The wolf's headless corpse twitched once before going still, blood pooling around my boots. I stood there, chest heaving, staring at the iron sword in my grip. The cut had been clean—far cleaner than anything I should have been capable of with my blocked meridians and years of mockery.
The God Rock pulsed warmly in my left hand, its faint runes glowing like veins of liquid night. Power thrummed through me, mending the claw wounds on my side at a visible rate. The pain dulled to a distant ache.
Above the treetops, the battle between the Saint Realm expert and the horned invader Zorath raged on. Shockwaves ripped through the forest, splintering ancient trees and sending beasts fleeing in terror. I didn't care. My focus narrowed to the rock and the knowledge flooding my mind.
I had seen their techniques for only moments, yet the God Rock had burned them into my soul. Basic sword forms Grandfather once taught me now felt infantile. New insights layered on top: how to circulate qi through meridians with ruthless efficiency, how to infuse a strike with the faintest trace of spatial distortion, how to slow an opponent's perception for a single heartbeat using strands of Time Dao.
It was intoxicating.
I tested it immediately.
A low growl came from my left—another Bloodfang Wolf, larger than the first, drawn by the scent of blood. Its red eyes locked on me, lips peeling back over dagger-like fangs.
"Come," I whispered, voice steady for the first time in years.
The wolf sprang.
I held the God Rock tighter and moved.
My body blurred half a step—space folding just enough to close the distance instantly. The iron sword rose in a perfect arc, copying the local expert's palm trajectory but refined through the sword. Qi surged from my newly opened meridians, sharper and denser than anything an outer disciple should possess.
Slash.
The blade met flesh with a wet crunch. The wolf's front leg severed cleanly at the shoulder, spinning away in a spray of arterial blood. The beast howled in agony, crashing to the ground. Before it could recover, I pivoted and drove the sword straight through its skull. Bone cracked. The howl cut off into a wet gurgle. The body convulsed once and lay still.
Two wolves dead in under a minute. Me—the trash who couldn't even circulate qi properly yesterday.
A wild laugh bubbled up from my throat. I wiped blood from my face with the back of my hand, eyes burning with something new: hunger.
I could feel it now—Qi Condensation first layer. No, pushing toward second. The God Rock didn't just copy techniques; it slashed training time to nothing. What should have taken months of bitter effort happened in heartbeats.
Footsteps and voices approached from behind. Ye Kun and the other outer disciples, riding their spirit horses, finally caught up after hiding during the sky battle.
"Look at this mess," Ye Kun sneered, reining in his horse. "Did the trash actually kill something? Or did the wolves die of boredom watching him flail?"
His lackeys laughed. One of them spotted the two wolf corpses and whistled. "Not bad for bait. Maybe we can skin them and—"
My gaze snapped to Ye Kun. The old fear was gone, replaced by cold calculation. I still hid the God Rock in my sleeve, but its power sang in my blood.
"Laugh while you can, cousin," I said quietly.
Ye Kun's eyes narrowed. "What did you say, waste?"
I took one step forward. The air around me seemed to ripple faintly—Space Dao stirring instinctively. "I said… laugh while you can."
Before he could retort, I moved again. The short spatial shift carried me beside his horse in a blink. My iron sword flashed upward.
Screams erupted.
The blade sliced through Ye Kun's right arm just below the elbow. Flesh parted like paper. Bone sheared. The severed limb tumbled to the forest floor still clutching the whip, blood fountaining in a bright red arc.
Ye Kun's scream was high and shrill, nothing like his usual arrogant tone. He toppled from the horse, clutching the stump, face pale with shock.
"You— you dare!" one of the lackeys roared, drawing his own weapon.
I didn't hesitate. The God Rock fed me their movements before they finished them. I copied a basic sword art one of the inner disciples had practiced weeks ago in the clan courtyard—Heavenly Wind Sword, first form: Gust Pierce.
My body twisted. The iron sword became a blur. Two quick thrusts. One lackey's throat opened in a crimson smile; the other clutched his chest as the blade punched through his heart and out his back.
Blood sprayed across my face and chest. Warm. Sticky. Satisfying.
The remaining disciples froze, eyes wide with terror.
"Monster…" one whispered.
I wiped the blade on a dead wolf's fur, voice calm. "Run back to the clan. Tell them the bait fought back."
They fled without another word, horses galloping wildly through the shattered forest.
Ye Kun lay on the ground, whimpering, blood still pumping from the stump. I crouched beside him, pressing the flat of the sword against his cheek.
"Remember this moment, cousin. The next time you raise a whip, it will be your head that rolls."
I stood, leaving him alive—barely. A message needed to reach the elders. Let them wonder what happened to their perfect outer genius.
The sky had gone quiet. The two powerhouses had vanished, their battle carried to some distant corner of the continent or beyond. Only broken trees and the scent of ozone remained.
I looked down at the God Rock in my palm. Its runes pulsed softly, as if pleased.
"Thank you," I murmured. For the first time, hope felt real.
My meridians burned with fresh qi. I could already sense the next breakthrough hovering close. Holding the rock, I sat cross-legged amid the carnage and began to circulate.
What should have taken days took minutes.
Qi Condensation second layer… third layer… the barriers shattered like glass.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, I stood up renewed. My wounds had closed completely. The iron sword felt like an extension of my will.
I looted the corpses— a few low-grade spirit stones, some healing pills, and a small storage pouch from one of the dead lackeys. Crude, but better than nothing. I slipped the God Rock inside for safekeeping.
Night had fallen when I began the long walk back toward Qinghe Town and the Ye Clan compound.
The old Ye Tianhen—the beaten, obedient trash—was dead.
In his place walked someone new. Someone who would no longer bow.
Someone who would make the entire clan regret every laugh, every whip, every betrayal.
And somewhere out there, Grandfather was waiting in another world.
I would find him.
But first… the Ye Clan would bleed.