Ren Zu opened his eyes.
And immediately wished he hadn't.
The stench of rotting blood and scorched iron filled his nostrils like a suffocating tide. The sky above was red as raw flesh, thick and heavy with mist. No stars, no moon, just a crimson shroud covering a field of corpses stretching as far as the eye could see.
He was standing… or rather, he had appeared there, conscious, in the center of what could only be described as hell.
Torn bodies lay piled atop one another. Severed limbs, faces frozen in expressions of terror, entrails scattered like macabre offerings to a cruel god. Men, women, children, soldiers, and cultivators, young and old. Some still steamed as if they had died seconds ago. Others were so mangled they were barely recognizable as human.
It hit him like a punch to the gut.
Ren Zu staggered back, nauseated.
Ghh...!
He stumbled backward, slipping on something soft. He fell to his knees.
And vomited.
No elegance, no restraint, like a man drowning in something invisible. His body doubled over, abdominal muscles contracting in violent agony as bile surged up his throat. The acrid taste burned him from the inside. His chin dripped, and his hands trembled, stained with someone else's blood—he hadn't even noticed when he'd touched a corpse while falling.
Ugh...
For long seconds, Ren Zu remained hunched over, spitting, gasping like a wounded animal. His eyes watered, not from emotion, but from the brutal effort of his body trying to shield itself from the horror.
"What the hell! I wasn't ready for this…" He swallowed hard, tasting the metallic tang in his mouth as if it were his own.
He spat on the ground, fighting his own body as if it were being devoured from within.
Pathetic.
He knew it.
But this was the first time he'd seen a scene this horrific. Imagine seeing thousands of dismembered bodies—children, adults, the elderly, all kinds of people—smelling the blood and rot, stepping in blood, and hearing bones crack? For him, the worst was the stench and the grotesque sight…
It was impossible for any normal person not to vomit in a place like this.
His predecessor had never killed anyone before.
Though he had trained and fought in many battles, he had never bloodied his hands, so Ren Zu had no memories to guide him through this…
And also…
Before everything, he was just an ordinary young man. Ambitious, yes, but restrained by the norms of a peaceful society where violence was distant, almost abstract. He grew up in a comfortable home, surrounded by unspoken rules and silent expectations. He dreamed big, read a lot, and hated the feeling of powerlessness, but he was still just one among millions, limited by laws, morality, and a life of predictable stability. He didn't know cruelty beyond screens or pages. His greatest battles had been against boredom, social pressure, and the fear of living a mediocre life.
He wasn't inherently evil or indifferent like those fanfic protagonists who could kill without blinking the moment they were reborn…
His rational mind tried to resist. But his primal, human, fragile instincts were in panic, and the stench made him vomit while the sight stirred a horrible feeling in his chest.
He remained motionless for long seconds after vomiting again.
He felt… small. As if the weight of that massacre was crushing him. The silent voices of the dead piled up in his ears, forming a constant hum that sank into his bones.
Hallucination?
He knew it wasn't real.
He knew this was the Ashura Battlefield, an illusory world designed to forge Killing Intent in cultivators. He knew all of this. But…
No theory could prepare someone for the first time.
The stench was real. The touch of blood, warm and viscous, was real. The open eyes of the dead, the muffled grinding of crushed teeth underfoot—it was all painfully real.
"They're not real… They're not real…" he murmured to himself, his eyes fixed on a half-burned corpse that seemed… familiar.
But the Ashura Battlefield was not kind. It allowed no comfort. It respected neither logic nor mental preparation. It used your mind against you, twisting the illusion until it was indistinguishable from reality. There was no control. Only survival.
Ren Zu clenched his fists.
The disgust was human.
The weakness was natural.
But his ambition… was greater than any revulsion.
"If I can't handle this… then I don't deserve to ascend."
He closed his eyes.
Breathed deeply. Once. Twice.
He let the smell of blood flood him completely. He let the bodies around him become part of his existence, as if they had always been there. And instead of resisting the horror… he accepted it.
This was his reality now.
Even if the field was illusory, what he learned here would be true.
Even if the corpses weren't real, the coldness he cultivated by looking at them would be.
Even if the enemies had no heart, his blade would need to strike with the same precision.
That was the currency of the world that had welcomed him.
He breathed deeply.
He stood up slowly.
Blood still dripped from his fingers, the smell of iron still clung to his clothes, but his eyes were now focused.
With no idea what to do, he walked in a specific direction in this space.
Each step was cautious. The ground crunched under the bodies, bones snapping beneath his feet, but he no longer faltered. He still felt disgust, still felt fear, but he controlled it. He breathed deeply, blocking out what he could, trying to keep his mind steady.
"It's just an illusion… just an illusion… The goal is to cultivate Killing Intent."
Somehow, he said this to himself with conviction. He forged that idea like an inner sword—hard, cold, functional. If this was what the world demanded, then so be it. He would forge it with his own fear.
But then he noticed the field was… changing.
A sharp sound cut through the air.
Clang.
Something glinted in the distance—a blade?
Before he could react, a cultivator in black armor emerged from the crimson mists. His face was covered by a broken mask, his eyes blazing, his sword pulsing with murderous energy. He moved like a dry gale, silent, without hesitation.
"Wait, I—"
Shhk—!!
It was too fast.
A line of heat sliced through his abdomen.
Ren Zu looked down.
Time seemed to stop.
His stomach split open. The blade had cut clean through him. He saw, saw… his own entrails spilling onto the ground, sliding over the corpses in a spiral. Blood erupted from his mouth in heavy gushes, and the world spun in a cruel whirlwind.
The ground welcomed him like a hungry tomb.
He tried to scream, but his throat filled with blood. His lungs burned. The pain was indescribable. Not an abstract pain, not a metaphor—it was torn flesh, raw death, the undeniable end.
"N… no…"
His eyes glazed over.
Death.
And then… he woke up.
Haaah!!
Ren Zu gasped, sitting up suddenly as if he'd emerged from underwater.
He was in the same place, standing as before…
The same field.
The same red sky.
The same corpses.
The same nauseating stench.
But his body… was whole.
No cuts. No blood. No pain.
"…!"
He fell back, panting like a cornered animal. His hands flew to his abdomen, frantically feeling the area that, a second ago, had been sliced open like a book.
Nothing.
His skin was intact.
But the memory was alive.
He could still feel it… the phantom pain of the cut, the heat of exposed entrails, the taste of blood in his throat. His hands shook. His mind screamed. His eyes darted in every direction, expecting the swordsman to return.
He was in panic.
"I died. I died. I died," he whispered to himself, his lips trembling.
It was impossible to pretend it hadn't happened. The Ashura Battlefield didn't just simulate death—it made it real to the soul.
Ren Zu didn't feel like someone who had dreamed. He felt like someone who had died and been thrown back into hell to die again.
He curled up, clutching his head with both hands. He knew that in this world, he'd have to die many times to train his Killing Intent and skills.
"I'll never mock Subaru from *Re:Zero* for always being so pathetic again… Getting used to death is a terrifying idea…"
Breathing heavily, his heart pounding like a war drum, Ren Zu lifted his gaze.
There was no way out.
He had to face this world.
Even if he was torn apart a thousand times.
Even if he lost everything that still made him human.
He stayed there for a while, sitting among the corpses, staring into nothingness, trying to muster the courage to stand.
Then, he breathed deeply.
And began to walk again.
The sound of his own footsteps on flesh and bones soon became indistinguishable from the pulse of his heart.
A dull, steady rhythm.
A grotesque mantra.
One.
Two.
Three.
Clang.
The blade came again.
The same black-armored cultivator. The same broken mask. The same impossible speed.
Ren Zu had no time to react.
Shhk—!!
The cut was cleaner this time. The sword entered his chest and exited through his back. His body shuddered like a puppet with its strings cut. Blood gushed. He fell to his knees, staring in disbelief at the sword impaled in him, and then… nothing.
He woke up.
Gasping. Trembling.
But… without screaming.
Without falling back.
"Damn it…"
He stood up on his own this time.
Wobbly, yes.
But standing.
And he began to walk again.
…
He died a third time.
This time, decapitated.
The blade had come from the side, and he had no time to turn his face. All he felt was a dull thud, a strange lightness… and darkness.
…
On the fourth time, he tried to dodge.
Almost succeeded.
The blade lodged in his shoulder. He screamed, stumbled, tried to react, but the pain stopped him. He was pierced through the heart.
Died again.
…
On the fifth time…
"Tch."
He wiped his mouth and stood up.
No scream.
No collapse.
The pain of death still lingered, like embers under his skin, but the panic was giving way to something else. Something darker. More… practical.
It was anger.
A slow, silent anger that burned like a hidden ember beneath the rubble of trauma.
Ren Zu stood still for long seconds, his hand still on the abdomen pierced in the previous death.
The humiliation. The powerlessness. The feeling of being hunted. Slashed. Thrown to the ground like trash.
"…Enough."
The word escaped his lips like a whisper.
A spark ignited behind his eyes.
The simplest truth of a fragile human was that when wounded enough times, they learned to hate.
And hatred was an instinct older than fear.
Fear paralyzed you.
But hatred… hatred made you fight.
His mind, once gripped by fear, was now beginning to adjust to the brutal logic of the field: fighting was the only option.
And so he did.
…
On the sixth time, he survived.
When the masked cultivator appeared, Ren Zu was already in position. His eyes were sharp; he began to use the skills his body had cultivated over the past decade.
Boom—!!
The flaming sword of the Vermillion Bird exploded toward the enemy.
The sword came, slicing the attack in half, but this time, Ren Zu was no longer there.
It was a feint.
"Die!"
With a roar, he spun his body and used the first stage of the *[Consoling Song of the Vermillion Bird Spirit]*, swinging the *[Bloodstained Sun Blade]* in an attempt to kill his enemy.
This was the only technique from the Profound Art he found easy to use at that moment. It condensed a blade of the Vermillion Bird's flames. With his low cultivation level, he couldn't unleash the full potential of this skill, which would be like the descent of a second sun in the form of a giant flaming blade capable of cutting and vaporizing stars entirely. But it was enough to be used…
Clang! Shkkk!
The enemy's blade fell.
The cultivator's head spun in the air like a plucked fruit.
Ren Zu gasped, his eyes wide.
"I… killed him…"
It sank in.
He panted, his shoulders trembling, his chest heaving like a broken bellows.
His body was covered in blood—someone else's blood.
He stared at the decapitated head rolling on the ground. The enemy's cracked mask fell with a dry snap, revealing an ordinary, almost peaceful face. No anger. No expression.
Just death.
"I… killed a person…?"
His voice came out low, hoarse, almost inaudible.
His legs wobbled.
He fell to his knees, still staring at the corpse.
His hands, his hands were trembling. Dirty. Sticky with the warm blood of another living being.
Even though he knew it wasn't real…
Even though he had acted only to survive…
Even though he had died five times before…
Nothing had prepared him for the feeling of killing.
For real.
The heat of adrenaline, the desperation for survival, had driven his body. But now, in the stillness after the battle, the guilt of his act fell on him like a tombstone.
"I took a life…"
His stomach churned.
But he didn't vomit.
His body seemed frozen, as if even the disgust was anesthetized. A chill ran down his spine.
Was this what it meant to live in this world?
Was this what it meant to be a cultivator?
If it was… then this world had no room for hesitation.
Ren Zu closed his eyes, trying to breathe, trying to find something within himself that was still pure. But he found only silence.
Nothing answered.
Nothing condemned.
Nothing comforted.
He didn't want the guilt he felt to die.
But perhaps it was inevitable—
Clang.
A metallic sound cut through the air.
Ren Zu stood up abruptly, his eyes wide.
Two figures emerged from the crimson mist, both cloaked in dark robes and wielding blades of different shapes—one with a curved sword of swirling wind, the other with a halberd made of black bones and pulsing red lightning.
"What…?"
They came together.
Boom!
The first attack came from above, an arc of energy slicing through the air.
Ren Zu raised his flaming sword of the Vermillion Bird to block, but the second enemy was already at his flank.
"Damn it—!"
Shhk!!
An intense pain pierced his chest.
The cut wasn't clean like before—it was brutal, forced, as if it tore his soul along with his flesh.
The air vanished from his lungs.
Blood sprayed from his mouth.
The second cultivator spun the halberd and drove it into his abdomen.
Ren Zu screamed.
The pain was real.
Cruel.
Blind.
The field spun.
His knees buckled.
And he died.
Again.
…
But when he opened his eyes once more, something had changed.
Ren Zu didn't scream.
He didn't fall back.
He didn't check if he was still alive.
He just breathed deeply… and stood up.
His eyes were cloudy, but his heart was steady.
"They killed me again."
"It's fine."
"I'll kill them back."
He walked a bit further, and they came again.
Two cultivators, the same silhouettes from the previous deaths—one with the curved wind sword, the other with the pulsing black-bone halberd.
But this time, he didn't retreat.
The [Vermillion Bird Flame] danced in the form of a blade in his hand.
The first cultivator attacked with a swift, slicing strike from above.
Ren Zu dodged to the side, almost sliding on the blood-soaked ground, and countered with a lateral slash infused with his intent to kill his opponent.
Clang!
The blades clashed, sparks flying.
But this time… he won the exchange.
He twisted his wrist, shifted the enemy's center of gravity, and with a short step, drove his blade into the base of the opponent's neck.
Shhk!
The body fell, lifeless.
The other came immediately, roaring, spinning the halberd with blind ferocity.
Ren Zu tried to execute the second stage of his profound art, *[Empirical Dance of the Vermillion Bird]*, which condensed the flames into a silhouette of the Vermillion Bird around him, dozens of meters wide in the sky, like a true flaming bird soaring through the heavens. He could use it to envelop his body, enhancing his attack and defense power, or to fly or charge forward at immense speed, or he could launch the silhouette toward his target, creating a concentrated explosion in a small area.
A burst of fire erupted behind him in the form of wings that unfurled with force.
The impact propelled him forward like a projectile.
In a flash, he appeared inside the enemy's guard.
The halberd came… but it was too late.
His blade pierced the cultivator's heart with a dull thud.
Shhk!
The enemy gasped… and fell to his knees.
Ren Zu didn't celebrate.
He just breathed.
But the Ashura Field didn't let him rest.
More footsteps.
More shadows.
Four this time.
Silhouettes emerging from the crimson mist, like hungry specters. All at the same cultivation level as him, but different in style.
Dual swords. Ice spear. Axe with runes. Dancing chakrams.
Ren Zu's heart beat faster.
"…So that's how it's going to be?"
He assumed the basic sword stance he had learned from his predecessor's memories, feet apart, center steady.
When the first came, he was already moving.
Boom!
The field exploded into motion.
The battle was brutal. Fast. No time to think, only react.
One mistake, and he'd be dead.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
He fought with everything. With every exchange, his eyes read patterns, sought weaknesses, adapted. The flaming sword moved like a whip, a spear, a guillotine. He quickly realized the cultivators appearing in this place were far stronger than him but within his capacity to defeat.
A precise strike, and the ice spear wielder was decapitated.
Another, and the chakram woman was split in half.
The dual-sword wielder tried to attack from behind, but Ren Zu used his own blade as bait, feigned a stumble, and when the enemy advanced, he spun and drove his sword through the cultivator's chin, tearing up to the skull.
Three dead.
One remained.
Ren Zu spun his blood-soaked flaming sword in his hands and stopped, staring at the last figure in the mist.
But… he hesitated.
It was small.
Too small.
The silhouette approached slowly.
To his eyes, it became a child. A boy. Fragile arms holding a small short sword, large eyes glowing purple, trembling.
Ren Zu felt his entire body freeze.
"…It can't be."
For a moment, the field seemed to pause.
The smell of blood faded.
The sound of the wind died.
He couldn't move.
The sword in his hand felt as heavy as lead.
And that was the mistake.
Shhk—!!
The boy's short sword pierced under his rib.
He gasped.
Looked down.
The child's—or the illusion of a child's—eyes were fixed on his. Empty. Emotionless.
And then, darkness.
…
When he woke again, there was no despair.
Just… the taste of blood still lingering in his throat, even without a wound.
"I hesitated…"
He swallowed hard.
"Hesitation is death… Even if it's a child, they can be my enemy."
And with darkened, lightless eyes, Ren Zu began to walk again.
But now… there was something less within him.
Something that had once resisted.
Something he called humanity.
He breathed deeply.
And moved forward.
The field responded as always.
Four silhouettes emerged from the mist.
After a few battles, he began to adapt and improve his combat efficiency at a terrifyingly fast rate. Or perhaps it was the integration of his predecessor's experience? Either way, he read them before they even moved. He calculated positions, assessed weapons, recognized patterns.
They came in sync.
Ren Zu moved before them.
The first struck with a spear of light.
Ren Zu spun around the attack, advanced with the momentum, and slashed the enemy's throat with surgical precision.
Shhk!
The second tried to counter from the side. Ren Zu stepped back, dodging by inches. He slashed horizontally and split the enemy in half.
Shhhk—Clang!
The last two came together. A flaming axe and a bone sword.
Ren Zu activated the [Empirical Dance of the Vermillion Bird] and launched himself into the air. From above, he descended like a red bolt, spinning his blade in a spiral.
Boom!
The impact shattered the ground. The two bodies were torn apart.
He landed, panting lightly.
The field responded with more.
Eight.
They appeared in pairs, spread out, surrounding him.
He didn't retreat.
He attacked.
He was wounded.
His left arm's flesh tore open.
He felt the pain and ignored it.
Blood streaming down blurred his vision, but his eyes didn't blink.
One cultivator tried to bind him with chains; he ripped off the arm of the enemy beside him and used it as a shield.
Another tried to pierce his heart; Ren Zu used the sword lodged in his abdomen to spin his body and behead the opponent with a flaming spinning kick.
He killed. Killed. Killed.
The second stage of the [Consoling Song of the Vermillion Bird Spirit], once clumsy, became an extension of his body.
The flaming silhouette no longer exploded in uncontrolled force; it hovered over him like a predatory bird, silent, patient, lethal.
Even the physical arts he had once ignored began to seep into his reflexes. His movements stopped being awkward and became more refined. Flows of Profound Energy intertwined with physical strength in every dodge, every counterattack, every step, improving his condition and further integrating the second stage of his profound art, enabling him to kill his enemies more easily.
Though he didn't need time to stabilize his cultivation, his use of it was still not perfect. But after fighting, his combat skills became more refined and efficient.
At the end of the confrontation, the field was silent.
His feet sank into the flesh of corpses.
His clothes were in tatters.
His body was covered in wounds.
And yet… he was standing.
But the Ashura Field didn't end.
Sixteen came.
The difference was grotesque.
Their techniques varied like rain in a storm—illusions, poisons, spiritual energy explosions, curses, blasts of freezing profound energy.
Ren Zu was caught.
And died.
He came back.
Tried again.
And died.
Again.
Another attempt.
On the sixth try, he killed eleven.
On the seventh, twelve.
On the eighth…
He killed them all.
And then, more came.
Not four.
Not eight.
But dozens.
Maybe forty. Maybe sixty. It was impossible to count.
Ren Zu stood still.
He knew it was impossible now and that he should leave the Ashura Field, but he needed to get stronger…
So, he fought.
He killed.
He was torn apart.
He woke up.
Fought again.
Hours passed. Or days. Or weeks.
He lost track.
He could have left this place at any time, but he chose to stay…
All that remained was the sword.
All that remained was the will to kill.
His eyes no longer wavered at the sight of a child, an elder, or a familiar face.
The Killing Intent growing in his body had become part of his soul.
.
.
.
.
.
The next morning arrived quietly.
The sun had barely broken the horizon when the clouds began to take on soft hues of gold and lilac. A fresh breeze swept through the courtyards of the Yun family mansion, carrying the scent of dew and new leaves. Some servants were already up, tending to their chores, while some disciples were waking to practice.
Inside one of the residences, light filtered through the simple wooden structure's windows. Ren Zu sat immersed in a meditative state, legs crossed, his clothes slightly damp with sweat from his night of practice.
His eyes opened.
The first rays of sunlight touched his face, but he didn't react. No smile, no expression of relief or satisfaction.
All that remained was an expressionless face.
His gaze, once filled with curiosity and excitement at being in another world with countless tools to reach the pinnacle and ruin the life of the Scum Che, was now hard as a forcibly carved monolith, cold and unyielding.
Deep eyes, like silent wells, where humanity once existed, now held only calm and serenity. Yet, if someone looked deeper, they would find an indifference that cared for nothing.
He let out a faint sigh.
He looked at his hand and squeezed it gently.
"…I think I got stronger? My control over profound energy has improved, and I've mastered the first two stages of the "Consoling Song of the Vermillion Bird Spirit" out of ten. Plus, I've adapted to using the close-combat skills the original Ren Zu trained his whole life to acquire… Truly, fighting is the best way to refine skills…"
A faint smile danced on his lips.
"And this after just one night…"
"Does that mean I'm talented? Or rather… It seems the World Prime Liquid must have helped enhance my comprehension or the fusion of the two souls? No… I think it's the first option…"
As he murmured this, he ran his hand over his chin.
He clearly recalled how, in Emperor's Domination, absorbing the [World Prime Liquid] had granted Li Qiye a Fate Palace, a Physique, and a Primordial Life Wheel, all at absurdly high levels that far surpassed even what was considered the absolute peak of that world, like the "immortal level" Long Jingxian possessed.
And Long Jingxian was no ordinary figure. She was the pinnacle among geniuses: supreme talent, supreme speed, supreme intelligence. Capable of stealing any Merit Law (skills in general) with a single glance.
But even she was a mere footnote compared to Li Qiye, who possessed the highest three attributes.
The fact was that Li Qiye didn't need to show anything. He was, in practice, omniscient. His mind carried the weight of billions of years of knowledge, experiences, and accumulated strategies. For someone like that, even demonstrating power would be redundant, like a king explaining to an insect what royalty is. That's why he didn't display his comprehension, which technically should have been greater than someone with an immortal-level Fate Palace after absorbing the [World Prime Liquid] —that benefit was useless to someone like him.
But for Ren Zu, the situation was different.
Though he hadn't yet reached Li Qiye's theoretical level, he felt his comprehension might be approaching Long Jingxian's, at least in this specific aspect. Of course, he still needed to conduct more tests to confirm, but his intuition, shaped by the logic of his situation as someone who absorbed a diluted version of the [World Prime Liquid], told him he wasn't far off.
In other words, the World Prime Liquid had also enhanced his comprehension talent and might even have improved his lifespan and more…
His current obstacle to fully demonstrating this "comprehension" was fundamentally different: he wasn't born in this world. He was a complete outsider, someone whose instincts and foundations weren't shaped from birth by profound energy or the techniques and conventions of this universe.
Yes, he had his predecessor's memories, the true "owner" of this body. But those memories, while useful to an extent, were far from sufficient. They lacked detail, depth… the real, continuous, organic experience.
Comprehension is like a hand-drawn map in the midst of a living forest.
For someone native to this world, the path was already charted from birth.
It was as if they had grown up in the forest, knowing every trail, every tree, every trap since they learned to walk. And those called comprehension geniuses had talents that let them leap over obstacles as if gliding over roots that supported them.
But Ren Zu?
He wasn't born in that forest.
He was thrown into it with a borrowed memory and a lit torch. He had fragments of the map but not the instincts. With every step, he was like an outsider carving his own path with dirt-stained fingers, learning from every stumble.
The absorption of the [World Prime Liquid]?
It was as if, for a moment, the forest opened before him, revealing hidden trails and shortcuts even the natives couldn't see. It didn't make him the king of the forest… but it gave him a compass. And a momentary aerial view.
In other words, the more he lived in this world and adjusted to this reality, the more his comprehension could be refined until it reached Long Jingxian's level, who could replicate anything with a single glance.
But this was just a theory based on the "condition" of his rebirth…
"Well, I'll find out in the future… For now, I'd better take a bath and then keep training…" Shaking his head, Ren Zu tried to set it aside for now and stretched. He then headed to the bathroom, heated water, and prepared the tub. He missed a shower but didn't mind using the tub to clean himself.
He was reeking of sweat.
________________________
(A/N: Good evening, everyone!
I truly hope you enjoyed this debut.
From the very beginning, my goal was to show that Ren Zu is different — sure, he's ambitious and came from our modern world… but he's still human, with his own limits and principles — some of which were broken in this very chapter. He hates Scum Che just as much as you do, so don't worry — that villainous edge is here to stay.
This is only the beginning of his journey, and I can't wait to hear what you all think!