A storm of selves—that was the nightmare. For any other warrior, facing an army of your own reflection, each one knowing your every move before you made it, would be a descent into madness. A battle of attrition against an inexhaustible foe, a physical and psychological breaking point. It was a hell designed to crush the strongest of spirits.
For Xiao Ke, it was just Tuesday.
His power wasn't conventional. It didn't flow from a single, predictable source. It was a messy, chaotic, and brutally effective cocktail of raw force and honed technique, and the mirror clones simply couldn't compute. They were perfect copies of his form, but they were hollow echoes of his substance.
As he strode deeper into the cavernous first palace, the air shimmered and warped, birthing another wave of his doppelgangers. They poured from the walls like smoke given form, each with his face, his stance, his weapon. But where they were a flood, he was a tidal wave. His battle blade, the Fierce General, became a blur of silver lightning in his hands. Each swing carried the weight of a falling mountain, a pure expression of the Slaughter Art pushed to its violent zenith. They came at him, a legion of ghosts, and he carved through them like a tiger tearing through a flock of sheep. Not a single one could withstand the fury of his first strike.
He didn't slow, didn't hesitate. The path he cut through the dissipating clones was straight and true, leading him out of the first palace and to the threshold of the second. Before him stood a set of iron doors, impossibly heavy, looking as though they hadn't been opened in a millennium. He didn't bother using two hands. A single, steady push from his left was all it took. With a soul-scraping groan of tortured metal, the gates ground open.
The second chamber was smaller and possessed a stark, unnerving emptiness. The vast, open space of the first palace was replaced by a more intimate, almost claustrophobic hall. The air was cold, still. Nothing occupied the floor—no statues, no thrones, no traps. The only features were the walls themselves, which were covered from floor to ceiling in murals of breathtaking vibrancy and realism.
Xiao Ke stepped inside, the iron doors booming shut behind him, plunging him into a quieter world. He walked a slow circle, his boots echoing softly on the stone floor. The murals were… unsettling. They depicted vast landscapes, forests, mountains, and plains, all rendered with such exquisite detail that he felt he could step right into them. The painted leaves seemed to rustle in a phantom breeze; the distant mountains seemed to hold the chill of high-altitude air.
He paused before a scene of a rugged wilderness. The longer he looked, the more a strange, prickling sensation crawled up his spine. This wasn't just a random landscape. He knew this place. The specific curve of the river, the jagged peak of that particular mountain in the distance… it was the untamed land near Black River Town, in the Southern Province.
Before the thought could fully form, the world dissolved.
The painted colors bled into reality. The stone floor beneath his feet softened into dirt and grass. The cold, still air of the palace was replaced by the warm, sun-drenched air of a summer afternoon. He blinked, a wave of vertigo washing over him. He was standing in that very wilderness from the mural. In the distance, a group of soldiers in common combat fatigues was gathered around a small fire, laughing as they ate their midday meal. He recognized their faces with a jolt that felt like an electric shock. Duan Canglong. Luo Hou. His old squad.
"Xiao Ke! What are you standing there gawking at? Get over here!"
The voice was sharp, imperious, and so painfully familiar it made his heart clench. He spun around. Standing just a few feet away was Qin Bing. Not the Qin Bing he knew now, but the Centurion from his past, her face a mask of cold authority, her uniform crisp and perfect. She was looking at him with that familiar, impatient glare that used to make his stomach twist into knots.
A profound sense of dislocation seized him. He looked down at himself. The advanced combat gear was gone. In its place was the simple, rough-spun uniform of a common grunt. The past wasn't a memory; it was here. It was now. He was back in that humiliating, confusing time when he was nothing more than a suspected deserter under her command. His entire journey—the Black Sharks, the battles, the glory, the rise to Champion, his command of the Steel Wheel—it all evaporated like morning mist, feeling no more real than a fleeting dream.
The instinct to obey was a physical thing, a reflex buried deep in his bones. "Yes, sir!" he heard himself say, his voice sounding younger, less certain.
He walked toward her, each step feeling both dreamlike and hyper-realistic. The illusion was total, a flawless reconstruction of a moment in time he thought he'd left far behind. He was no longer a seasoned commander; he was a terrified kid, desperate for the approval of his superior officer.
He stopped before her, standing at rigid attention.
"Close your eyes," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.
"Yes, sir!"
He obeyed without a thought, the darkness behind his eyelids a welcome relief from the dizzying confusion. He waited for the next order, the next reprimand. Instead, he heard the whisper of steel slicing through the air.
In that split second, as the sound registered, instinct warred with the illusion. The spell of the past was powerful, but the instincts of a hundred life-or-death battles were stronger. His body moved before his mind could catch up. With a deafening clang that shattered the quiet afternoon, he drew the Fierce General and parried the descending blow.
His eyes snapped open.
The idyllic wilderness was gone. The warm sun, the distant campfire, the familiar faces—all had vanished. He was back in the cold, empty palace chamber. And the woman in front of him was not Qin Bing. It was another mirror clone, its face a perfect copy of his own, frozen in a mask of pure shock. It hadn't anticipated this. It had expected its blade to bite deep into his neck, not to be stopped cold by his own legendary weapon.
A slow, cold smile spread across Xiao Ke's lips. The lingering fog of the illusion evaporated, replaced by icy clarity. "Nice try," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You got the face right, the uniform, even the voice. But you missed the important parts. The real Qin Bing makes my heart race. I can smell her perfume from ten paces. All I got from you was cold, empty air."
The clone's mouth opened, perhaps to speak, perhaps to scream. It never got the chance. In one fluid, brutal motion, Xiao Ke's blade slid down the clone's weapon, disarmed it, and continued its arc, severing the clone's hand at the wrist before cleaving through its torso. The image flickered and dissolved into nothing.
He walked on. The palace, it seemed, was growing desperate. The master of this domain could feel him getting closer, could sense the threat he posed. The illusions grew more potent, more personal. With every few steps, a new phantom would materialize from the murals. His sister, her face pale with worry. His father and mother, their eyes filled with pride and fear for him. Each was a dagger aimed at his heart, designed to shatter his focus, to make him hesitate for that one fatal second.
But his will had been forged in fires they couldn't possibly comprehend. He was a rock, and these phantom waves broke against him, again and again. He cut them all down, one by one, his face a grim, emotionless mask. He was a man with a purpose, and no ghost, no matter how beloved, would stand in his way.
Finally, he reached the third and final set of doors. He pushed them open and stepped into a chamber smaller than the last. This one was not empty. In the absolute center of the room sat a sarcophagus. It was a massive, eight-bearer coffin, carved from a single block of what looked like black jade, and etched with the forms of nine magnificent, writhing dragons. It radiated an aura of immense age and dormant power.
Xiao Ke approached it, his footsteps the only sound in the oppressive silence. This was it. The heart of the mystery. The source of the power that had created this elaborate prison. Without ceremony, he placed his hands on the heavy lid and prepared to push.
"Don't!"
The voice was a frantic, papery whisper that seemed to echo directly inside his skull.
But it was too late. Xiao Ke's strength was absolute. The massive stone lid slid sideways with a grating shriek, revealing the contents within.
Lying inside was the body of an old man, dressed in an ancient, ceremonial battle robe. He looked as though he had only just passed away, his skin unblemished, his face peaceful, as if in a deep sleep. But the moment the fresh, living air of the chamber hit him, the illusion of life was shattered. The corpse began to decay at a horrifying rate. The skin tightened, darkened, and shriveled, the flesh seeming to evaporate off the bones.
The voice screamed again, this time a wretched, agonized wail of pure terror. "No! Close it! Close the lid! The yang energy… I can't be exposed to the yang energy of the living!"
Xiao Ke's eyes darted around the room, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He was on high alert, searching for the source of the voice. But the room was empty. His gaze fell back to the dragon coffin, to the rapidly desiccating corpse. He narrowed his eyes. "Is that you talking to me?"
"Of course it's me, you brainless oaf! Who else would it be?" the voice shrieked, laced with panic. "Hurry! Close the lid! You've stumbled into my inner sanctum, my place of rebirth, and you're going to kill me, you absolute fool!"
Xiao Ke didn't move. He felt the balance of power shift. He was in control here. "I'll consider closing it," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "But first, you're going to answer some questions. Who are you? What is this place? Did you create the sky curtain? And what is your purpose?"
"Ahhh… I'm dying! Yes! I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything, just please, I'm begging you, close the lid!"
Satisfied, Xiao Ke gave the heavy lid a shove. It slammed back into place with a deafening boom that echoed through the small chamber.
"Now," Xiao Ke said, his hand still resting on the cold stone of the coffin. "Start talking."
A long, weary sigh seemed to emanate from the coffin itself. "Centuries… all my efforts, for centuries, I have worked toward my rebirth, only to have it all undone by you. Do you have any idea how long it will take to regain the energy you just cost me? How many more lifetimes will I have to wait for another chance?"
"Rebirth?" Xiao Ke's voice turned to ice. He tapped a finger on the coffin lid. "If you don't start making sense, I'm afraid I'll just have to finish the job. I'd rather kill an innocent man than let a guilty one go free, and you are far from innocent."
"No, no! Please! I'll tell you," the voice said, the desperation returning. "I am of the Ancient Original Species. My name is Jiu Qiong. I fell during the War of the Gods, my body destroyed, but my soul clinging to existence. I have sought rebirth ever since. Yes, I created the sky curtain. It is a lure. I draw warriors here, then use the power of my domain to kill them and plunder their origin power. It is my nourishment, the energy I need to fuel my return. When I have stored enough… I can live again."
Ancient Original Species. The name sent a jolt through Xiao Ke. He'd read about them in the old texts. Long before awakening potions became common, there were humans who could naturally awaken their martial veins and command origin power. They were exceedingly rare, the first of their kind. They were the Original Species. Legends said that over a thousand years ago, their numbers had grown, and with their power came arrogance and ambition. They clashed for dominance, a conflict that escalated into a worldwide catastrophe known as the Third World War. But among the awakened, it was called by another name: the War of the Gods. When the dust settled, the Originals were all but extinct, and the world entered an age of peace, until the zombie virus and the new era of awakened warriors.
And now, he was standing in the tomb of one of those ancient gods. This wasn't a treasure; it was a slaughterhouse. A trap laid by a dying deity to feed on the souls of the unwary.
A white-hot fury, cold and sharp, surged through him. "So it's all been a lie. A trap to murder people for your own selfish gain. For that, I cannot let you live."
"You promised!" Jiu Qiong shrieked. "You promised you wouldn't kill me if I told you the truth! And it's too late anyway! Opening the lid has cost me almost everything. I couldn't create another sky curtain even if I wanted to. I'm just a wisp, a fragment of a soul in a broken body. Have mercy!"
Xiao Ke snorted, a harsh, dismissive sound. "I made no such promise. Letting you live is a risk I won't take. Prepare to die for good."
He grasped the edge of the lid, ready to heave it open and let the living air finish what it started.
"Wait!" the voice screamed, a new, cunning edge to its panic. "There are others in the vortex! Your friends, your brothers! They aren't like you. They aren't so… strange. They can't resist their mirror clones forever. Right now, they are on the brink of death. With a single thought, I can command the clones to overwhelm them. Kill me, and every friend you have in this place dies with me!"
Xiao Ke's hands froze on the coffin lid, his muscles locking tight. His face went pale. "My brother, Ling Feng. And my friend, Ye Wu. What is their status?"
"Alive… for now," Jiu Qiong's voice was smoother now, sensing its advantage. "But their survival is entirely at my discretion. It would take less than a second to change that."
"You wouldn't dare."
A dry, rustling laugh came from the coffin. "Wouldn't I? You are about to extinguish my body and soul forever. Do you really think I would hesitate to take a few mortals with me as company?" The voice softened again, becoming persuasive. "But it doesn't have to be this way. Your arrival has already crippled me. There's no need for mutual destruction. Let us make a bargain. You spare my existence, and I will release you and all of your companions. As a show of good faith… I will even give you a gift. A top-tier cultivation technique. It will allow you to absorb the origin energy of those you defeat, making it your own. With it, you will become powerful beyond your wildest dreams, and faster than you can possibly imagine."