Vast, jagged mountains stood like predatory shadows, piercing the heavens. Nestled within these desolate, frozen peaks lay the Blood-Refining Sect. The sect's walls were so imposing that even sunlight seemed to hesitate before entering. Today, the main courtyard of the Inner Core was drowned in an eerie silence, where even the rustle of the wind sounded like a dying gasp.
On the stone floor, a boy knelt, his head bowed. He wore tattered cotton clothes, worn thin and frayed in places. His trembling hands and lowered gaze made it clear he stood at the very bottom of this world's hierarchy. Directly in front of him, thousands of shards of a precious blue medicine vial lay scattered across the floor. The shimmering blue essence—an elixir of immense value—was slowly disappearing into the cracks of the stone.
"P-please... forgive me! I have made a terrible mistake!"
He slammed his forehead against the floor so hard that the sound echoed off the stone. His voice wavered with terror, and beads of sweat glistened on his brow. He knew exactly what he had destroyed—a potion forged from countless rare resources.
This boy was LeeHan. A lowly servant, kept here only to wash the feet of powerful disciples and clean the filth from their chambers. In this sect, his life was worth less than a broken pot.
Standing before him was Wang Bo, an influential and rising star of the Inner Core. The hatred and contempt etched onto his face were enough to shatter anyone's spirit. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"Forgive you?" Wang Bo's voice sliced through the courtyard like a cold, sharp blade. "You absolute fool! Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you know how expensive this medicine is? It is worth thousands of times more than your pathetic, wretched blood! Even if I sold your organs one by one in the market at the lowest price, I wouldn't recover even one percent of this medicine's cost!"
Wang Bo took a step forward. The heavy thud of his boots sounded like death knells in LeeHan's ears. "Did you think you could destroy anything you wanted and I'd let you go with a simple apology? You have insulted our resources, you filth!"
Before LeeHan could utter another word of explanation or beg for mercy, Wang Bo swung his heavy leg and delivered a brutal kick directly to LeeHan's face.
CRACK!
The sickening sound of breaking bone followed. LeeHan's body flew back like a torn sack, skidding several feet across the stone floor. His face was instantly masked in blood, and a thick, crimson stream began to pool on the ground.
Wang Bo's rage was not yet spent. He rushed toward the writhing boy. "Get up! You scum! Do you think this little bit of pain is enough?" He raised his foot again and rained down a merciless barrage of kicks upon LeeHan's face and ribs.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
With every strike, a muffled groan escaped LeeHan's body. "You bastard! I won't leave you alive today! How dare you stand before us and commit such a blunder!"
Just then, Wang Bo's friends, who had been watching the spectacle with amusement, walked over laughing. "Hey, Wang Bo, why waste all your energy alone? Let us help you show this insect his place."
In an instant, three or four disciples surrounded LeeHan. Heavy boots hammered into his vital organs like sledges. The helpless boy curled into a ball, making a final, futile attempt to protect his head with his hands. That section of the floor was now stained deep red with LeeHan's blood. They continued to beat him until his screams faded and his body went limp. The only sounds remaining in the courtyard were the thuds of kicks and the cruel laughter of Wang Bo's friends. LeeHan lay lifeless, his face a gory mess.
Suddenly, one of Wang Bo's friends, a strange red glint in his eyes, leaned in to inspect the trail of blood. "Wait..." He licked his lips. "Wang Bo, can we use his blood for our cultivation? He is a living human, after all."
The others burst into laughter. One looked at LeeHan with pure disgust. "What are you talking about? Refine this trash's blood? What a revolting idea! We'd be better off hunting a Soul Beast; at least its energy would be pure. What strength could there possibly be in this garbage's blood?"
Another disciple stepped forward and delivered a final kick to LeeHan's stomach. "Exactly. He's just our punching bag. To be honest, beating him gives me a strange sense of peace. It washes away the day's exhaustion."
"Right? That's all insects like him are good for—entertaining the powerful," the third added mockingly.
As they were laughing, the temperature in the courtyard suddenly plummeted. A heavy pressure filled the air, and a grave voice boomed, "Quiet! What is the meaning of this?"
The disciples immediately stood at attention, their laughter vanishing. Their Master approached, clad in heavy white and red robes. His eyes held a depth that could freeze anyone's soul.
The Master's gaze fell upon the bloodied LeeHan. He showed neither hatred nor pity. He simply said calmly, "You should not waste your strength here. A warrior's energy belongs on the battlefield or in cultivation, not on such trivial matters."
Wang Bo bowed quickly. "Master! Forgive me, but this trash ruined my special herbal medicine paste today. It was extremely valuable!"
The Master glanced at the spilled blue essence and then back at Wang Bo. "Fine, let it be. What is done is done. What will you gain by beating this dead rat further? The loss is already sustained."
The Master looked at LeeHan, who was still moaning in pain. "He is but a lowly servant. Let him go. Save your energy for a worthy enemy."
Raising his voice, the Master pointed at LeeHan. "Hey, trash! Get up and clean all this blood. And clean up that mess of medicine you made. Not a single stain should remain."
Wang Bo and his friends followed the Master out, smiling as if nothing had happened. As he left, Wang Bo turned back to give LeeHan one final warning: "If you ruin anything else next time, I will bury you in this very ground."
LeeHan was left alone. His body was broken.
He lay on the cold ground for a long time. His body had gone numb with pain, and the blood from his mouth had begun to dry and turn black. The silence was so heavy that he could hear his own ragged breathing. After a while, he gathered his strength and tried to push himself up with trembling hands. Every movement sent a sharp, burning sting through his ribs, as if a hot iron were being thrust into him.
He picked up an old bucket and a dirty cloth. Pouring water, he began to scrub his own blood and the stains of the blue medicine from the floor. For him, this wasn't just cleaning; it was erasing the evidence of his own helplessness. When the floor was finally spotless, he began to stagger away, only to be stopped by a heavy voice from behind.
"Hey! You! Servant, come here!"
LeeHan froze. His back went cold. Two or three disciples stood before him, their swords drawn from their scabbards. A tall disciple thrust a dirty blade toward him.
"Look how filthy our swords have become. They're covered in blood and dust. Clean them right now—and remember, they should shine so bright I can see my reflection. Move it!"
Without a word, LeeHan bowed and took the swords. He knew that arguing meant another near-death beating. The disciple laughed and walked away with his companions, shouting back, "Today really is a fun day, isn't it?"
LeeHan sat in a corner, silently scrubbing the heavy blades. His body was giving up, but he couldn't stop. After a long struggle, just as he finished and was heading back to return the swords, another disciple collided with him violently at a corner.
CLANG!
The impact was so sharp that one of the precious swords slipped from LeeHan's hands and fell straight onto the stone floor.
"Can't you see where you're going, you lowly servant?" the disciple who bumped into him roared in anger.
The owner of the sword saw his weapon lying in the dirt. He rushed forward, screaming, "You dog! How dare you drop my sword in the dirt?"
The color drained from LeeHan's face. "No... no! My Lord, I didn't do it on purpose! This disciple bumped into me, and it slipped..."
But the one who had hit him immediately washed his hands of it. "How is this my fault? It's your fault. You have no strength in your hands, that's why you dropped it. Don't make pathetic excuses!"
The sword's owner glared at LeeHan with murderous eyes. "Exactly. This is your fault, and you will be punished for it."
He grabbed LeeHan by the collar and dragged him toward the other disciples. "Today, you won't just clean my sword. You will clean every single sword belonging to every disciple here. If I find a single speck on any of them, remember—I'll skin you alive!"