[Year 9324. Murim world]
Black Fang was his codename. An assassin, groomed by the Twin Snake clan, who was by no means extraordinary, but remarkable based on his efficiency alone. He was never the strongest, or the most talented, yet he outlived all of his peers.
His name was never mentioned as a candidate for the 100 Stars of Murim (the strongest martial artists). In fact, he probably did not even come close to the top 10 000.
And yet, over his life of 160 years, he had completed an outrageous number of 2345 missions, the highest in the history of the Twin Snake Clan. From a mere disciple who was forced to kill his competitors, to the immortal shadow of the twin snake clan, Black Fang had endured it all.
He witnessed the rise of the demonic palace, an unorthodox faction that rose for the first time in history.
He witnessed the century-long war between the demonic palace and the murim alliance.
And then, he witnessed the era of darkness. Gates filled with Qi started appearing accross the Central Plains, from which terrifying monsters spawned. Countless clans and experts fell. Countless others found fortune among chaos.
Ultimately, Black Fang died.
Not in combat, but from old injuries.
Most would forget his name. He was, after all, known only to a few. He was not especially strong.
In a cave, he muttered:
'I truly have become too old for this line of work...'
Words that were far too crude to be called noble, far too meaningless to be remembered.
And yet, it was not the end for Black Fang.
====
[Earth, 2077]
The darkness was absolute, a physical weight pressing against his eyes.
The last thing he remembered was the dry, dusty taste of a cave floor, the final sigh of a body too worn to continue.
160 years of service to the Twin Snake Clan, ended not by a blade, but by time itself.
'How ironic', he thought
Now, he was cold. Weak.
Awareness returned in a nauseating wave.
He was lying on hard, damp rock. The air was thick with the smell of unwashed bodies, damp rock, and a faint, underlying scent of fear. Distant, echoing sounds reached him—whimpers, sharp whispers, the scuffle of bare feet.
This was not the afterlife. This was another cage.
He pushed himself up, his movements clumsy in his body. His range...oddly small.
A child's body. He flexed his hands, feeling the weak, underdeveloped muscles.
He instinctively reached for the Qi that had been his lifeblood, the constant hum of power that had guided him through thousands of missions.
Nothing.
A vast, silent emptiness. His meridians were not just dormant; they were barren, as if the very concept of Qi was foreign to this place.
He was utterly, completely defanged.
Remain calm. Assess.
His name had been Black Fang. It would serve him again.
His eyes, adjusting to the profound gloom, began to pick out shapes.
They were in a massive cavern, its ceiling lost in shadow.
All around him were children, hundreds of them, ranging from perhaps twelve to twenty years old. They huddled in small groups, their eyes wide and hollow.
There were no adults. No guards. No instructors.
This was no sect training ground. This was a pit.
A sudden rustling noise came from above, followed by a sharp, whistling descent.
A large, woven basket, laden with shapes, crashed onto the stone floor in the center of the cavern. The reaction was immediate and frantic.
A tide of starving children surged forward, a desperate, snarling mob fighting over what was inside.
Black Fang hung back, observing from the shadows.
This was the source of sustenance.
This was called the "Drop", from what he managed to gather in the split chaos.
As the crowd thinned, clutching hard crusts of bread and strips of tough meat, he approached the remnants.
The basket was nearly empty. But his eyes, trained for a century and a half to see what others missed, caught the glint of small, clay pots tucked amidst the straw. He knelt, his small fingers closing around one. He pulled out the stopper.
The scent was faint, diluted, but unmistakable.
Spirit Herbs. Ground into a crude paste. In his world, this was foundational fodder, given to disciples to strengthen their bodies before they could even cycle Qi.
Here, in this Qi-less body, it was a spark in a tinderbox.
Without a second thought, he scooped the paste into his mouth.
It was bitter, earthy.
He found two more pots and a handful of dried, berry-like fruits that radiated a similar, feeble energy.
He consumed them all.
A warmth, meager but significant, bloomed in his stomach.
He retreated to a dark corner, his back against the cold stone, and assumed a cross-legged position.
He closed his eyes and began the Twin Snake Coiling Breath.
The technique was as natural to him as breathing. But here, it was like trying to draw water from a desert. The energy from the elixirs was crude and wild.
He forced it. He was a master of endurance.
He had outlived the talented and the strong through sheer, unyielding will.
He gritted his teeth, his small frame trembling as he wrestled the foreign energy, compelling it through his barren meridians. It was agony, a brutal scraping of his spiritual pathways raw.
And then, it appeared. A transparent square of light, etched in green, at the corner of his vision. Script he did not know, yet understood perfectly.
[Proficiency Panel Initialized]
[Twin Snake Coiling Breath (Master) - Proficiency: 13]
[Meridian Awakening (Novice) - In Progress...]
[Vital Energy Assimilation (Novice) - In Progress...]
[Constitution: 8 -> 12]
[Qi Pool: 0 -> 3]
A panel. A quantification of his being. How utterly strange.
[Name: Greem (Black Serpent) | Age: 12 (body) / 160 (soul)
Attributes:
Strength: 8 | Agility: 14 | Constitution: 12 | Perception: 18 | Qi: 3
Perks: ø
Cultivation Technique: Twin Snake Coiling Breath (13),
Martial arts: Twin Snake Fist Art (5), Silent Step (5), Veiled Heart (5)
Skills: ø]
But the result was tangible.
The pervasive weakness retreated, replaced by a sliver of genuine strength. His martial arts were all listed and their proficiency quantified. Yet, his body did not remember it. He would have to learn it all again. Engrave it all in his muscles, joints and nerves.
His senses sharpened.
This was going to be interesting.