The sun had not yet fully risen, but the sky burned crimson with smoke and sorrow. Li Shen stepped through the shattered gates of the Blackwood Clan estate, his footsteps slow, heavy—not from fatigue, but from the unbearable weight of survival.
Charred beams jutted like blackened ribs from the skeletal remains of once-grand buildings. The manor, once a symbol of oppressive nobility, lay in ruins, its tiled roofs shattered, its spiritual defenses reduced to melted sigils and crumbling wards. Blackwood banners, once embroidered with golden cranes, hung torn and soaked with blood.
The air stank.
Burnt flesh. Smoldering ash. And the thick, cloying residue of corrupted Qi still lingered in the atmosphere, staining every breath with the taste of rot and decay. The breeze stirred the ashes, carrying whispers of the night's massacre.
Li Shen walked among corpses.
Some wore the tattered gray of slaves, their faces frozen in terror or twisted agony. Others bore the fine robes of cultivators, blood soaking through silks that no longer shimmered. Their storage rings were cracked, their spirit weapons strewn uselessly beside them.
They had been powerful.
They had lorded over him.
Now, they were just meat.
He should have felt something—grief, relief, maybe even triumph. But all he felt was cold.
And alive.
His hand, still streaked with the black blood of the demon-corrupted cultivator he had slain, trembled slightly. Not from fear. It was that strange hunger again—the echo of power awakened during the chaos, a dark pull beneath his skin. The Heaven Asura Destruction Body hummed inside him, silent but awake, like a beast newly stirred from slumber.
He knelt beside a broken corpse, its face unrecognizable, half its torso torn open.
He stared.
So this… is what power does.
He had felt it—just for a moment. That surging, consuming force. It hadn't been traditional Qi. It hadn't flowed through his meridians like the cultivation scrolls described. No, it had torn through him, wild and cold and hungry.
He clenched his fists.
Was it demonic?
Was he becoming corrupted?
He looked toward the horizon, where the last of the dark mist faded into the morning light.
No.
What had awakened in him hadn't felt like corruption. It felt… natural.
As if it had always been there, sealed behind invisible walls.
Walls that were now cracking.
He breathed deeply. The air around him was saturated with the remnants of corrupted Qi—but unlike before, it didn't repel him. He could feel it now. Not like a cultivator sensing the ebb and flow of spiritual Qi, but like an animal scenting blood in the water.
His body didn't reject it.
It recognized it.
That frightened him.
But more than fear… was clarity.
He needed to understand what he was.
He needed answers.
And he needed power.
Because this—this ruined estate, this sea of corpses—was proof. The world was chaos. Weakness was death.
A sharp whistle tore through the air.
Li Shen ducked behind a broken column, instinctively holding his breath.
Figures descended from the sky.
Blue and white robes fluttered as cultivators alighted gently upon the shattered earth. Their spiritual presence was clean, ordered—a stark contrast to the chaos that had consumed the estate. Their Qi pulsed like calm tides, flowing with controlled strength.
The Azure Cloud Sect.
Li Shen recognized them by their robes—emblazoned with the twin cloud sigil—and the serene pressure they exuded. These were no petty nobles like the Blackwood Clan. These were sect cultivators: righteous, disciplined, and powerful.
And dangerous.
He remained still, half-shrouded by rubble, heart pounding in his ears.
The leading figure, a woman with silver hair bound tightly in a warrior's knot, stepped forward. Her gaze swept the ruins like a blade. The others fanned out behind her, formation disciplined. They were searching.
A young disciple knelt beside a corpse and murmured a prayer, pressing two fingers to the deceased's brow. His expression was grim.
"All corrupted Qi has dispersed. The breach has ended, Elder Yue."
The silver-haired woman nodded. Her voice was like tempered steel. "The Blackwood Clan is no more. Begin recovery protocol. Identify survivors, stabilize any lingering spiritual anomalies."
As if on cue, one of the cultivators moved toward the slave quarters.
Li Shen stiffened.
He had survived the demons. Would he now be cut down for being in the wrong place?
Then the silver-haired woman's eyes flicked toward him.
Sharp. Piercing.
He flinched back, but too late—her gaze had locked.
She took a single step forward, and Li Shen felt a sudden coldness settle over him.
She was probing his spiritual essence.
It was gentle, almost imperceptible, but to Li Shen, it felt like ice brushing against fire. The Heaven Suppression pushed back. Reflexively.
A flicker passed through the woman's eyes—surprise?
No.
It vanished almost instantly.
"Residual trauma," she murmured, turning to a disciple beside her. "He reeks of corrupted Qi. Keep him under observation. He may have been too close to one of the bodies."
"Yes, Elder Yue."
The probing ceased.
Li Shen released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
A young cultivator approached him. His expression was one of practiced compassion, but his eyes held distance—he was not unfamiliar with tragedy.
"Come," he said gently. "You survived. The Azure Cloud Sect offers you refuge now."
Refuge.
Li Shen nearly laughed.
Refuge was a warm meal. Refuge was kindness.
This was another cage.
A gilded one, maybe. But a cage still.
Still… it was better than ash.
He rose slowly, his body sore but whole. The young disciple looked him over, noting the blood, the dirt, the scorched tunic.
"What's your name?" the boy asked.
"Li Shen."
The disciple nodded and scribbled something into a jade slip.
"Category: displaced commoner. Status: non-cultivator. Assignment: Handyman disciple."
Li Shen blinked. "Handyman?"
"You'll assist the outer sect. Cleaning, manual work, maintenance of spiritual fields and artifact halls. Shelter, food, and protection will be provided. No cultivation resources unless you're formally accepted into the disciple trials."
So. A slave by another name.
Li Shen nodded slowly. "Thank you… noble one."
The words tasted like ash in his mouth.
But he knew better than to speak truth to power. Not yet.
He followed the others as they herded the surviving slaves and injured toward transport talismans.
He didn't speak.
Didn't cry.
As he reached the edge of the estate, he turned back.
The Blackwood Clan was gone. Its banners torn, its elders scattered to the wind. The same clan that had beaten him, starved him, branded him worthless… now lay in ruins.
He should have felt relief.
But all he felt… was the crushing weight of solitude.
They had been his tormentors, yes.
But they were also his only connection to a past he didn't understand.
And now, that past was ash.
He was alone.
Utterly.
And yet… not quite.
A whisper stirred in his chest, beneath his ribs. The Heaven Asura Destruction Body pulsed—subtle, quiet, but insistent.
You are the last.
The last heir of the Heaven Destruction Clan.
The last thread of a bloodline that had defied the heavens themselves.
He glanced at the other survivors. Slaves. Cultivators. All fragile. All unknowing.
He would play his part. Obey. Clean. Survive.
But inside… he had a duty far beyond this outer sect.
He had to grow stronger.
He had to slay more demon-corrupted. One thousand, perhaps. Who knew?
And he had to… procreate.
The thought struck him like lightning.
He blinked.
It wasn't lust. Not even desire.
It was instinct.
Raw. Ancient. Urgent.
If he died… the bloodline ended.
The truth ended.
He clenched his jaw.
He would not let that happen.
"Move along," the disciple guiding him urged.
Li Shen nodded.
And walked into his new chains.
But now… he wore them with eyes wide open.