The battlefield was chaos, filled with screams and the stench of blood. Jian Wu could barely see through the haze of pain. Not long ago, he had been one of those screaming, but now even that felt pointless. His body was broken, and his end was near.

Ten years ago, Jian Wu had set foot on the martial path, convinced he was destined for greatness. When he was accepted into one of the most prestigious sects, the White Lotus Sect, he believed his dreams were finally coming true.

But reality turned out to be far harsher. He was weak, and in the White Lotus Sect, strength was everything. The strong thrived while the weak were crushed without mercy. Life in the sect quickly became a living nightmare.

He was cast aside, abandoned with the other weak disciples. Instead of being treated as a proper disciple, he was treated more like a servant. The other students bullied him endlessly, using him as a punching bag to satisfy their own egos.

In this world, power was everything, and Jian Wu had learned that lesson the hard way.

The martial dao was the ultimate path to power, but it wasn’t a path anyone could simply choose. Only those who could control mana and Qi were able to pursue the dao. A person’s talent determined how far they could climb along this path. Every cultivator’s journey began with the first stage: the Celestial Body Stage.

At the lower levels of this stage, cultivators focused on refining their physical bodies. They could strengthen themselves, but they struggled to control mana and Qi effectively. This meant that, although they were stronger than ordinary humans, they were not considered true masters.

The Celestial Body Stage had seven levels. The first three levels were relatively accessible, even for those with average talent. However, as one climbed higher, the challenges became significantly harder. Each level represented a transformation, a step closer to transcending human limitations. At the very peak of the Celestial Body Stage, a cultivator's body would be ready to move beyond mortality and truly master the flow of mana.

Only those with exceptional talent could ascend beyond this stage into greater realms—where elements could be controlled, and mountains could be shattered with ease. For someone like Jian Wu, even imagining reaching such heights felt like an impossible dream.

Stuck at the second level of the Celestial Body Stage, his body could barely channel mana. Among the disciples of the White Lotus Sect, he was at the very bottom of the hierarchy—nowhere near a true disciple in their eyes. To them, he was nothing more than a servant.

His life was a cycle of insults and humiliation. Yet he stayed. Sometimes, he wondered why the sect even kept him around if they saw no value in him.

Now, as he lay dying on the battlefield, he finally understood.

"They sent me here to die."

Jian Wu and his unit had been sent as a vanguard. Including him, there were a thousand soldiers in total. However, when they arrived at the battlefield, there was no enemy army waiting for them. Instead, a single master stood in their path.

Jian Wu had seen the disdain in the master’s eyes, a look that spoke of superiority, of seeing them as mere insects. What followed wasn’t a battle but a massacre. He and the others were wiped out as if they were nothing, crushed under an overwhelming power. There was no honor in the fight—only the one-sided annihilation of his entire unit.

"This face… I will never forget it."

The world around Jian Wu faded. All that remained was pain and the distant sound of screams. His body was broken, his life hanging by a thread. Death was only moments away, but he managed to scream one last time.

It wasn’t fear of dying. No, his scream was filled with regret—for the life he had wasted, for the person he could have been but never was.

In his final moments, memories of humiliation and failure flashed before his eyes. He had lived a life of suffering, one filled with pain inflicted by others and by his own cowardice. Rage boiled in his chest, consuming his thoughts. He hated those who had treated him like dirt, those who had used him as a pawn. Most of all, he hated himself—the man who had lived every moment with his head bowed in fear.

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"If only I had been braver... maybe everything would have been different."

For years, he had blamed his misfortune and his low talent for his failures. But now, in his final moments, clarity struck him. It wasn’t misfortune that had kept him down, nor was it his lack of talent. It was his own choices.

"The reason I lived like a servant and not a warrior," he admitted to himself, "wasn't because of a lack of talent... but because of my fears. I bowed to everyone out of fear. I wasn’t a warrior—I was a coward."

A spark ignited in his dying soul.

“In my next life, no matter what happens, I will not bow. I will live without fear. Even if I am born without talent, I will face the world with the heart of a warrior.”

But deep down, Jian Wu knew it was too late. Yet, for the first time in his life, even with death just a breath away, there was no fear in his heart.

“At least my cowardly heart died before me,” he thought. “For this final moment, I am truly free. ”

With that thought, he drew his last breath. Darkness swept over him, an endless abyss swallowing his consciousness.

At first, Jian Wu felt nothing but emptiness. There was no light, no warmth—just an infinite void.

“Is this death?” he wondered. “Am I trapped here forever?”

Time had no meaning in the abyss. It could have been a moment, or it could have been eternity. The silence was maddening, and the isolation worse. Yet sometimes, Jian Wu felt the cold—a bitter chill that reminded him he still existed.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he heard something.

It was faint at first, a sound so distant he thought he had imagined it. He strained to listen, desperate for anything to break the silence. The sound came again—a low, resonant laugh.

Jian Wu’s heart raced. The laughter was unlike anything he had ever heard. It was deep and powerful, carrying a presence so vast it seemed to shake the void itself.

A faint light appeared in the distance, golden and warm. It was small at first, barely more than a flicker. But as the laughter grew louder, the light grew brighter.

For the first time since his death, Jian Wu felt something other than despair. The warmth from the light was faint but growing, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness he had endured.

Without hesitation, he moved toward the light. Each step felt like a battle, as though the void itself tried to hold him back. His soul ached with every inch he crawled, but he refused to stop. After endless torment in the darkness, he clung to the hope the light offered.

As he drew closer, the laughter grew louder, echoing through the abyss. It carried a mix of madness and overwhelming power that would have terrified him in his former life. But Jian Wu was no longer the same. After spending so long in the void, fear had lost its grip on him.

Finally, Jian Wu reached the light, but just as he was about to touch it, it vanished. Everything disappeared, leaving only darkness behind. Confused, he looked around, trying to understand what had happened.

The void stretched endlessly, silent and oppressive—until two massive golden eyes suddenly appeared before him. They were piercing and intense, glowing with an otherworldly radiance. A faint light returned, casting an eerie glow around him.

Jian Wu froze in place, his heart hammering in his chest. A powerful aura washed over him—raw, ancient, and overwhelming. Then came the breath: hot, heavy, and reeking of sulfur.

He instinctively knew this was no human. No human could possess such an aura. It was vast and terrifying, unlike anything he had ever encountered. There was only one creature it could be.

A dragon.

Jian Wu stood frozen, trembling as the realization hit him. In this endless void, he had come face-to-face with a dragon.

The dragon’s massive form drew closer. Its claws reached out, effortlessly gripping Jian Wu. He felt completely powerless, unable to move even an inch, as if the dragon's strength was an immovable force.

In the dragon’s glowing eyes, Jian Wu saw his reflection—small, broken, and insignificant. But there was something else in the dragon’s gaze: amusement, curiosity, and perhaps even approval. Despite the terrifying creature in front of him, Jian Wu didn’t feel the usual fear. Instead, he felt... small. Not insignificant in a way that would make him fear for his life, but in the presence of something so ancient and powerful. It was as if he was standing before something that had seen it all, something beyond comprehension. In that moment, Jian Wu didn't feel fear; he felt awe, admiration for this majestic being.

Finally, the dragon spoke. Its voice was deep and commanding, each word vibrating with a sense of authority.

“At last, you’ve found me, Jian Wu,” it said, a sinister smile curling at the corners of its lips.