*Content Warning: This chapter contains mature themes, violence, bullying, and emotionally charged scenes. Viewer discretion advised.*
***
The moment Lucian Draven appeared, the courtyard fell silent.
His gaze swept over Sable and Violet, cold and unreadable, as if he were appraising two stains on the floor rather than his own blood. "Miranda," he said at last, voice flat, "do not disgrace the Draven family. Teach your daughter some manners. If you cannot… shall I teach her in your stead?"
Miranda's legs trembled. Her hands tightened around Violet's shoulders. "N-no, I'm sorry," she stammered. "I–I will make sure to teach her a lesson. I apologize."
Lucian didn't even bother to look at her again. As he turned away, the pressure around them spiked, his qi heavy enough to make the air scream. "Sable," he said, voice echoing in the suffocating silence, "do not waste my time. Instead of fooling around, improve your skills."
He paused, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "You are only stronger than that girl because she is crippled. Stop causing trouble. If you insist on it… I will not mind cutting you down."
Sable's face drained of blood. She bowed her head, shoulders shaking. "Y-yes… Lord Heavenly Demon. I understand. I'm sorry."
"Hmph. Don't call me 'father,' brat."
With that, Lucian left. Only when his back vanished beyond the corridor did people remember how to breathe. Knees went weak; hearts pounded like war drums. His presence alone had been enough to remind them what true terror in the murim looked like.
Sable watched him go, teeth grinding. Shame burned hotter than fear. "You two…" she whispered, hatred twisting her features as she glared at Miranda and Violet. "You bastards of a mother and daughter. I'll make sure you pay for this."
She spun around and stalked off, tears glimmering in her eyes—whether from fear, humiliation, or fury, even she wasn't sure.
Miranda slowly lifted Violet in her arms and carried her back to their small, dim room. Only when the door shut behind them did the mask crack.
"'Your daughter'?" Miranda spat, voice shaking with anger. "That man… he dares to speak as if you aren't even his child."
Tears blurred her vision. She sank to the floor, hugging Violet tightly. "I'm sorry, Violet. I'm so sorry for being such a useless mother. Because of me, you have to endure all of this. Because of me, you suffer their torment. If I had stood up for you from the beginning, if I'd had even a little more courage, maybe you wouldn't be hurt like this. You don't have to forgive me, my daughter."
Violet's body still ached, but she forced a small smile, raising a trembling hand to wipe Miranda's tears. "It's okay, Mother. None of this is your fault. Please don't hate yourself." Her voice cracked but did not waver. "One day, I'll be strong. Strong enough to protect you from everyone. I promise."
Miranda stared at her for a long moment, then laughed softly, bitter and warm at the same time. "I know you will, my daughter. Thank you… for still believing in me."
***
A few days later, Violet made her decision.
She would leave the Draven estate and train somewhere far away, where no one could interrupt her. After explaining it to Miranda—promising firmly that she would return as the strongest—she set off alone, sword on her back, rations in a small cloth bundle.
Hours of walking led her to a lonely mountain. The forest thinned out, replaced by stones and crooked pines. The air felt colder here, heavier.
Violet looked around, brow furrowed. "Is this mountain really okay?" she murmured. "I've walked so far… I can't see any town. Not even animals. Where am I, exactly?"
But she had already come too far to turn back.
She chose a flat, empty clearing near a cliff face. A massive boulder rested at one end, grey and silent. Drawing her sword, Violet took a deep breath. Pain pulsed through her meridians, but she ignored it.
"Again," she whispered to herself.
Her blade cut the air in a steady arc. One swing. Two. Ten. Her arms grew heavy, but she refused to stop. When her form felt stable, she turned to the boulder.
"If I can't circulate qi properly… then I'll at least sharpen my body."
She slashed at the stone. The impact sent shock up her elbows; sparks spat from the metal. A faint scratch appeared on the boulder's surface—barely visible.
Too weak.
She tightened her grip and struck again. And again. Each swing dragged more pain from her muscles, more fire from her twisted qi channels. Her breath turned ragged, her legs trembling. Still she moved. Sword up. Sword down. Chip by chip, the stone began to bear her marks.
Sweat soaked her clothes. Her palms split, blood slicking the hilt. Violet barely noticed.
Time blurred. At some point, her knees buckled and she fell, gasping.
"Haa… huuh… It's… so tiring," she muttered, pressing a hand to her empty stomach. "I'm hungry…"
Her throat felt dry, lips cracking. Thoughts of food invaded her mind—hot rice, meat dripping with sauce, warm soup. "I want to eat… something. Anything. There has to be a tavern somewhere."
Driven by hunger more than logic, Violet stumbled down the mountain path. She walked—then ran—for what felt like hours. Stones rolled under her boots, branches whipped at her arms. Only after nearly three straight hours did she finally see it: a weathered building by the roadside, lanterns swaying faintly in the wind.
A tavern.
She pushed the door open with more force than grace. "Bring me some food!" she shouted, voice hoarse. "Right now! I'll pay with a gold coin!"
The few patrons turned to look. The tavern master—a middle-aged man with a greasy apron—froze. "A gold coin…?" he muttered under his breath. "Just who is she? She looks like a brat, but… a big shot's daughter, maybe? Better not offend her. Strange, though—I can't feel any qi from her at all."
Violet dropped into a chair, every muscle screaming. "Food," she repeated weakly.
The tavern master hurried into the back. In a short while, he emerged carrying several dishes: steaming white rice, stir-fried beef with peppers, a plate of roasted chicken glazed with honey and herbs, and a bowl of clear bone soup rich with aroma.
Violet didn't waste a single second. She dug in like a starving wolf, barely lifting her head. Warmth spread through her chest with each bite, soothing the emptiness just a little.
***
At the same time, another figure approached the same tavern from the opposite road.
Void.
He stood outside the entrance, studying the worn sign and quiet surroundings. "A tavern in the middle of nowhere," he murmured. "Good. Fewer eyes."
His expression darkened. "Those damned gods… They've probably already scattered their apostles across other worlds, hunting for me. I can't afford to attract attention yet. I need a plan. First step: secure a room."
He pushed open the door.
The tavern master, still nervous from earlier, looked up—and immediately sneered. To him, Void was nothing more than a thin young man in travel-worn clothes. "Oi, you," the man said, voice dripping with contempt. "Who the hell are you? You got money? If not, get out."
Void blinked slowly. "Money, huh…" He patted his pockets and found nothing of value. "I don't have any coins on me yet. Lend me a room for one night. I'll pay you tomorrow."
From her corner, Violet paused mid-bite, glancing toward the door. She clearly heard the conversation.
The tavern master's face twisted. "You dare come into my tavern and ask for credit?" he roared. He grabbed a wooden bench and, without warning, hurled it straight at Void.
The bench whistled through the air.
Violet's eyes widened. "He's serious?" she thought, shocked. Inwardly, she wrestled with herself. *Should I intervene? Is it my business?* This world had already taught her how it treated the weak.
Void's pupils narrowed as the bench flew toward him. *If I dodge, it will draw suspicion,* he calculated calmly. *And I'm sure of one thing—the gods' followers are in this world too. Sooner or later, they'll put a bounty on my head. The less attention now, the better.*
He exhaled. *Fine. I'll take it.*
The bench slammed into him.
Wood exploded into splinters.
Void didn't move an inch.
The tavern master froze, words dying in his throat. "H-how…?" he whispered. *He didn't even flinch… and the bench broke instead…*
Violet stared, stunned. "That man… he's definitely not ordinary. Just who is he?"
Void brushed a shard of wood off his shoulder as if it were dust. "Sorry about the bench," he said mildly. "I'll pay you back once I have money."
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped outside and left.
A moment later, a translucent screen flickered to life before his eyes—visible only to him.
> **System:**
> Host, the main currencies used in this world are as follows.
Information flowed like cold water through his mind.
In this world, wealth was measured in metal.
The lowest currency was the **copper coin**—rough, dark pieces handled by farmers, beggars, and ordinary townsfolk. A few coppers could buy a bowl of hot porridge, a cheap drink in a crowded teahouse, or a night in the worst corner of a roadside inn. Pouches full of copper were heavy and noisy, yet worth almost nothing to true martial artists.
Above them were **silver coins**. Silver was the standard currency of the murim, clean and cool to the touch. Merchants, wandering cultivators, and minor clans all traded in silver. Weapons, ordinary pills, proper rooms at reputable inns, long-distance travel—everything was priced in silver. To most people, a handful of silver represented months of effort, a fortune they might never hold at once.
Ruling over both were **gold coins**. Thin discs that gleamed with dangerous light, they were treasures commoners might never even see. Clans paid tributes in gold, great sects traded manuals and spiritual materials for gold, and corrupt officials sold lives and titles for a single piece. In the eyes of the powerful, copper and silver were for ants; only gold was worth counting.
Between these three metals, every debt, bribe, and life on the continent had its price.
Void rubbed his forehead. "So that's how it is… What a pain."
***
Back inside the tavern, Violet wiped her mouth and rose to leave—only for a mocking voice to cut through the air.
"Oi, isn't that the infamous Violet Draven?" a man snickered. "The girl who doesn't even have qi in her body? Hahahahaha!"
"Look at her," another chimed in. "Daring to come out in public. She's a disgrace to the Draven family."
Laughter spread like a plague. Every word stabbed at what everyone already knew: the Draven clan didn't care about Violet. To them, she was a stain they pretended not to see.
The tavern master finally recognized her face properly and burst into cruel laughter. "Now that I think about it… it really is you. The disgrace of the Draven family. Kekeke. I was wondering how a brat like you had a gold coin—but of course, you're from that family."
His smile shrank into a snarl. "Hey, trash. Get out of my tavern. Now."
Violet stood there, hands clenched, eyes hidden beneath her fringe. She said nothing. Tears blurred her vision, catching the lamplight as they gathered.
Outside, Void paused mid-step.
He had heard every word.
"Good grief…" he muttered. "They're having all the fun by themselves, huh?"
He glanced around. There were no other houses nearby, no guards, no watchful eyes—only this isolated tavern in the wilderness.
"I can't see anyone else living near here," he whispered, a slow, thin smile curving his lips. "Looks like I've stumbled on a very… fascinating situation."
His eyes darkened.
"Let's see," Void said softly. "Should I start now?"