The morning sun bled through the cracks of the woodshed, casting long, jagged lines of light across the dirt floor. Shen Yuan remained motionless, his breathing so slow it was almost nonexistent. Inside his chest, a transformation that would have horrified any local healer was reaching its climax.
The Nine Evolutions of the Dragon God was a tyrannical technique. It did not "fix" what was broken; it destroyed the old to make room for the new. His shattered Dantian had been completely digested by the golden spark of Dragon Qi, and in its place sat a swirling vortex of deep, heavy energy. His meridians, once thin and fragile like dried grass, were now throbbing with the vitality of a young drake.
'The First Evolution: Iron Scale,' Shen Yuan thought, his eyes slowly opening. They were no longer the dull, defeated eyes of the previous Shen Yuan. Deep within his pupils, a faint, vertical amber slit flickered before vanishing. 'I have barely touched the threshold of the first level, yet my physical strength has already surpassed the 3rd Level of the Mortal Shackles realm. My skin is as dense as seasoned oak, and my blood carries the heat of a furnace.'
He looked at his hands. The bruises had faded into a faint yellowish hue, and the swelling had vanished. He felt a strange sensation—a hunger not of the stomach, but of the marrow. A Dragon's hunger for dominance.
Clang!
The heavy iron bolt on the shed door was kicked aside. The door swung open, framing two figures against the blinding morning light. They were wearing the grey tunics of the Shen Clan's auxiliary servants.
"Oi, trash! Are you still breathing, or do we need to call the corpse-cart?"
The speaker was a burly man named Zhao Hu. In the memories of the former Shen Yuan, Zhao Hu was a nightmare—a servant who had spent the last three years currying favor with the Young Master Shen Tao by tormenting the "fallen" branch of the family.
Shen Yuan didn't move. He watched them with the detached interest of a predator watching two insects crawl onto its dinner plate.
"Look at him," the second servant, Li Er, mocked. "He's gone catatonic. The 'Young Master' has finally lost his mind along with his cultivation. Hey! I'm talking to you!"
Li Er stepped forward and delivered a vicious kick toward Shen Yuan's ribs. In the past, this kick would have broken a bone.
Thud.
The sound wasn't the dull crack of impact. It sounded like a leather boot hitting a solid slab of iron.
Li Er's face contorted. A look of confusion flashed in his eyes, followed quickly by a sharp yelp of pain. "Arrgh! My foot! What the hell do you have under those rags, boy?"
Shen Yuan slowly stood up. The movement was fluid, lacking the jerky hesitation of a wounded man. He stood a full head shorter than Zhao Hu, yet the air in the shed suddenly felt heavy, as if the oxygen was being sucked out of the room.
"You," Shen Yuan said, his voice calm and melodic, yet carrying an underlying vibration that made the servants' skin crawl. "Who gave you permission to enter my presence without bowing?"
Zhao Hu blinked, then burst into a forced laugh. "Bowing? You've really lost it, haven't you? You're a cripple whose name is being erased from the genealogy today. The Clan Leader has already decided. You're being sent to the Black Stone Mines as a slave-laborer. We're just here to 'escort' you to the gate.
Shen Yuan's mind moved with the cold precision of a Sovereign. The Black Stone Mines. He remembered them. They were a death trap where prisoners were worked to the bone to extract spirit-ore. If he went there now, he would be away from the resources of the city. But if he stayed, he would be at the center of the storm.
"The Black Stone Mines," Shen Yuan repeated. "A place of silence and shadows. Not a bad place for a dog like you to die, Zhao Hu."
"You little—!" Zhao Hu roared, his face flushing purple. He reached out a massive, calloused hand to grab Shen Yuan's throat. He was at the 2nd Level of Mortal Shackles; to him, a crippled boy was no more than a dry twig.
Shen Yuan didn't dodge. He reached out and caught Zhao Hu's wrist.
The sound of bones grinding against each other echoed in the small shed. Zhao Hu's eyes widened to the size of saucers. He tried to pull back, but Shen Yuan's grip was like a hydraulic vice.
"You called me trash," Shen Yuan whispered, leaning in. "But tell me, what does that make you? A man who cannot even break the grip of a 'cripple'?"
"Let... go...!" Zhao Hu gasped, his other fist swinging wildly.
Shen Yuan didn't just let go. He twisted.
CRACK.
The servant's radius and ulna snapped like dry kindling. Zhao Hu screamed, a high-pitched, warbling sound that was cut short as Shen Yuan's other hand shot out, palm-striking the man's chest.
Dragon-Art: Heart-Shock.
It wasn't a complex technique, just a focused burst of Dragon Qi delivered with perfect timing. Zhao Hu flew backward, smashing through the wooden wall of the shed and landing in the dirt outside, his heart stopping before he even hit the ground.
Silence fell.
Li Er stood paralyzed, his pants slowly darkening as he wet himself. He looked at the shattered wall, then at the calm, blood-stained boy standing in the shadows.
"Please..." Li Er whimpered, dropping to his knees. "I was just following orders! Shen Tao... Young Master Tao told us to break your legs if you could still walk! He wanted you to crawl to the Clan Meeting!"
Shen Yuan looked down at him. He could kill this one too. It would be easy. But a Sovereign knows that a dead man tells no tales, while a terrified man tells all the tales.
"Go," Shen Yuan said.
Li Er blinked, trembling. "Y-you're letting me go?"
"Go to the Main Hall," Shen Yuan commanded, his voice cold as the void. "Tell Shen Tao and the Elders that I am coming. Tell them that the blood they spilled is being returned today. With interest."
Li Er didn't wait for a second invitation. He scrambled up and sprinted toward the main estate, screaming for help.
Shen Yuan stepped out of the ruins of the shed. The fresh air hit his face, and he took a deep, invigorating breath. He didn't feel the "joy" of a murderer. He felt the cold satisfaction of a craftsman beginning a long, arduous project.
'Shen Tao, the Shen Clan... you are but the first step on a ladder that reaches the Heavens,' he thought, walking toward the grand pillars of the main house. 'In my past life, I was too proud, too detached. I allowed vipers to nest in my shadow. This time, I will burn the nest before the eggs even hatch.'
As he walked, he began to circulate the Nine Evolutions even faster. His skin took on a faint, metallic sheen under the sunlight. He wasn't just going to a meeting; he was going to reclaim his destiny.