Wei Chen left Xiao Long sitting on the hut floor, still dazed, still clutching the strange pill, still utterly unable to explain what had just happened.
"Stay here." Wei Chen grabbed the massive Shadowfang Ravager head and dragged it outside. "I'll make breakfast. You'll feel better after eating."
Xiao Long stared at the pill in his palm.
What did that old man do to me?
---
Thirty minutes later, the smell of roasting meat filled the air.
Wei Chen had carved strips from the ravager's body and was cooking them over a small fire. The meat sizzled. The fat dripped. It actually smelled... good.
Xiao Long approached cautiously.
"You expect me to eat that?"
Wei Chen glanced up. "It's delicious. And good for cultivation." He tossed a roasted strip to Xiao Long. "Try it."
Xiao Long caught it. Looked at it. The meat was dark, almost purple, with a faint shimmer of residual Qi.
He raised it to his mouth.
The world screamed.
---
Twenty figures dropped from the trees like shadows given form.
Black cloaks. Covered faces. Glinting blades.
They surrounded the clearing in perfect silence, surrounding the hut, surrounding Wei Chen, surrounding everything.
Wei Chen was on his feet in an instant, sword drawn, body positioned between the assassins and the hut.
"Xiao Long." His voice was calm. Terrifyingly calm. "Go inside. Don't come out. No matter what happens."
Xiao Long's feet wouldn't move.
"NOW."
He moved.
The hut door slammed shut behind him. Through the cracks in the wood, through the gaps in the walls, he could see shadows moving. Blades flashing. The clash of steel.
Clang. Slice. Thud.
A body hit the ground.
Then another.
Then a scream—not Wei Chen's.
Xiao Long pressed his face to the crack.
Wei Chen was a monster. He moved through the assassins like water through rocks, his blade finding throats, his feet dodging strikes by inches. Three assassins down. Then four. Then—
A blade caught him.
Straight through the chest.
Wei Chen's body flew backward and slammed into a tree, pinned to the trunk by the sword through his heart.
Xiao Long's breath stopped.
No.
Wei Chen's eyes were still open. Still aware. Blood poured from his mouth, but he looked at Xiao Long through the crack in the wall. His lips moved.
Stay inside.
Twelve assassins remained.
The lead assassin—taller than the rest, his cloak edged with silver—stepped forward and laughed.
"Well, well. The guard dies like a dog. And you..." He looked directly at the hut. At Xiao Long. "You made this easy for us. One target, no protection."
Xiao Long's hands shook.
Think. Think. What can you do?
Nothing. He had no cultivation. No talent. No weapon.
His eyes fell on the table.
On the pill.
Pale blue. Faintly glowing. Warm.
That old man's gift.
Xiao Long didn't think. He grabbed the pill and swallowed.
---
Fire.
Ice.
Everything and nothing at once.
The pill detonated inside him like a star going supernova. Qi flooded his meridians—not gently, not kindly, but with the force of an exploding sun. His body screamed. His vision shattered.
And then he was somewhere else.
---
A throne of black crystal.
A figure sitting on it—tall, powerful, ancient. Crimson eyes that burned like dying stars. The same red eyes Xiao Long saw in the mirror every day.
The figure looked at him.
"Finally awake, little one?"
Xiao Long couldn't speak. Couldn't move.
"You carry my soul. My power. My curse." The figure smiled . "It's time you learned to use it."
The vision shattered.
---
Xiao Long's eyes snapped open.
He was still in the hut. Still surrounded. Still alive.
But everything felt different.
His body—lighter. His senses—sharper. He could feel the assassins outside. Could feel their Qi signatures like candles in the darkness. Could feel their intent—their killing intent—like cold spots in a warm room.
And his Datian...
His Datian was no longer empty.
It burned with power.
---
XIAO LONG'S AWAKENED TALENT: THE VOID PHYSIQUE
The Void Physique is not a talent it's an anti-talent. Where normal cultivators generate Qi, the Void consumes it. Where normal cultivators project power, the Void absorbs it. Where normal cultivators fight with techniques, the Void fights with absence the absence of heat, the absence of light, the absence of existence itself.
Xiao Long moved.
The hut door exploded outward—not from force, but from absence. The wood simply... ceased to exist where he touched it.
The assassins spun.
"There he—"
Xiao Long vanished.
Appeared behind the first assassin.
His hand touched the back of the man's neck.
The assassin's head fell. Not cut. Not severed. Just... separated. Like the Qi holding it together had simply stopped existing.
The body crumpled.
Xiao Long vanished again.
Appeared behind the second.
Touch. Fall. Dead.
Third.
Touch. Fall. Dead.
Fourth tried to run. Xiao Long appeared in front of him. The assassin's blade passed through Xiao Long's chest—and met no resistance. No flesh. No blood. Just nothing.
Xiao Long's hand closed around his throat.
The assassin's eyes went wide. Then empty. Then dead.
Fifth. Sixth. Seventh.
They couldn't hit him. Couldn't run from him. Couldn't exist near him.
The lead assassin—silver-trimmed cloak, shaking now—backed away.
"What... what ARE you?"
Xiao Long appeared before him.
Crimson eyes burning.
Face expressionless.
Voice quiet.
"I'm the one you were sent to kill."
His hand reached out.
The assassin's final scream lasted less than a second.
---
Twelve bodies.
Twelve assassins.
Twelve lives erased in less than thirty seconds.
Xiao Long stood in the center of the carnage, breathing hard, hands shaking, eyes still glowing. Blood—not his own—dripped from his fingers.
He looked at Wei Chen.
The guard was still pinned to the tree, sword through his chest, eyes somehow still open. Still alive. Barely.
Xiao Long moved to him.
"I told you not to come out." Wei Chen's voice was a whisper, wet with blood. "You never listen, do you?"
"Shut up." Xiao Long grabbed the sword. Pulled.
Wei Chen gasped. Blood poured.
But the sword came free.
Xiao Long pressed his hands to the wound—and pushed. Qi flowed from him into Wei Chen. Not healing Qi. Not anything trained. Just raw, desperate energy forced into a dying body.
Wei Chen's eyes widened.
"That feels... wrong."
"Shut UP."
The wound stopped bleeding.
Wei Chen's color improved—slightly.
He was still dying. But slower now.
Xiao Long collapsed beside him, exhaustion hitting like a physical weight. His eyes dimmed. His body shook. The hunger—the terrible hunger—roared in his empty stomach.
Wei Chen looked at the bodies. At the carnage. At the boy who had just murdered twelve trained assassins with his bare hands.
"...What are you?" he whispered.
Xiao Long didn't answer.
He was already unconscious.