The void trembled as a tall man dressed in black robes stepped out of a sinister-looking portal. His mere existence radiated malevolence, and his aura alone made the surrounding cultivators collapse to their knees, unable to breathe beneath the pressure.
His name was Mao Fan, the leader of the Demonic Cult—a dreadful organization that treated life as nothing more than a candle flickering in the wind. Their only interest was cultivation, and they had now begun their final, most sinister master plan.
His black hair draped perfectly across his shoulders, his robes intricately woven with threads so seamless they rivaled celestial constructs. He stood about 6'3", his rare onyx eyes gleaming with a deep, ancient hunger.
He hadn't always been this way.
Once, he'd believed in righteousness. But the way the world treated him—cold, cruel, hypocritical—shattered whatever hope he had in humanity. He turned to evil, and the rush of devouring others' cultivation became his addiction. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to.
From his hand, a black orb of compressed darkness pulsed to life before he launched it into the crowd of righteous cultivators. The resulting explosion shattered the already fragile void, leaving mangled corpses, broken bones, and rivers of fresh blood behind.
The acidic scent filled his lungs and fueled him with twisted euphoria. The bloodstained air reminded him of home.
A normal human would have vomited in such a scene. But Mao Fan?
He reveled in it.
He was no longer human—he was a monster, a fiend who found joy in suffering. Sadism in its purest form. And this act of carnage was only the beginning. He had long decided to refine this entire realm to ascend.
He had been stuck at the peak of Ascendance for twenty years. He needed a breakthrough. And if the old monsters of the Radiant Light Sect heard what he was about to attempt, they'd bleed from all their orifices out of sheer disbelief.
But Mao Fan was arrogant.
And arrogance always births weakness.
As he meditated, absorbing the purified Will of the world and transforming it into Demonic Qi, he suddenly sensed a ripple.
A flicker of silver in the corner of his eye.
Before he could react, a needle struck his side.
He grunted in pain, blood trickling down his robes.
"Who dares pierce me?!" he bellowed.
But no one answered.
Only a figure rose from the carnage—a man blurred at the edges, like smoke refusing to take shape.
Rowan.The Faded One.
The man everyone always forgot. The assassin molded by suffering and silence.
"You've lived too long, Mao Fan," Rowan said, his voice hollow. "And killed too many."
Their eyes met—opposite extremes of the same ruined world—and then they charged.
They engaged in a fierce battle. Rowan moved like a ghost, his daggers flashing in deadly arcs. Mao Fan countered with raw strength, every blow of his clawed palms shaking the very air. The clash of blade and Qi lit the sky with bursts of energy.
Then Rowan found an opening.
"Shadow Slash!" he cried, slicing his dagger across Mao Fan's shoulder.
A crimson arc of blood painted the air.
Mao Fan snarled, then pressed his palm to the ground.
"Spectral Devouring!"
The soil cracked as tendrils of ghostly darkness erupted, shrieking like tortured spirits. They wrapped around Rowan's limbs, draining his Qi in long, agonizing pulses.
No—this can't be how I die... Rowan gritted his teeth. I trained my whole life for this.
He struggled, but Mao Fan only laughed. "Did you think a shadow like you could challenge a storm?"
Rowan's vision blurred. His spirit faltered. He could feel the tendrils clawing into his soul.
Back then, when the Spiritual Revival occurred, Rowan had nothing.He was an orphan—powerless, useless. When the world awakened to cultivation, he was discarded.
So he joined the Shadow Lotus Sect.
They saw no potential in him either. He was born with a broken root—unfit for martial techniques. So they trained him as an assassin, to be used and discarded when no longer useful.
But Rowan refused to remain weak.
In a hidden realm, through sheer desperation, he devoured a rare flower and upgraded his broken root to a Heavenly Root—an act thought impossible.
The sect never knew.
He kept it secret, feeding his talent in silence.
But then tragedy struck.
His fellow orphans—his only family—were slaughtered by Mao Fan.
For no reason.No gain.Just slaughter.
That day, he swore revenge. Not for righteousness. Not for glory.
But for blood.
Back in the present, his body screamed in pain—but Rowan smiled.
A whisper echoed in his mind.
Shadow Lotus Detonation.
His heart stilled. So that's what the lotus was for...
He smiled.
A real, genuine smile.
Without hesitation, he poured every last drop of his Qi into the lotus-shaped scar on his chest.
Mao Fan's eyes widened. "Wait. What are you—"
And then the world ended in light.
An explosion of black and violet lotus petals tore through the void. The barriers between realms shattered. Cities crumbled. Mountains fell. Everything within a hundred miles vanished into nothing.
When the dust cleared, there was silence.
And then—movement.
Mao Fan, half-dead, bleeding, barely alive, still sat cross-legged in his lotus position, refining energy with stubborn obsession.
His lips curled upward in a sick smile. "A pity. That was almost enjoyable."
From the rubble stood no one. Rowan's body was gone, ash in the wind.
Mao Fan laughed quietly. "He died for nothing."
But then—light descended.
A pillar of pure celestial energy slammed into him, pinning him in place.
A calm voice followed.
"You had talent in the demonic path, young one. But you underestimated the immortal world."
A bald figure in golden robes, bearing the mark of balance and law, appeared from above. His aura silenced all.
"I grant you a quick death. You are not worthy of eternal punishment."
Mao Fan's pupils quivered.
This wasn't supposed to happen... I was going to rise... I—
He coughed blood and collapsed.
As his vision dimmed, a final thought slipped into his fading consciousness.
This was never my fault... The world made me this way...
But deep down, he knew.
He enjoyed it.
He chose the blood. The power. The destruction.
Even in death, Rowan was forgotten.
The Faded One—nameless in history—who dealt the final blow.
He had faked his death for years, waiting for this moment. And though the final strike had come from another, something twisted inside him.
I was supposed to be the one...
And then a whisper echoed in his soul.
"I'll give you another chance. Seek vengeance. Reach heights even I couldn't. But know this—I will sleep within you."
Rowan opened his eyes in another time.