The beast's blood hadn't cooled.
It still steamed in the moonlight, soaking into the grass. The headless Nightfang Tiger lay sprawled at Jiang Xuan's feet — its death too fast, too clean.
Too unnatural.
Elder Wen arrived minutes later with a squad of inner disciples. His brows rose the moment he saw the corpse.
"Mid-grade," he muttered. "Impossible. The scouts said low-level disturbance…"
His eyes shifted to Jiang Xuan.
"You did this?"
Jiang Xuan nodded once. "Yes."
"With… that blade?" Elder Wen asked, glancing at the plain steel sword in his hand.
"Yes."
"And your cultivation stage?"
Jiang Xuan paused. "Late Body Tempering."
Several disciples behind the elder snorted. One muttered, "Liar."
But Elder Wen's gaze stayed sharp. "No spirit arts? No talismans? No help?"
"No."
Elder Wen stared at him for a long moment, then gestured. "Bring the body back. And bring him."
---
In the elder's chambers, incense burned slowly.
Jiang Xuan knelt before a low table. Elder Wen poured tea but didn't offer any. He simply stared at the boy, eyes narrowed.
"That technique," he said, "was not part of the sect's core sword forms."
"I wasn't using a technique."
"You cut through a Nightfang Tiger's bone plate without qi."
"I didn't mean to."
Elder Wen's jaw tightened. "That's not an explanation."
Jiang Xuan didn't answer. Because he didn't have one.
All he knew was that for a single moment, it had felt like he wasn't in control. Like something inside had taken the strike for him.
The memory made his fingers tremble.
"I've read about cultivators like you," Elder Wen said finally, voice softer. "Rare ones. Dangerous ones."
Jiang Xuan looked up, cautious.
"They don't rely on traditional techniques. Their strength comes from their intent. Their will. Every strike reflects who they are, not what they've learned."
Elder Wen sipped his tea. "It's called the Path of Manifested Will."
Jiang Xuan blinked. "Is that… a cultivation path?"
"Not officially. Most who follow it die young. Or become monsters."
Jiang Xuan's eyes lowered. "Why?"
"Because to walk that path, you have to face yourself constantly. Not your enemies. Not your limits. Yourself. Every emotion sharpens your blade. Every rage becomes real. Every fear becomes a flaw."
He leaned in slightly.
"It's not a path you choose. It chooses you."
Jiang Xuan didn't respond. But inside, something clenched.
He thought back to the village. The corpses. The blood. The way he'd awakened after blacking out — surrounded by death and power.
Had it already started back then?
Was he already walking that path… and didn't know it?
---
Outside, Yao Xi waited in the shadows near the outer disciple quarters.
She had seen the kill.
Seen the way the beast died with no spirit art, no formation, just will and fury.
She had heard of the Path of Manifested Will.
In the future, they called it something else:
The Demon God's Path.
No wonder the elders feared it.
No wonder Jiang Xuan walked it without knowing.
It wasn't a technique.
It was a curse.
---
Elsewhere, in the depths of the Fallen Star Sect, an ancient statue cracked.
Just slightly.
Just once.
A sliver of darkness escaped from the fracture, whispering through the underground halls like smoke with no scent.
No one noticed.
No one… except Jiang Xuan.
Back in his quarters, he sat on his bed, eyes open, heart still.
And suddenly, his ears rang with a voice.
Not loud.
Not distant.
Just cold.
"Devour. Break. Become."
He gripped his chest, gasping, the scar on his neck glowing faintly red.
Outside, the moon flickered again.
----
Morning light spilled across the Fallen Star Sect like golden mist, soft and warm.
Jiang Xuan hadn't slept.
He sat at the edge of his small room, arms resting on his knees, staring at his reflection in the water basin.
His eyes looked the same.
Dark. Cold. Tired.
But he didn't feel the same.
That voice still echoed in his head — faint, whispering from the edges of thought.
Devour. Break. Become.
He touched the scar on his neck. It was still warm.
Was it real? A hallucination? A leftover dream?
Whatever it was… it made him feel like a monster in waiting.
---
Outside the disciples' quarters, the sect grounds were buzzing.
Today was intake day — new initiates would be tested and assigned ranks.
Yao Xi stood near the outer gate in the simplest robes she could forge, head slightly bowed, face calm. But her eyes were sharp beneath her lowered lashes.
The identity scroll had worked. She was now "Yu Mei," a wandering orphan with a mid-level spiritual root and a forged recommendation from a border town elder.
She knew they wouldn't place her close to Jiang Xuan yet. That was fine. She could work her way closer.
The plan was simple: get into the sect, gain access to his routines, observe his shifts, and when the right moment came—
Strike.
Not now.
Not too early.
But before it was too late.
---
In the training fields, Jiang Xuan watched the initiates arrive from a distance. He hadn't planned to. But something — a strange pressure in his chest — drew him there.
He stood beneath a willow tree, eyes sweeping the crowd, unconsciously searching for something.
Or someone.
Then he saw her.
She was pretending to be nervous. Pretending to be ordinary.
But Jiang Xuan noticed the stillness in her stance. The tension in her fingers. The blade she carried looked old, but she moved like someone trained with steel since childhood.
For just a second, their eyes met.
Yao Xi didn't flinch.
Neither did he.
But something cold coiled in his stomach.
Why did she feel familiar?
---
The tests began.
Disciples gathered to watch as elders called each initiate forward, placing spirit-sealing stones in their palms. Most glowed dimly, a few brighter than average. The rare one flickered blue or gold.
Yao Xi's stone pulsed with a soft violet hue — just enough to be above suspicion.
"Mid-tier," the elder declared. "You'll begin in the outer disciple division. Welcome to the Fallen Star Sect, Yu Mei."
She bowed, expression neutral.
Her gaze shifted briefly toward the tree line.
But Jiang Xuan was already gone.
---
That evening, as lanterns lit across the rooftops and sect bells rang to mark the closing hour, Jiang Xuan trained alone at the edge of the mountain pass.
He didn't use spirit techniques.
He didn't recite forms.
He simply moved.
Each strike carved wind. Each step shifted stone. His blade moved as if guided by thought, not muscle.
He didn't know why he trained this way.
Only that when he stopped, when he let stillness take over… that voice returned.
And the hunger.
Not for food.
For power.
For clarity.
For something just beyond reach.
Devour.
He exhaled, forcing the whisper down.
Behind him, someone clapped slowly.
"Well, well. Looks like the ghost finally comes out to play."
Jiang Xuan turned.
Three senior disciples stepped out from the shadows, smirking.
The one in front — tall, broad-shouldered, with a tiger-print cloak slung arrogantly over his uniform — stepped forward.
Wei Zong.
A second-generation inner disciple. Known for talent, cruelty… and ego.
"You killed a mid-grade beast last night," Wei Zong said, voice mockingly friendly. "All by yourself, huh?"
Jiang Xuan said nothing.
Wei Zong's smile sharpened. "Funny. I killed one two weeks ago too. Took three strikes. You? Just one?"
"I didn't count."
"Tch. You trying to look humble or just disrespectful?"
Jiang Xuan didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Wei Zong's eyes narrowed. "You think you're special, don't you? With your little 'no technique, all instinct' act."
Jiang Xuan's grip on his blade tightened slightly.
Wei Zong's smirk grew wider. "Let's test that."
He stepped closer, spiritual pressure leaking out — subtle, but sharp. The weight in the air shifted. Leaves trembled.
Then—
A voice interrupted.
"Is this how inner disciples greet each other now?"
Wei Zong paused.
Jiang Xuan's eyes flicked sideways.
Yao Xi — Yu Mei — stood at the path entrance, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Wei Zong blinked. "Who the hell are you?"
"A disciple. Unlike you, I don't make trouble where elders can see."
Wei Zong snorted. "Tch. Watch your mouth."
She smiled thinly. "Only if you wash yours first."
Jiang Xuan blinked — not in surprise at her words, but at her presence.
Again, that feeling.
Like he'd met her before.
Like he should remember her.
But couldn't.
Wei Zong scoffed and turned. "Not worth it. You two enjoy your little shadow games."
He disappeared down the trail, flanked by his lackeys.
Jiang Xuan looked at her.
"You're new," he said quietly.
"So are you," she replied.
And then walked away.
----
End of Chapter 3