Morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in Arin's shabby hut, illuminating dust swirling in the air. Mistpine Village was waking up—children fetching water, hunters preparing bows, cultivator youths practicing basic forms.
Arin stepped out quietly.
Even after five hundred years, nothing had changed: the crooked wooden fences, the muddy paths, the cracked stone well in the center.
But the looks he received?
Those were exactly the same too.
"There he is… Arin the useless one."
"Such a disgrace to the clan."
"I heard he couldn't even pass the first layer of Qi Initiation…"
"He should just leave the village."
The whispers followed him like shadows.
Arin ignored them.
He was once a calamity demon who made entire kingdoms kneel. A few insults meant nothing. But the memory of his past life—how these same people treated him—remained etched in his heart.
He walked toward the training field.
Today was the Clan Trial Orientation. In three days, every youth would compete to earn resources, rankings, and future positions.
In his first life, he ranked dead last.
This time? He didn't intend to win. Not yet.
He intended to survive quietly, unnoticed, until the perfect moment.
But as he entered the field, someone blocked his path.
Lira Mistpine.
Brown-haired, cold-eyed, with the air of a proud clan princess. She was Dale's cousin—a genius, destined to enter a major sect in the future.
Her lips twisted slightly.
"You should skip the trial, Arin. Save us all the embarrassment."
Arin stared at her.
In his past life, he had admired her beauty. He had almost confessed to her at seventeen.
Now?
He only saw another arrogant child.
"I will participate," Arin said calmly.
Lira's eyes narrowed. "You're still stubborn. Even after failing every exam, every assessment—"
"Move," Arin said softly.
Her face flushed with anger.
"You—!"
But she stepped aside.
Not because she feared him, but because she thought ignoring trash was beneath her dignity.
Arin walked past without a backward glance.
He took position at the far edge of the field, away from the others. He scanned the youths—most were half-trained, reckless, predictable.
But he wasn't watching them.
He was watching the forest beyond them.
The Mistpine Woods.
In his previous life, he would enter that forest tomorrow… and nearly die from a poisonous snake bite—an accident arranged by Dale and his lackeys.
Arin's fingers tightened.
Not this time.
If fate wished to test him, he would test fate first.
A heavy voice boomed:
"Clan youths! Gather!"
The training instructor, Elder Rowan, strode in. Muscular, stern, battle-tempered. His presence silenced the field immediately.
"You will fight, compete, and prove yourselves in three days. But today—tests begin."
He pointed to a row of stone tablets.
"Strength assessment first!"
The trial began.
One youth after another stepped forward, striking the stone tablets. Some scored high, some barely passed.
When Dale approached, the crowd cheered.
CRACK!
His punch shook the stone, scoring almost full marks.
Lira followed next—elegant movements, impressive technique. She scored high as well.
Then Elder Rowan called—
"Arin Nightfall."
Mocking whispers spread instantly.
"He'll break his hand."
"Just give him zero and move on."
Arin stepped to the stone.
He remembered this exact moment. In his past life, he put everything into this strike—only to produce the lowest score ever recorded.
But this Arin?
He raised his fist lazily.
He struck lightly.
Tap.
The stone barely registered anything. A tiny flicker of light. Lowest score again.
Laughter exploded around him.
"Hahaha!"
"He's weaker than children!"
"Trash!"
Arin walked back to his position expressionless.
Elder Rowan scribbled something on a slate but said nothing.
Dale smirked smugly. Lira shook her head in contempt.
Arin didn't care.
In fact, this was perfect.
He had no cultivation. No strength. No resources.
But he had one thing none of them had:
A Calamity Core pulsing at the center of his soul.
And it whispered to him:
Hungry… feed… disaster…
Arin smiled faintly.
"Yes. I'll feed you."
He looked toward the forest again.
Tomorrow… he wouldn't be the victim.
Tomorrow… he would create the calamity.