Dawn seeped through the thick smoke of burning houses.
The sky was pink — as if it had witnessed the massacre and turned its gaze away in shame.
Patshakhan stood at the edge of the village.
Behind him — ashes.
Before him — the path.
He didn't look back.
He knew: no one survived.
> "Destroying the village isn't revenge. It's purification.
Everyone who knew my past must vanish —
So I can step into the present."
He walked the trail, leaving not footprints but absence.
Where his feet touched, there was no memory, no regret, no name.
His inner world breathed.
He could feel the souls and bodies of those he had killed dissolving into a crimson infinity — feeding him, fortifying his essence.
"Middle stage of the fourth realm," he murmured. "Soon… I'll reach its peak."
He stopped by a river.
The water reflected his pale skin and crimson eyes.
He looked… young. Almost delicate. Almost beautiful.
And that was what made him dangerous.
> "The world loves to judge by appearance.
I judge by weakness."
He washed himself.
Discarded his old clothes — charred and soaked in blood.
Donned a dark gray robe he'd taken from the village chief's quarters.
At his waist hung a small pouch.
Inside — only herbs, a few pills, and Xiao Shi's hourglass.
He flipped it over.
The sand began to fall.
"Here… time flows faster," he whispered, watching the grains descend twice as fast as they had in the village. "That means my world flows slower. That's my edge."
He walked a few more li until he saw the first city.
Fu Lin — a modest frontier town, known for recruiting sect disciples.
On the square, cultivators bustled.
Some sold herbs.
Some boasted about techniques.
Others argued about spirit beasts.
Patshakhan passed silently — like a shadow.
"Hey, who are you?" someone called out.
He didn't respond.
"Your aura's weak… Fourth stage? Ha! Don't embarrass yourself!"
He stopped. Turned.
"You're right," he said. "I'm weak."
"Oh, well—wait, what?"
"But you're foolish."
He turned and walked away.
The man who had shouted took a step forward… and froze.
Blood began to seep from his chest.
> "I didn't strike you.
I simply let you die.
Your soul is already within me.
Your body is just catching up."
---
He rented a modest room in an inn.
That evening, he heard voices through the wall:
> "The Cloud Origin Sect is holding its selection. A ten-day trial.
You must reach the sect and gather spirit herbs."
> "They say killing isn't forbidden."
> "Yeah. This year will be brutal — especially with monsters like Lin Hao and Jin Mo…"
> "Selection. Trial. A road where killing is allowed.
Perfect."
Patshakhan lit a candle.
Laid the pouch on the table and pulled out an old map.
It was faded, but the route to the sect was marked: 200 li.
Forests, rivers, cliffs.
> "I'll join them.
But not for recognition.
I'll take what I need —
Their people. Their techniques.
Their souls. Their carelessness."
---
The next morning, he stood on the square.
A crowd of candidates had gathered before a woman in white.
She inspected each one.
When her eyes passed over Patshakhan, she squinted slightly…
But said nothing.
> "Fourth stage…
But he feels… empty inside.
Or perhaps… too deep?"
She announced:
> "In ten days, you must reach the main gates of the sect.
Gather at least five spirit herbs — you'll become disciples.
Those who collect thirty or more — enter the outer court.
Anything extra can be exchanged for stones."
> "Question, Mistress!" someone called. "Is killing allowed?"
She smirked:
> "This is the path of cultivation.
If you die — you were weak."
---
Patshakhan stood in the crowd.
Calm.
Silent.
Hungry.
> "It begins.
Time to join the game."