The rain poured mercilessly, drowning the cries of the burning village. Ashes mixed with mud, blood seeped into the ground, and the air reeked of smoke and despair.
A boy knelt in the dirt, his thin body trembling, his clothes torn and soaked crimson. Around him, the arrogant disciples of the Iron Serpent Sect laughed, their blades still wet with the blood of innocents.
"Trash like you dares to stand in our way?" sneered the young master, his jade robe untouched by filth. "Born without a spiritual root, destined to crawl like a worm. Even the heavens themselves rejected you."
The boy—Arhaan—lowered his head. His fists clenched, nails digging into flesh, but his eyes remained calm. His body shook not from fear… but from fury.
Behind him, a group of terrified children huddled together, their parents slaughtered before their eyes. The young master raised his blade, stepping toward them.
Something inside Arhaan snapped.
In that instant, he moved. His broken body surged forward, hand catching the descending sword. Blood gushed as steel cut into his palm, but he didn't let go.
The young master's smirk faltered.
Arhaan lifted his head. His eyes, once dull and hopeless, now burned with a fire no rain could quench.
"I don't care if the heavens abandon me…" his voice was low, steady, shaking with suppressed wrath.
"As long as I live—no one touches those under my protection."
The air trembled. A faint glow pulsed from his chest, as if shackles unseen were breaking. Deep within, the first of the Seven Seals of the Soul shattered.
BOOM.
A wave of divine energy burst forth, shaking the ground. The disciples staggered back, staring in disbelief.
"That's… impossible!" one shouted. "He has no root—how can he summon spiritual force?"
Arhaan rose to his feet, blood dripping from his hand. The rain hissed as his aura flared, violent yet pure, like a storm cleansing the land.
The young master snarled and charged, blade flashing. But Arhaan's palm struck like thunder.
CRACK!
The arrogant prodigy flew across the square, smashing into a broken wall, coughing blood. His eyes widened with horror—he had been defeated by the "rootless trash."
Arhaan stood tall, shoulders trembling but unyielding. His gaze swept over the disciples, each step echoing like a drumbeat of judgment.
"You call yourselves cultivators," he said coldly. "But you slaughter the helpless. From this day on… remember my name."
The children stared at him, tears mixing with hope for the first time.
Arhaan clenched his bleeding fist.
"One day, I will climb beyond heaven itself. And when I do—none shall trample the weak again."
The rain poured harder, as if the heavens themselves raged.
But the boy who defied them had taken his first step.