Prologue
Severance City. Seren Clan Manor. Burial ground.
Look at him. Not even a tear, besides that vague, sad expression. This kid is not normal.
The patriarch of the Seren clan frowned, his expression somber as he looked down at the fourteen-year-old youth. His brother had just passed away, having failed to withstand the third heavenly tribulation. His brother's wife had vanished soon after giving birth to the wretched boy standing beside him.
As it should be clear by now, he hated his nephew—partly due to the frightening calm the boy exhibited at such a tender age, but mostly because of his horrendous cultivation talent.
In the Sky Reaching Continent, power was the only absolute truth. Everything was dictated by it: one's status, wealth, and very life. Being unable to cultivate was the most severe of sins. As the patriarch of the city's foremost clan, having such trash for kin was an intolerable affront.
The burial ceremony concluded an hour later, and the rest of the clansmen dispersed, leaving only the patriarch and the youth.
"Uncle, I will take my leave," Calum stated plainly.
"Who is your uncle? I have no worthless nephew like you. Begone—do you need to report every move you make?" Now that they were alone, the patriarch spoke harshly and venomously.
"I wasn't clear. I am leaving the clan," Calum clarified.
Stumped, Patriarch Phenol stared at him. Of course, this was what he had always hoped for, but he couldn't simply chase his nephew out without appearing cruelly ungrateful to the clansmen who still revered his late brother. Yet now, as if providence itself were smiling upon him, the kid was choosing to leave of his own accord.
"At least you know your place. My brother is dead, and no one here cares for you. You have finally decided to contribute to the clan by taking yourself away." He smiled viciously, vanishing the next second and leaving the youth alone before his father's grave.
A cold wind whipped Calum's long black hair backward. His expression remained entirely unchanged by his uncle's venom.
He killed you, afraid that once you broke through the third tribulation, you would usurp his position as patriarch. How could I not know? With your talent, it was impossible for you to fail that tribulation.
These thoughts surged through his mind as he gazed at the epitaph:
Here lies Merkin Seren, Elder of the Seren clan and father of one son.
The words weighed heavily on his mind, awakening the killing intent born the night he discovered his father's charred body. The calming spiritual tea his father had taken before the tribulation was still warm, and the room had been left entirely undisturbed by the lightning.
But don't worry. I will become strong—so strong that I alone will decide my fate. Trash? I will show them I am anything but that.
A demonic glow brightened his dark pupils as he made his silent vow. The howling wind abruptly quieted, as if an ominous omen of fate. Resolutely, Calum turned and walked away from the clan, taking with him only the simple black robes on his back and his father's sword.
The streets of Severance City hummed with bustling crowds. Calum walked through the sea of people, deftly avoiding contact and slipping past them with quiet grace, until he arrived at an inn called Drunken Passion.
Stepping inside, he was met with a festive, lively atmosphere. Patrons drank heavily while scantily clad servers delivered food and drinks amidst wandering hands. A musician added a steady melody to the ambient din.
He swept his gaze across the room and casually approached the bar, taking a stool and looking directly at the bartender.
"Boss, give me the strongest beverage you own."
"The strongest, lad? Well, if you insist. The strongest is in this bottle. It's called Hell Tongue." The gray-haired, ordinary-looking middle-aged bartender raised a brow before smiling amiably.
Moments later, a cup of clear liquid—indistinguishable from water save for its fragrant aroma—was placed before him. Calum stared at his own reflection in the cup: a delicately handsome face, sharp features, and a dark, unyielding gaze. He downed the liquor in a single motion.
A freezing chill struck his mouth, instantly transforming into a burning inferno in his stomach. His face flushed bright red, and a surge of wild pleasure rippled through his body.
"Good alcohol!"
"Thanks, lad. Is your father really dead?" the middle-aged man suddenly asked, his face shadowed with genuine grief.
"Yes," Calum replied succinctly.
"I told him to beware of his weasel of a brother. That naive fool wouldn't listen." He sighed heavily. "What are you going to do now?"
"I heard from my father that your sect is recruiting disciples this year regardless of natural aptitude," Calum stated, revealing the true motive behind his visit.
This "uncle" was an old friend of his father who had walked through fire and water with him. In truth, the man possessed an extraordinarily noble status: he was an outer sect elder of the Demonic Saint Sect, one of the most powerful factions in the Solan Empire.
"So he told you. It's true we are recruiting, and your talent—as poor as it is—won't be an issue. But you must understand, we are a demonic sect, not tolerated by the orthodox paths. And even though talent doesn't matter, there is still an entrance test," he said gravely.
"I am resolute. Even if it's the heretic path, as long as I can obtain the power to exact revenge and control my own destiny, I care for nothing else."
"Well spoken. Indeed, a man should avenge even the slightest offense—let alone the murder of his father."
Satisfied with Calum's answer, the middle-aged man nodded. "Get some sleep tonight; you must be exhausted. Tomorrow, we journey toward the sect."
Nodding, Calum rose from the stool and headed upstairs to a room. He sat heavily on the bed, rubbed his weary face, and lay down, falling asleep almost instantly. He hadn't slept in three days.
The morning sun roused him from his slumber. After cleaning up, he went downstairs to find the middle-aged man sitting in quiet solitude. The inn was completely deserted of patrons. The elder was sipping tea in silence.
"You're awake. Have a cup."
"Thanks." Calum took a seat and accepted the cup. The fragrance of the tea immediately soothed his body, drawing a comforted sigh from his lips.
"Great tea, uncle."
The man smiled. "Since we will be spending some time together, it's time you knew my name. I am Vain Heris, Elder of the Demonic Saint Sect," he introduced solemnly.
"Well met, Elder Heris."
"Now, let's go. It has been a while since I returned to the sect."
They made their way out of the city and arrived at a quiet hill a few kilometers away. Elder Heris waved a hand, summoning a black wind that enveloped them both and swept them into the sky.
Calum looked down at the sea of clouds in wonder.
So this is the power of a cultivator.
Having lived within the Seren Clan his entire life, he had never been permitted near the practice grounds, rarely witnessing cultivators display their true might—save for his father, whose minor displays had only been used to amuse a child.
Below them, villages, towns, cities, mountains, and rivers flashed past as their journey progressed. After a full day of travel, they reached an incomparably towering mountain. It was pitch black, its peak swallowed by heavy storm clouds where jagged flashes of lightning intermittently illuminated the sky.
Surveying the ominous peak, Elder Heris announced their arrival.
"At the summit lies our sect. I will leave you at the gate, where you must pass the entrance trial."
"Okay," Calum nodded.
Moments later, Calum found himself standing before an imposing gate carved with soaring dragons and phoenixes. Two men stood guard in front of it, dressed in purple robes and exuding the ethereal aura of immortals.
Calum stepped forward and greeted them politely.
"Senior brothers, I am here for the sect entrance trial."
The first guard was tall, his hair bound by a silver crown and his expression stern. The second was frail, carrying the refined air of a scholar. Both emitted oppressive auras that felt as overwhelming as natural disasters.
"I see. The last of this batch," the stern guard answered, pointing behind him. "Those stairs lead to the sect. You must walk them to the very end to be accepted. Good luck."
Following the gesture, Calum looked up to see a massive stone stairway winding up the mountainside like a giant sleeping serpent.
He exhaled slowly, stepped forward, and began to climb.