Regret, deep and all-encompassing, was the only thing the old man felt as he stood before the ruins of the world he had painstakingly built. Hours earlier, he had been lost in peaceful meditation, unaware that calamity was closing in. Now, the sect he had nurtured with blood and sweat was consumed by flames, reduced to ash before his very eyes.
“What…” His voice trembled as he fell to his knees, powerless before the devastation. The once proud sect, the legacy he hoped to leave behind, was now nothing more than smoldering debris. His hands shook as he gripped the earth beneath him, disbelief clouding his thoughts.
“What have I done to deserve such a fate?” he whispered into the night, his words carried away by the thick smoke rising from the remains of his life’s work.
A sudden chill washed over him, pulling him from his despair. A fleeting presence materialized before him. She moved with an ethereal grace, cold and merciless. Her eyes held no empathy, no remorse, only the indifference of a force of nature. In them, he saw the void, an absence of anything remotely human.
Before she could strike the final blow, she hesitated. For reasons unknown, she turned away, leaving the old man paralyzed with confusion.
“You... why, what…” His voice faltered, barely able to form the words as he looked at her retreating figure.
Anissa paused for a moment, her back still turned. “Don’t question it. This is no fault of your own. You are nothing more than a stepping stone in a much larger plan. I will return in a week to finish what I’ve started.”
And with that, she vanished, leaving him in a world reduced to rubble.
The old man staggered to his feet, his legs trembling under the weight of his despair. His mind was still reeling from the encounter, from the loss of everything he had known. A cry for help—yes, that was all he could manage. It was all he had left to offer. But unknown to him, he had done precisely what Anissa wanted, what Feng Zhiming had orchestrated from the shadows. This was the final push that would give him a way to leave the sect, to reach the Wildlands once more.
…
Raja stared up at the twin moons, lost in a daze. He had won the disciple evaluation, earning not only the recognition of the elders but also a powerful spiritual sword, a symbol of his rising strength. But even with victory in his hands, a question gnawed at him: What comes next?
He had no leads on Feng Zhiming, no clear path to take his revenge.
As he turned to return to the dormitories, Yari came running toward him, her face flushed with urgency.
“Junior Brother,” she called out between breaths, barely able to steady herself.
Raja looked at her, confusion flickering in his eyes. There was no reason for her to come to him like this, to be so out of breath.
“What is it?” he asked, his concern growing.
Yari's expression darkened, her lips tightening. She was torn, but she knew she had no choice but to deliver the news.
“It’s your clan,” she said, her voice low, strained.
“My clan?” Raja’s brow furrowed as he processed her words.
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She hesitated for a moment, then spoke again. “They’re gone. The entire clan… has been destroyed. Everyone is dead.”
For a moment, the world around Raja froze. Time itself seemed to still as the weight of her words crashed into him like a tidal wave. His expression faltered, disbelief etched across his face.
“No… no, there must be some mistake.” His voice quivered as he tried to reason with himself. “We had no enemies, no resources worth fighting over. There’s no reason for anyone to attack them.”
Yari shook her head solemnly. “I’ve checked it three times, Raja. There’s no mistake. It’s your clan.”
Raja stood there, motionless, the strength in his legs giving way. He had no words left. There was no logic to hold onto, no explanation for the senseless destruction. From the moment of his birth, conflict had followed him like a shadow. First, it had been his cousins. Then, the Flowing River Sect. Then, Feng Zhiming. Now, his entire clan had been wiped from existence.
It was too much for any one person to bear.
“I… I need to be alone right now,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His chest tightened as emotion surged within him, threatening to break through his stoic façade.
Yari extended her hand, wanting to offer comfort, but she knew his grief was beyond her reach. Silently, she nodded and left him to his solitude.
Raja sat down, his fingers digging into the earth beneath him. He watched as the dirt slipped through his hands like sand, each grain a reminder of all he had lost.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said quietly, his voice hollow. “I’m cursed.”
His mind wandered to distant memories, his mother’s gentle touch, his father’s unwavering strength. They felt like fragments of another life, one that had been stolen from him.
“What have I been fighting for all this time?” he wondered aloud.
A dark thought took root in his mind, one that gripped him with fierce intensity. Could it be possible? Could I bring them back?
“Senior, is the next world vast?” he asked absently, his mind racing with the possibility. “When I ascend, will I be powerful enough to bring others back from death?”
Inside the ring, the woman’s voice echoed in his mind. She knew the dangerous path his thoughts had taken, but she couldn’t bring herself to crush his ambition.
“Life and death are governed by the Great Dao, they are nature's law. It is unwise to meddle in such affairs,” she thought to herself. But aloud, she replied, “It is… possible.”
Raja’s Qi surged, and in that moment, he broke through to the peak of the Ethereal Core Stage. Any other disciple would have been overjoyed at such a rapid advancement, but Raja felt nothing. There was no joy, only an insatiable hunger for power, for revenge, for resurrection.
The Great Dao stirred, acknowledging his newfound resolve.
The woman in the ring watched in silence, a grin tugging at her lips.
“There is no sword that is forged without fire,” she mused. “And his is only just beginning to burn.”
And thus, in the stillness of that fateful moment, he was silently ordained, marked by forces far beyond his comprehension. Unbeknownst to him, Raja had become another contestant in the endless struggle for power, a game played by those destined for greatness or oblivion. His journey, no longer one of mere survival, had taken on a grander, more dangerous purpose. The heavens themselves bore witness to this silent ascension, and with it, Raja had unwittingly crossed the threshold into a new realm of power.
He had become a Caelum Juravi, bound to celestial law. In this contest of hegemony, where titans clashed and only the strongest survived, Raja had entered the fray. There was no turning back now. His ambition, ignited by loss and fueled by vengeance, would drive him forward, ever deeper into the dangerous currents of fate.
The stars above, cold and indifferent, blinked as if acknowledging the new player in the eternal game. Raja’s destiny, once clouded by doubt and tragedy, was now set upon a path paved with the blood of those who would dare to stand in his way.
The fire within him burned brighter, and with it, the heavens took notice.
As did Feng Zhiming, who watched the entire interaction unfold from the shadows, his eyes glinting with cold satisfaction. Every word, every reaction, had played out exactly as he had orchestrated. The devastation, the grief, the quiet shift in Raja’s spirit, all were pieces of a carefully crafted plan. Feng Zhiming had pulled the strings, setting events into motion long before Raja had even been aware.
Hidden in the darkness, Zhiming's lips curled into a faint smile. Perfect, he thought, as the final threads of his design fell into place. He had anticipated every outcome, predicting Raja's response with the precision of a grandmaster guiding his pieces across the board. The boy’s desperate hope, his reckless desire to challenge the very laws of nature, would make him both dangerous and useful in the long game ahead.