The Azure Wind Kingdom was a land of fragile balance. Sects and clans reigned above all, treating mortals as resources, their lives measured in spirit stones and blood. To offend a sect was to court annihilation.
Yet a stranger now walked its roads. His crimson-gold eyes burned like twin suns, his aura suppressed to nothing, yet every beast and mortal instinctively recoiled before him.
For weeks, he wandered without aim, cultivating in silence, reaping beasts that dared approach, and moving on. Yet whispers spread quickly:
A man who kills sect disciples without fear.
A shadow wielding a scythe of death.
A calamity cloaked in silence.
It was in the market town of Lianghe where the shadow's silence first shattered.
The town lay under the control of the Azure Sky Sect, a middling sect of the kingdom. Though not among the greatest powers, their arrogance rivaled the heavens. Mortals paid tribute, merchants bowed, and any who resisted were erased.
On this day, the sect's young disciples descended like wolves.
At the town square, villagers were forced to kneel. Their goods—grain, spirit herbs, even children—were seized. An elder disciple, clad in azure robes with silver trimmings, stood above them, voice dripping with contempt.
"Kneel lower! Do you not see who we are? Your lives belong to the sect. If not for our mercy, you'd be feeding beasts in the forest."
A man dared raise his head. "Please… we have nothing left to give. The harvest failed—"
Crack!
The man's skull burst beneath the elder disciple's palm, his corpse collapsing in front of his wife and children.
"Ungrateful dog," the disciple spat, wiping blood from his hands. "The sect protects this land. You should be honored to die for us."
The villagers trembled, powerless. Some wept. Others bit their lips until they bled, rage stifled by despair.
Then the crowd parted.
A lone figure approached, steps calm, eyes unblinking. He carried no pack, no token, only a presence that made even the air still.
The elder disciple sneered. "Who are you to walk so boldly before the Azure Sky Sect?"
The stranger said nothing.
"Speak, or crawl," the disciple snapped, spiritual energy flaring. He radiated the strength of Foundation Establishment Realm, his aura pressing down like a storm.
Yet the stranger did not kneel.
The disciple's anger flared. "You dare—!"
Shhhk.
The black scythe appeared as if it had always been there, its blade whispering against the wind. One motion — and the disciple's body fell in halves, blood spraying across the cobblestones.
Silence.
The other disciples stared in horror. "You… you killed Senior Brother Liu! Do you know what you've done?"
Their swords flashed, their qi surged. Together, they attacked.
The stranger moved once.
A sweep of the scythe carved through steel and flesh alike. Bodies fell broken, their swords shattered like glass. The scythe hummed, drinking in their lifeblood, its black edge glowing faintly crimson.
The square reeked of iron.
The mortals stared in disbelief. Some pressed their foreheads to the ground, too terrified to breathe. Others wept silently, their prayers answered in blood.
The stranger spoke at last, his voice calm, as though reciting truth rather than words:
"Sects that prey on the weak… are no different from beasts. And beasts exist only to be culled."
He turned, leaving corpses behind. His footsteps echoed in the silence of the square, a silence broken only when a child whispered:
"…He is death itself.
By dusk, the Azure Sky Sect had learned of the slaughter. Elders raged, disciples wailed. Orders were given: find the killer, no matter the cost.
Yet fear spread faster than orders.
Taverns whispered of him. Markets murmured his name. In villages and towns, the story grew:
A scythe-wielder who walks without fear.
A shadow who does not kneel to sects.
A calamity cloaked in silence.
Some called him a demon. Others, a savior.
But in the stranger's eyes, there was no savior, no demon. Only the path of power, paved in crimson.
That night, beneath the moon's pale light, he sat cross-legged in the wilderness. The scythe lay beside him, its edge reflecting the stars.
[System Notice: Mission Progress – Slay Oppressors. Completion: 12%. Reward Pending.]
The voice echoed within him, cold yet eternal. But he needed no reminder. His path had already been chosen the moment he was born.
The weak were cattle. The strong were predators. And he—he was calamity.