Three years ago…
My name is Hun Yao — just an ordinary young man from a humble family, talentless and nameless. I had only one dream: to become a great cultivator. Yet for some reason, my father and mother always forbade me. They never explained why. Every time I asked, they just fell silent… and smiled bitterly.
I didn't understand. Wasn't becoming a cultivator supposed to mean protecting one's family? Bringing honor? Taking revenge when wronged? But for me, that dream was nothing more than a distant star — forever out of reach.
That day, the sky turned blood-red. Black clouds swallowed the sun, and the air reeked of iron. The sound of war between sects shook heaven and earth. The screams of men mixed with the roars of spirit beasts and explosions of mystical arts that tore everything apart.
We… the clueless civilians… were forced to join the war. We were gathered, given ragged clothes — not even weapons — and told to stand on the front lines, human shields for those who called themselves the "sect's protectors."
We all knew we were just sacrifices.
The war lasted only half a day before defeat spread like a plague. Our sect fell — crushed like ants beneath a dragon's foot. The enemy cultivators came like a storm. They didn't just kill our elders. They slaughtered everything that breathed.
I saw it… with my own eyes.
My father… was beheaded.
My mother tried to protect me… but her head fell right after.
The world froze. Sound vanished. My body wouldn't move. Only a silent scream escaped my lips. Their blood warmed my trembling hands. I held their lifeless heads close. My whole body shook — not from cold…
But because I couldn't do anything.
That day, I died.
But also… I was born again.
This world bows only to power. There is no place for the weak. No justice. No mercy. Only strength can make the world kneel.
If I wished to avenge everything — my family, my sect — I had to stop crying.
When dawn came, I was still holding their heads. My body was exhausted, yet I couldn't let go. It felt like if I released them, everything would vanish. But I knew… they were gone. I decided to bury them. Not because I was strong… but because it was the last thing I could do for them.
I wept. For the first time, truly wept — without restraint. I prayed for them. I knelt on the earth, clawing at it with my bare hands, digging shallow graves for their broken bodies. The red soil stained my fingers… but it couldn't compare to the blood that stained my heart.
I dug for hours. My hands bled, but I didn't care. I buried them with my own hands and covered them gently. No incense. No sacred prayer. But my heart screamed a single vow: I will avenge everything.
Before leaving, I looked at the ruins of the sect with hollow eyes. No tears. No pity. They deserved destruction — every bit of hypocrisy, every act of cruelty hidden behind their holy robes and sacred emblems.
They had long corrupted themselves — committing sins, abusing power, killing innocents. I remembered being bullied by other disciples. I cried for help, but no one came. Even the guards ignored me. I could only endure — beaten, kicked, and humiliated.
I almost died…
Until my father came. He drove them away and held me in his arms. I felt warmth… comfort… something irreplaceable. He took me home and tended my wounds. Mother fed me afterward.
Those were peaceful times — moments that would never return.
I walked home that day, speechless. The houses around me were ruins. Corpses lay everywhere. The air stank of burnt flesh and blood. Severed limbs, crushed bodies, rolling heads — the world had become hell.
I reached my home. Half of it had collapsed. I searched for food, money, anything. Weak and wounded, I lifted plank after plank. But there was nothing. Only dust, rubble, and memories sharp enough to cut the soul.
Not even a piece of my mother's cloth remained. Everything was gone.
After hours of searching, I found nothing. I sat on the only chair left intact — the one where Father used to sit and teach me about the world. The one where Mother used to sew my winter clothes. Now, only I sat there. Alone.
I looked up at the bright sky. But the blue quickly turned black. Clouds coiled like enraged dragons. Rain poured down — heaven's lament. Thunder roared, shaking the ground — as if even the heavens mourned with me.
I shivered. Not from the cold… but from the loneliness that slithered into my heart like a serpent. I hid in the corner, hugging my knees. I was small. The world was too vast. And I… had no one left.
Then… I felt something.
A warmth. Not fire — but not ordinary light either. I opened my eyes.
From my parents' room… came a strange sound.
Nnng… Nnnggg…
I froze. The sound was soft, high-pitched, yet clear — as if calling from beyond the world. Not just through the air… but straight into my heart.
I heard my name… faintly… woven between the humming.
Trembling, I stepped closer to their room. My heart pounded, my breath caught. Every step felt like wading through a nightmare.
Just as I reached the door, a blinding light burst from the crack — pulsing, alive, calling.
I raised my hand to shield my eyes.
But the light didn't fade.
It only grew brighter. Hotter. Yet strangely… it didn't burn me.
The air fell silent. Even the rain seemed to pause. The world held its breath.
Instinctively, I stepped back. But before I could run—
Something inside that room called my name.
A voice that wasn't a voice — echoing directly within my mind.
"Hun Yao…"
I froze.
The light began to fade. From within it, an artifact floated into view — suspended in midair, defying gravity.
I stood there, stunned. The artifact looked like a jade cup, carved with the image of a dragon. Its green glow felt warm… yet foreign. I approached. Slowly, I reached out.
When my fingers touched it, a gentle warmth spread through my body. "What is this…? My parents' relic?"
But before I could think further, the roof collapsed. I flinched, raising my arms to block falling debris. The artifact slipped from my grasp and rolled across the floor.
I hurriedly cleared the rubble and grabbed it again. But as I lifted it, a shard scraped my finger.
A drop of my blood fell onto the jade surface.
And at that exact moment—
The sky went mad.
Thunder roared so violently the ground trembled. Rain poured harder. The artifact absorbed my blood — and began to tremble.
Then, the voice called me again.
> "Hun Yao…"
Without warning, the heavens split apart.
A colossal hand descended from the clouds, clutching thunder and lightning. It had no flesh — only light and energy.
The first bolt struck me.
My body convulsed. Agony surged through my bones and marrow. I couldn't even scream.
The second. The third. The fourth — nine bolts in total struck me again and again.
The world collapsed. I couldn't feel my body. Couldn't see. Couldn't hear. Everything turned dark. Everything vanished.
I… died.
But in that darkness, I saw a glimmer of light.
An endless sea — cold, deep, boundless. I sank into it, unable to breathe or move.
Then… I awoke.
Air rushed into my lungs. I coughed, gasped. My body trembled. My clothes were soaked, yet unburned. No wounds. No scars.
Only the artifact remained in my hand — silent, calm… but alive.
I didn't know what had happened that night. But I knew one thing:
I had to leave.
This sect no longer deserved to be called home. There was no reason to stay on the land that buried my parents.
I gathered what I could — dried food, clothes, a kitchen knife. Before leaving, I searched the nearby ruins. Near a charred elder's corpse, I found something: a storage pouch.
With trembling hope, I opened it. Inside was a small dimensional space — holding some pills, dried rations, and a rolled-up ancient map. I took them all.
Back home, I placed everything — including the jade cup — into the pouch. I also picked up a short sword from a fallen soldier impaled near the fence.
Everything was ready.
I stood at my doorstep for the last time, staring at the ruins. The scent of blood still lingered in the air.
"Father… Mother… I want to become a cultivator. Please, from where you are… allow me. Thank you for everything."
I turned and walked away — leaving the sect, leaving the past — stepping into a vast, cruel world… filled with secrets yet to be uncovered