked in rhythm to the hammer's fall.
The smell of molten metal and sweat filled the forge as Luo Zheng brought his hammer down upon the anvil once more, shaping spiritual iron with mechanical precision. His once-elegant hands were now calloused and scarred; his robes reduced to rough cloth.
To the guards, he was nothing more than a slave artisan, a nameless tool kept alive only because his craftsmanship surpassed all others. To the other slaves, he was a quiet shadow—kind-eyed but distant, carrying an aura of dormant power.
But deep within, Luo Zheng still carried the spark of the Luo bloodline.
As the forge-master barked orders, Luo Zheng's gaze flicked toward a pile of discarded weapons—failed spirit swords rejected by their masters. Among them, one blade hummed faintly, as though whispering secrets to him alone.
That night, when the guards slept, Luo Zheng pried it from the pile.
It was cracked along the hilt, its spiritual runes flickering erratically. But within that broken blade, he sensed something familiar—his father's resonance.
His hands trembled as he turned it over, uncovering an inscription hidden beneath the soot:
"The body is but a vessel; the soul is the true forge."
He froze. It was his father's handwriting.
A memory flared—Luo Xiao standing in the family's old study, teaching him how divine artifacts were not mere weapons but extensions of the cultivator's soul.
And then the pendant around his neck pulsed faintly, reacting to the sword's energy.
The air around him thickened. For the first time in years, Luo Zheng felt spiritual energy stir in his veins.
---
Awakening
Pain seared through him as divine energy surged, breaking past the shackles of his sealed meridians.
He fell to his knees, gasping as radiant light coursed beneath his skin. His mind filled with whispers—fragments of his father's final teachings, buried deep within the pendant's seal.
> "Zheng'er… if you are hearing this, then fate has turned its wheel. The technique you hold within is forbidden—a method to refine the soul itself. But beware: every step toward godhood demands a price."
The pendant shattered into dust, releasing a wave of golden runes that circled him like living light. They sank into his body, burning patterns into his skin—the first mark of Apotheosis.
A scream tore from his throat as the runes fused with his blood. His body convulsed, his spirit stretching between mortality and divinity.
When the light finally dimmed, Luo Zheng collapsed, drenched in sweat.
But when he opened his eyes, the world looked different.
Every ember, every ripple of spiritual essence shimmered with meaning. He could see energy flow, feel the pulse of life in the stones beneath his hands. He understood—his body had become a vessel of refinement. He could absorb divine energy not from pills or artifacts, but from the essence of others.
A dangerous gift. A forbidden path.
He smiled bitterly. "So this is what you left me, Father…"
---
The Oath
At dawn, the overseers discovered the forge in ruins—the anvil cracked, chains melted, and the slave they thought broken now standing tall among the wreckage.
Luo Zheng stood before them, the broken sword in hand, its once-dim runes blazing with light.
"Who did this?" one guard shouted.
Luo Zheng looked up, eyes like molten gold. "Heaven did."
The guard laughed nervously, drawing his blade. "Heaven won't save you, slave—"
He never finished. Luo Zheng moved faster than sight, the cracked sword slicing through both steel and spirit. The man fell without a sound.
The others hesitated, sensing something unnatural. A slave with the aura of a cultivator was impossible—yet here it was, standing before them, reborn from ashes.
Luo Zheng sheathed the sword across his back and turned toward the horizon where the Luo family manor once stood.
"The Yun think Heaven favors them," he whispered. "Let them enjoy that illusion a little longer."
He stepped into the rising sun. The air shimmered around him, and for the first time since his fall, Luo Zheng felt alive.
---
Scene Five: The Gods Watch
Far above the mortal realm, in the divine courts of the upper heavens, figures of radiant energy stirred.
A woman draped in starlight—Goddess Mu Qing, the Observer—glanced into the mirror of fate, where Luo Zheng's image burned like a newborn sun.
"So the child of Luo Xiao lives," she murmured. "And he's touched the path of Apotheosis."
Another god, wreathed in flame, scowled. "The forbidden art stirs again. If he ascends, the balance will break."
Mu Qing smiled faintly. "Then let Heaven tremble. It has forgotten what mortals can become."