The Advantage of Knowing
The silence was the most immediate offense. The utter absence of the thrumming, violent Qi of the Grand Dao he had controlled in his previous life felt like a profound spiritual vacuum. The only sound was the pathetic, shallow breathing of the three other weaklings sleeping in the barracks beside him.
Xue Feng lay perfectly still on the mildewed straw mat, his consciousness—the ancient, ruthless soul of the Emperor of Calamity—coldly assessing the prison that was his fifteen-year-old body.
Weak.
This body was a sack of fragile bones and undeveloped meridians, barely capable of sustaining a Rank 1 Qi Absorption level. It was, quite frankly, insulting. It was the same body that had begun his first, flawed path to power—a path that had ended with his total annihilation by the righteous hypocrites.
But beneath the fragility lay the true, terrifying treasure: Six thousand years of memories. Knowledge of every war, every resource surge, every great treasure, and the fatal weakness of every future enemy.
Heaven gifted me a second chance not out of kindness, but out of necessity. The Dao requires a proper executioner.
He slowly sat up, the minor exertion leaving him slightly winded. The air in the Sunken Jade Sect barracks was thin, saturated only with the placid, low-grade Aetheric Qi that led to a snail's pace of cultivation. This entire sect was destined to be crushed into dust two years from now, barely a footnote in the history of the coming Era of the Thousand Treasures.
Xue Feng looked at his soft, uncalloused hands. They were useless for fighting, but perfect for manipulation.
"Forget the cultivation base," he murmured, his voice high-pitched and immature, grating against the centuries of dignity he remembered. "The body is trivial. My knowledge... my knowledge is the true Dao Treasure of this life."
His internal calculus began, a dizzying array of plans, resources, and assassinations clicking into place.
The greatest threat is time. I cannot afford meditation; I must procure the required resources directly.
He reached into his Spiritual Sea, where the shadow of his parasitic cultivation art, the Runic Soul Grimoire, pulsed hungrily. It was a bottomless furnace, ready to consume and convert the profane energies of the world.
The Grimoire demands fuel.
Primary Fuel Sources (Immediate Need):
Karmic Sin: Generated by large-scale turmoil and resource redirection. The destruction of the Sunken Jade Sect will be a nice starting meal.
Destiny Fragments: Stolen opportunity and luck. This is where efficiency lies.
His thoughts immediately fixed on one individual.
Lin Yue.
The future Son of Destiny, the boy who would one day command the alliance that defeated him. Lin Yue was due to arrive at the sect's periphery within the next ten days. At this stage, he was a massive, untapped Destiny Lode, walking around completely unaware of the fortune he was broadcasting.
I will not kill him yet. That would be messy, and the resulting Karmic backlash would be inefficient. Better to subtly guide the hero's fate, siphoning off his luck one precious fragment at a time. I shall make him my personal luck-generating automaton.
But before exploiting the hero, he needed the mask. The Runic Soul Grimoire pulsed with a terrifying demonic signature that would alert any Core Formation expert instantly.
The Mask Must Be Secured.
Xue Feng stood, his shadow long and thin in the moonlight filtering through the dusty window. The Serpent's Coil Technique—a supreme concealment art—was hidden not in a sealed vault, but in the restricted section of the Sunken Jade Library, masked by layers of tedious, irrelevant scripture.
He already knew the access procedure: it required the secondary bronze key held by the foolish Inner Disciple in charge of inventory, Shen Kai. A vain, greedy youth who valued minor wealth over sect rules.
Xue Feng smiled—a cold, practiced gesture that never reached his eyes.
A perfect opportunity. It seems the Heavens intended for me to ascend by exploiting the very fools who cling to their pathetic rules.
He pulled on his thin outer robes. The game had begun, and his first target was already holding the door wide open.