Two men stood with their swords drawn, staring down at Ye Xian beneath the last rays of sunlight retreating behind the distant mountains.
Ye Xian lay sprawled on the ground, his chest slashed open in a brutal X-shaped wound. Blood gushed from the cut like a fountain, quickly soaking the earth in crimson.
His death was certain. Judging from the wound, he had only a few breaths left—at most.
"It's finally all over…" he whispered.
Ye Xian was a cultivator, the second son of the Ye Clan's patriarch's younger brother—born from a maid.
But unfortunately, he was not the protagonist of this story.
With average talent, a humble birth, and the fate of cannon fodder, he was nothing more than a stepping stone—a disposable character meant to draw hatred and then die to make others look impressive.
And he knew it.
He waited for death with a faint smile, as though he had finally accepted the script written for him.
And death came.
His eyes closed. His breath stopped. His pale face froze in that peaceful, mocking smile.
He died.
The two murderers stood over his corpse, watching his still face.
"Was he smiling?" one of them asked.
"Looks like he lost his mind right before dying," the other chuckled. "Guess we hit him too hard."
But then—
Ye Xian shot upright with a violent gasp, nearly giving both men heart attacks on the spot.
"AH—!" one stumbled back. "What the—?!"
Ye Xian clutched his chest as a surge of foreign memories and strange sensations flooded his mind. His heart thundered in his ribcage like a war drum.
There, on his skin, the bloody cross mark remained—yet the pain was gone. The wound had vanished, healed as though death itself had taken a sick day.
"I'm... alive?" he murmured in disbelief. "Or reborn? Is this one of those plot twists?"
He looked around, half expecting a heavenly narrator or glowing system panel to appear.
Nothing.
'Were those cultivation novels, Old Man Juan brought back from the capital fake?
Well, they had to be fake, otherwise I would have seeing a floating panel or something.'
Just the dumbfounded stares of his would-be killers and the mountain breeze whistling past.
Ye Xian frowned, rubbing the unbroken skin over his heart. "Is this why I'm healed? Wait—this isn't some afterlife prank, right?"
Just to be sure, he raised his hand to pinch his cheek, then stopped midair.
"What if I die doing this?" he muttered.
He slowly lowered his hand. "Yeah… let's not take risks. I just got back."
Both of the startled murderers—who looked like they'd just seen a ghost (because they had)—quickly tried to calm themselves. Then we one of them spoke in mocking voice.
"Looks like you didn't finish the job, Brother Mu. Ye Xian is still alive."
A sinister laugh followed. The man wielding twin blades sneered, his voice filled with arrogance.
"Heh… I was sure of it. I tore him apart with my twin blades. No matter. I'll finish it now. This time, I'll take his head clean off. Hahaha!"
.
.
.
Ye Xian's eyes narrowed as he listened. Before he even realized it, his body was already moving. Something deep inside him stirred—like an old instinct waking up. He stood up slowly, every step steady. He was ready.
The man with twin blades—Brother Mu—drew both swords in one smooth motion and rushed straight at Ye Xian, aiming for his throat. He wasn't holding back.
Ye Xian didn't think—he just moved.
The blades cut through the air, missing him by a hair. He felt the wind graze his neck as he dodged. His hand went to his waist and drew his sword in a flash. He lifted it calmly, his focus razor-sharp.
"Oh? You dodged it, Young Master Ye," Brother Mu sneered. "Think you can beat me? I'm at the Mid Stage of the Ki Refining Realm. You're just an initiate. Drop your sword and I'll make it quick. If not—"
"Enough barking," Ye Xian cut in, his voice colder than steel. "Is running your mouth all you're good at?"
He raised his sword, its edge catching the fading light.
"Come on. I've got better things to do than waste time on a disloyal dog."
"You—!" Brother Mu's face twisted in rage. "I'll tear you apart, you arrogant brat!"
He charged, twin blades flashing.
But Ye Xian was already moving.
He pushed ki into his left leg. It surged through his body, flowing into the right paths like it had always been there. Then he released it.
The ground cracked under his feet as he blasted forward. In a blink, ki surged into his right arm and he swung his sword.
The blade sliced clean through Brother Mu's neck. His head flew off.
Ye Xian didn't stop.
He felt a second killing intent behind him. Another attacker.
He gathered ki again, focusing it into his legs. His body felt light—like he was floating. He jumped, flipping in the air. The moment his feet touched the ground, he struck.
His sword flashed.
The blade stabbed into the neck of a second man—the one with a crescent blade, who had been sneaking up behind him. Ye Xian was faster.
Steel sank deep. The man's eyes widened. He tried to stop the blood with his hands, but it was too late. Life slipped from him.
It all happened in seconds. The crack of the ground. The swing. The stab. A deadly rhythm—like a dance he already knew.
Every move was clean. Sharp. Controlled.
Just like that, both men were dead, their bodies cold and still on the earth.
They should have been stronger. But Ye Xian had won.
Why?
Two reasons.
First, they underestimated him. Their arrogance slowed them down.
Second, he used something special—Limit Release. A technique he hadn't even known he could use. By forcing ki into one part of his body and letting it explode out, he broke past his normal limits for a moment.
That burst of power gave him the edge.
It wasn't just strength. It was timing. Skill. Precision.
---
Ye Xian stood there for a moment, breathing hard.
Then a question crept into his mind again.
Was he really reincarnated? Or reborn? Or… was this all just a weird dream?
Nah—too painful to be a dream.
Well, one thing was certain: he was alive and kicking… though mostly sore and bleeding.
The Limit Release technique—he had never learned it. It didn't feel like his. And those memories… some weren't his either. They felt like pieces from someone else. A man named Adler.
He remembered fragments of Adler's life. But what stood out most was the betrayal. The Hero Party. Fiona...
Blood bubbled from Ye Xian's throat as he coughed. His body trembled from the memory. A sharp, hollow pain tore through his chest. It felt like something precious had been stolen—ripped away from deep inside.
"Ahhhhh!" he screamed, slamming both fists into the ground.
The pain in his heart was like a blade—cold, cruel, and unrelenting.
Fiona's death flashed through his mind. Cold. Merciless. The image tore through him, and he coughed more blood, shaking uncontrollably.
His scream echoed through the empty valley like a beast in agony.
Night had fallen. Stars lit up the sky, and the moon poured silver light over the land, making everything feel colder.
Ye Xian looked up, his face soaked with tears.
Then he clenched his teeth and made a vow.
"Wang Chi... I'll make you regret everything. Even if I have to crawl through rivers of blood or climb over mountains of corpses... I'll bring hell to all of you."
"Wei Zu. Lux Layman. Ash Vickman. Lu Ziyan…"
"And you, Sylvia. How could I ever forget your kindness?"
He wiped his face, forcing the tears to stop. His hands were steady now as he walked toward Brother Mu's body.
He bent down and took the man's pouch. Then he checked the other corpse.
Inside, he found a few ki stones and some low-grade elixirs. He dropped them into his own space pouch.
It wasn't an ordinary pouch—it had a cubic meter of space inside. Great for holding items, though not living things.
From it, he pulled out a clean set of clothes and changed out of the ones soaked in blood.
.
.
Ye Xian had short grey hair and onyx-black eyes, deep and glossy like pools of obsidian. He was about 17 years old, currently at the first step of the Ki Refining Realm.
His grey hair was a consequence of a black lash cultivating a a high grade technique—an accident that caused his cultivation to drop a full realm back to the Ki Refining Realm.
The two men he had just slain were servants of his older half-brother, Ye Shen.
Ye Shen was the son of Ye Feng's legal wife, while Ye Xian's mother had been a maid who died from blood loss shortly after giving birth to him.
Ye Feng, Ye Xian's father, never treated him with outright cruelty after his mother's death—but neither did he offer the love a father should. Toward Ye Xian, his attitude wavered between neglect and cold indifference.
In the Ye Clan, Ye Xian was not mistreated, but he was far from favored. His talent was considered average at best.
In contrast, his half-brother Ye Shen was a genius. His cultivation speed outpaced Ye Xian's by a wide margin, drawing the clan's attention and resources entirely toward him.
Despite the clear disparity, Ye Xian never resented Ye Shen. He understood the way things were.
Even when his own resources were reduced—thanks to Ye Shen's mother—Ye Xian never complained. The one time he did speak up, his stepmother met him with frosty disdain.
"Your aptitude is low. It's a waste to spend resources on you," she had said flatly.
Ye Xian had been furious but powerless. He wanted to push her down and spank her bottom—but the difference in strength made that nothing more than a fantasy.
So he swallowed his pride. He used whatever meager allowance he received to gather cultivation resources and trained diligently, determined to grow stronger despite his limitations.
But in the end, it wasn't enough. Ye Shen's men ambushed and killed him.
The only reason Ye Xian was alive now… was because of a strange phenomenon—an event that changed everything.