Lin Mo did not move for a long time.
Blood continued to drip from his shoulder, each drop sinking into the ash and vanishing without a trace. The bodies around him cooled quickly, as if the wasteland was eager to reclaim what had been spilled upon it.
No celebration.
No relief.
Only assessment.
He lowered himself carefully to a kneeling position and examined the wound. The cut was deep, but clean. Not fatal—if treated soon. Unfortunately, "soon" was a luxury the frontier rarely provided.
He tore a strip from the dead man's robe and wrapped it tightly around his shoulder, biting down on the fabric as he pulled. Pain flared, sharp and honest.
Good. Pain meant limits. Limits meant reality.
Standing again, Lin Mo searched the bodies with methodical efficiency. He found a small pouch of spirit ash, a low-grade healing pellet cracked down the middle, and a thin iron token marked with the Iron Bone Sect's insignia.
He paused when he saw it.
This was not loot.
It was evidence.
The Iron Bone Sect would notice when three of its outer disciples failed to return. When they did, they would not assume an accident. Border lands did not kill cultivators easily.
Someone had resisted.
Lin Mo slipped the token into his sleeve anyway.
Consequences were inevitable. Preparation was optional.
He turned his attention inward.
The presence remained—quiet now, anchored deep within his mind. It did not speak. It did not guide. It simply existed, like a mountain that refused to be moved.
Immutable Will.
It had not made him stronger. His body was still weak. His cultivation nonexistent. Any true cultivator could still crush him.
Yet something fundamental had changed.
Fear no longer dictated the sequence of his thoughts.
Lin Mo tested it deliberately, recalling the moment the blade cut into him. The memory surfaced, intact and sharp—but it carried no tremor, no reflexive flinch.
Pain registered.
Threat registered.
But neither commanded him.
"So this is the price," he murmured.
Resolve without comfort.
Clarity without mercy.
He accepted it immediately.
In his previous life, hesitation had always come disguised as hope—hope that someone else would act first, that circumstances would soften, that fairness would appear if he waited long enough.
This will allowed no such illusions.
A faint sound reached his ears.
Voices.
Lin Mo's eyes narrowed. He extinguished his thoughts instantly and moved, keeping low as he slipped behind a collapsed stone structure. Ash muffled his steps.
Two figures emerged from the fog some distance away—civilians by their posture and clothing. Scavengers, most likely. Desperate enough to search forbidden land, cautious enough to move slowly.
They saw the bodies.
One of them retched.
"The Iron Bone Sect…" the other whispered. "They're dead?"
Silence followed. Heavy. Dangerous.
Lin Mo watched without expression.
These people could spread the news. Or they could bury it. Either choice would shape the coming days. He did not intervene.
Observation first.
After a long moment, the second scavenger shook his head. "We didn't see anything," he said quickly. "Nothing. We take what we can and leave."
The first nodded frantically.
They avoided looking too closely as they scavenged the outskirts, hands trembling as they gathered scraps and fled back into the fog.
Lin Mo exhaled once.
Good.
Fear was contagious.
When they were gone, he emerged and turned away from the battlefield. The wasteland had already served its purpose. Staying longer invited attention he could not yet survive.
As he walked, memories surfaced again—this time of the border settlement the original Lin Mo had once called home.
A place barely worthy of the name.
Wooden shacks reinforced with scrap metal. A cracked defensive wall that had never stopped anything stronger than a starving beast. No sect protection. No formal governance. Only survival through compliance.
He arrived by dusk.
The guards at the gate stiffened when they saw him.
"You're alive?" one blurted out before catching himself.
Lin Mo inclined his head slightly. "For now."
They let him pass without further questions.
Inside, the settlement buzzed with low, anxious energy. Whispers moved faster than people. News always did.
Iron Bone Sect disciples dead in the forbidden land.
No one said it aloud. But everyone felt the weight of it pressing down on their chests.
Lin Mo went straight to his shack.
It was exactly as he remembered: a single room, bare except for a thin mat, a cracked basin, and a small wooden box hidden beneath the floorboard. He knelt and pried it open.
Inside were three things.
A rusted knife.
A torn cultivation manual missing half its pages.
And a sealed letter.
His parents' handwriting.
He did not open it.
Not yet.
Instead, he sat and focused inward again. The Immutable Will did not respond to scrutiny. It was not a tool to be wielded, but a foundation to be stood upon.
Then he noticed something else.
A faint resistance.
The world felt… tighter.
As if the air itself carried a subtle pressure, barely perceptible, but undeniably present. Not hostility. Not yet.
Correction.
Lin Mo smiled faintly.
"So you noticed."
Night fell.
Hours later, footsteps approached his shack.
He opened his eyes instantly.
A knock followed—hesitant, careful.
"Lin Mo," a familiar voice called. "It's Elder Qian."
The settlement's mediator. Not a cultivator. Not powerful. But deeply cautious.
Lin Mo rose and opened the door.
Elder Qian's gaze flicked briefly to Lin Mo's bandaged shoulder, then away. "Word is spreading," the old man said quietly. "People are afraid."
"As they should be," Lin Mo replied.
Elder Qian studied him for a long moment. "The Iron Bone Sect will come."
"Yes."
"They will ask questions."
"Yes."
"And you?" Elder Qian asked. "What will you do?"
Lin Mo met his eyes steadily.
"I will not run," he said.
The old man's breath caught. "Then you will die."
"Maybe," Lin Mo agreed calmly. "But if I run, I die later, weaker, and forgotten."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Elder Qian nodded once. "Then… I will say nothing."
Lin Mo inclined his head. "That is enough."
When the door closed, Lin Mo sat again in the dark.
He opened the letter.
It was short.
*If you're reading this, we failed. Don't be angry. Just live.*
He folded it carefully and placed it back in the box.
"I will," he said softly.
Outside, the world continued its quiet calculations.
Inside, something immutable waited.
And somewhere far above, Heaven adjusted its balance.
For the first time in a long while—
It was uncertain.