The man stood above looking down into the pit. Aziz had begun to deduce that this man was called 'Deca,' a term meaning 'ten' in the language of Umbra. Each of the assassins bore a band with metal plates representing their rank within the Order. The man above him had ten strikes across his band, marking his status. Before the doors of the pit fully closed, Deca paused, looking down at Aziz one more time.

“You may think us cruel. This is reality, low-born. The strong determine the fate of the weak. Such is life. You were born weak; there is no other reason for your death.”

With that, the pit was sealed once more. Aziz held back a laugh. Did the man expect him to accept that as an explanation? It didn’t matter. All these warriors of the Order would fall. His body was already recovering from the strain of digging, the poison in his blood strengthening him.

Aziz reached into the hole and pulled out the manual, unable to resist his curiosity any longer. With his enhanced vision, he began to read the ancient text. The first page revealed that the manual was divided into three parts, each written by a different scribe, outlining the steps of the Lowly Serpent's Breath technique. Aziz flipped through the pages greedily, completely absorbed by the words, which seemed to call to him.

The first section was written by a man named Shadow Scales Zhang, a name that didn’t ring any bells for Aziz. The Blood Coil Sect's history had been erased from the records by the King of Umbra, and much of its legacy had been lost. Could Shadow Scales have been one of the infamous generals of the most notorious sect in martial arts history? The thought sent a thrill through Aziz. Something this valuable had been hidden away beneath the earth, just waiting for him to discover it.

As he read, the words of Shadow Scales seemed to speak directly to him:

The serpent was cursed with no feet or arms, its power stripped by the Heavens. Like man, it was born weak. Yet man is weaker, for most cannot even crawl in the world of martial arts. One must learn to crawl first, then walk, until they can finally fly. So crawl, little snake.

Aziz’s heart pounded with excitement as he flicked through the pages. These were martial arts techniques—real techniques. Manuals like this were rare, especially for someone of low birth. Martial arts were reserved for the nobility, for those with wealth and status. This was his chance. If he wanted revenge, he needed strength—he needed martial arts that could rival the Order. And what better teachers than the three masters of the Bloodcoil Sect? A smile crept across his face.

The Order might leave him for dead, but one day he would be strong enough to escape. One day he would reclaim the blood that was due.

For now, though, he needed to eat. His stomach growled, reminding him that his next meal was overdue. He grabbed the new pouch that had been dropped and quickly devoured the bread inside, finishing it within seconds. This won’t do, he thought. If he wanted to train, he needed more sustenance. His dull red eyes brightened as an idea flickered across his mind.

Aziz gathered all the pouches he had stored in a corner and began removing the strings, carefully tying them together. But the string wasn’t long enough yet; he would need more before his plan could come to fruition. Aziz would have to wait at least two more weeks before he could put his plan into motion. That was fine. Patience was one thing the pit had taught him. He could wait, biding his time until the moment was right to strike.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

***

Two weeks passed quickly, during which Aziz devoted himself to the training outlined in the manual. They would bring a jug of water to last the whole week alongside the food now. Which was good news, that last drink he had was the blood of the black-death, and he was getting thirsty again. The exercises were basic, focusing on building physical strength. Shadow Scales placed great importance on the body, calling it a tool that needed to be sharpened. A dull weapon could not kill, and a weapon that could not kill was useless.

Aziz threw himself into the training with relentless determination, reading as much as he could. It was best to hold of on the physical aspects until he managed to get sustanance. Dying from training wasn't the right way to go out. Not after everything. He took breaks only to sleep, knowing that he needed to make the most of his time. But it wasn’t sustainable. He needed more food to maintain high intensity training. Soon he would have to train his body. He needed more than just bread. He needed meat.

As soon as the final pouch was dropped, Aziz didn’t waste any time. He chewed on a mouthful of bread, chugging down some water and began adding the fresh string to his growing line. Once the string was long enough, he pocketed the roll and quickly headed for the hole. He was much faster now, using the tunnel to access the temple as needed. At times, he would lay by the altar, listening to the hissing of the snakes below, finding a strange solace in their sounds. It allowed him to meditate on what he had learned, to focus.

Now, the temple would provide more than just solace. It would provide him with food.

Aziz moved through the tunnel with ease, emerging into the temple’s eerie, torch-lit chamber. The serpents below writhed in their pit, their eyes glowing with malevolent intent. Aziz ignored them for now, his focus on the task at hand. He made his way to the altar, where he had previously spent hours studying the manual, and began to set up his trap.

He tied the string into a noose, attaching it to a small stone that he carefully positioned over the edge of the altar. The other end of the string he held in his hand, ready to pull tight at a moment’s notice. Then, with the noose in place, Aziz lay down on the cold stone floor, waiting.

It didn’t take long. The serpents were always drawn to the altar, as if compelled by some ancient memory. One of the black-deaths slithered up the side of the altar, its tongue flicking out as it sensed the air. Aziz remained perfectly still, his breath slow and controlled, watching as the snake moved closer to the bait.

When the serpent was within range, Aziz pulled the string tight. The noose snapped around the snake’s neck, and with a swift motion, he yanked the creature up and over the edge of the altar, its body writhing in a frantic attempt to escape. Aziz wasted no time, grabbing the snake by its head and smashing it against the stone until it stopped moving.

Meat. It wasn’t much, but it would sustain him.

Aziz quickly skinned the snake, using a sharp piece of stone he had found in the temple, and began to eat. The meat was tough and bitter, but it was better than nothing. As he chewed, he felt the strength returning to his body, the energy he needed to continue his training. That was not all. Draining the snake blood into his water jug, as his father had taught him during their hunting trips, he began drinking it. Being immune to the poison, he would get at least something from the blood, which was surprisingly not bad. The task itself was tedious, but worth it. Any little helps after all.

This was the beginning. The pit, the temple, the serpents—they were all part of his transformation. The Order had thrown him into this pit to die, but instead, they had given him the means to become something more.

Aziz would crawl, as Shadow Scales had commanded. He would learn to walk, and one day, he would fly. And when that day came, the Order would face a reckoning like no other.

But for now, he would be patient. He would continue to train, to grow stronger, and to gather what he needed. He would strike when the time was right. And when he did, the world would tremble.