Chapter 2 – Shadows of the Eclipse
Before Li Wei awoke in his new body, Zerel Kai had been many things: a son, a pariah, a forbidden apprentice, and a lingering shadow in the halls of the Kai Household. None of those roles had truly prepared him for the life he would be forced to live.
He was born on a night when the sky roared like a wounded beast, lightning splitting the heavens and briefly illuminating the tiled rooftops, while thunder made the city's very foundations shiver. Rain lashed the streets until they became temporary rivers, carrying away fallen leaves, clumps of mud, and torn prayer papers ripped from temple gates.
He was the illegitimate son of the lord of the Kai Household and a humble servant. His birth brought no songs, no celebrations—only hushed whispers in dark corners and averted gazes whenever his presence lingered too long.
There was no banquet to mark his arrival, no gifts wrapped in crimson silk. Only the heavy silence of a truth no one wanted to acknowledge. To the family, he was a stain to be hidden away. To the servants, he was a rumor that, if repeated too often, could cost them their tongues… or their lives.
His mother died when he was only six years old, tearing away the only source of genuine affection he had ever known. No one told him the cause. Conversations would die when he stepped into a room. The only fragments that remained in his memory were the sharp scent of cheap incense, the hurried murmur of prayers, and the sound of a door closing with a harsh, final thud, leaving him alone in a hallway far too long for a child.
That was the day Zerel learned something most people spend a lifetime ignoring: in his world, truth was a luxury, and affection was a rare currency.
From then on, he lived in a remote wing of the residence, under the care of a half-blind old caretaker named Han, who seemed far more interested in his clay cup of rice wine than in the boy he was meant to protect. Han rarely spoke, and when he did, his voice carried a bitterness that clung to the air.
"Don't expect anyone to come save you," Han told him once, pouring himself another drink. "If you want something, take it. If you can't… you don't deserve it."
The legitimate children of the Kai Household treated Zerel like an intruder in his own home. In the corridors, he could hear muffled laughter whenever he passed by, or feel the weight of eyes that carried only contempt. He learned early that sweet words were poisoned blades, and kind gestures were often traps laid with precision.
At the age of nine, on a mist-shrouded morning when dew clung to the leaves in the gardens of the Kai estate, Zerel awakened his spiritual weapon. There were no masters present, no ceremonial rites—only a moment of pure connection with something greater than himself. The blade emerged like an extension of his own shadow, stealing the warmth and light from the room.
It was no ordinary weapon—it was the Blade of the Eclipse, a black light that seemed to devour even sound itself.
The silence that followed was not one of awe, but of unease. That very night, the elders of the Kai Household gathered in secret. They branded him an ill omen, a threat that, if left to grow, could bring ruin to them all. Part of his power was sealed, and he was forbidden from training in the main halls.
Something broke inside Zerel that day. But from those fractures, something else took root: an unshakable resolve to never again be vulnerable. If they wished him to be weak, he would become strong. If they wanted him forgotten, he would become unforgettable.
The years that followed were a chain of silent trials. Stealing food just to survive. Training with broken weapons in abandoned courtyards where the shadows stretched like silent sentinels. Memorizing incomplete techniques and piecing them together with patience and intuition. Solitude ceased to be a burden—it became an ally.
Once, while he was practicing sword movements in a forbidden corner of the gardens, a mocking voice broke his focus.
"Like that, you couldn't cut a dead branch," one of his half-brothers sneered, dressed in spotless new robes.
Zerel didn't answer. He adjusted his stance, shut out the noise, and kept moving the blade. The boy persisted, throwing a small stone that struck Zerel's shoulder.
"Aren't you going to defend yourself, bastard?" the half-brother spat, the insult dripping with venom.
Zerel lifted his gaze. There was no anger in his eyes, only a cold calm.
"One day, you won't even see me coming," he said, and returned to his practice.
It was in those moments that he developed a skill that would become invaluable—observation. Silently, he studied every interaction during family gatherings: which gestures betrayed insecurity, which words made an elder yield, which alliances were far more fragile than they appeared. Over time, this web of information became his true cultivation.
The cultivation record from that time was almost an insult:
[Cultivation Record]
Name: Zerel Kai
Current Stage: None (sealed)
Spiritual Weapon: Blade of the Eclipse (sealed)
Meridians: 63% obstructed
Spiritual Core: Unstable; high risk of total collapse during channeling attempts
In Heavenly Dominion, the first time the player encountered Zerel Kai, he was not a clan lord or an invincible warrior, but a half-broken figure carrying the weight of a sealed destiny. Before any rise to power, his days were gray, governed by scorn and constant surveillance.
The Kai Household stood as one of the oldest families in the region, proud of its lineage and unbending traditions. Its history was marked by generations of cultivators who had ascended to near-legendary heights. Among them, an illegitimate child like Zerel Kai was nothing more than a blemish to be hidden under silk carpets.
His childhood passed in an auxiliary building far from the courtyards where cultivation techniques rang out like battle drums, and far from the halls where elders debated matters of power. The walls were poorly maintained wood, the windows covered with torn paper, and the winter wind slipped through unseen cracks. His clothes bore the family crest, but they were always second-hand.
And yet, in that hostile environment, something about him stood out. He could feel the Qi flowing in the air with a clarity that others his age lacked. He noticed patterns in the rustling of leaves, in the currents of the river, in the flicker of oil lamps. It was as if the world spoke to him in an ancient language everyone else had forgotten.
In the original game's storyline, Zerel Kai was depicted in that exact state—bitter, his power sealed, yet still capable of precise, lethal movements. He was not an enemy to be overcome by brute force, but by understanding his patterns and weaknesses. The mission in which he appeared served as a warning: in Heavenly Dominion, strength alone was never enough.
Now, Li Wei inhabited that body. The difference was that he did not see an inevitable fate—he saw an opportunity. This was a body marked by scars, yes, but with the muscle memory and spiritual echoes of someone who had once touched true power. A name that still inspired caution in some and disdain in others. A piece on the board that, if played well, could topple far stronger players.
Li Wei flexed his fingers, feeling the faint, dormant pulse of the Blade of the Eclipse deep in his core. The seal was there—cold, unyielding—but he could sense the faintest cracks in it, like ice beginning to thaw. The memories of Zerel's life came to him not as foreign visions, but as if they were his own: the hunger that gnawed at the ribs, the endless cold of unheated rooms, the weight of eyes that judged without knowing.
He smiled faintly.
The Kai Household thought they had hidden their shadow well. They thought they had buried the threat under years of silence and neglect. But Li Wei knew better. Shadows didn't disappear—they grew.
And one day, the Eclipse would rise again.