The morning sun rose over the Lin family estate, its golden rays illuminating the vibrant gardens and imposing walls that surrounded the clan's domain. Yet for Lin Tianming, now housing the reincarnated soul of the fallen God of War, Tianwu, the grandeur of his surroundings only served as a reminder of how far he had fallen from his once-omnipotent self.
In his small courtyard, separated from the main estate, Tianming sat cross-legged on the cold stone ground. The faint chirping of birds blended with the rustling of bamboo leaves in the wind. His breathing was steady, deep, and rhythmic as he worked to mend his shattered cultivation foundation.
The qi in his dantian had grown more stable overnight, but it was still laughably weak. Despite his divine knowledge, the limitations of this frail mortal body were painfully apparent.
"Mortals... so fragile," Tianwu muttered under his breath. Yet, he did not despair. He had faced annihilation before and had clawed his way back to existence. A fractured dantian and mockery from arrogant siblings were trivial by comparison.
As he meditated, memories of Lin Tianming's life seeped into his consciousness. It was an unimpressive tapestry of humiliation, scorn, and neglect. The eldest son of the Lin family, expected to lead and inspire, had instead become a cautionary tale—a reminder that bloodline alone did not guarantee greatness.
But within those memories lay opportunities. Tianwu recognized the cracks in the foundation of the Lin family's power. Their arrogance blinded them to the dangers of complacency. If he played his cards right, he could exploit those weaknesses to carve a path back to the top.
---
The clang of weapons and shouts of sparring disciples filled the training grounds as Tianming returned for another day of training. The energy was palpable, each participant eager to showcase their talent.
Lin Xiaoyu and Lin Haoran were once again at the center of attention, demonstrating advanced techniques with an effortless grace that drew applause from their peers. Their father, Lin Zhaoyu, watched from a shaded pavilion, nodding approvingly.
As Tianming stepped into the grounds, the atmosphere shifted. Whispers rippled through the crowd, and disdainful gazes followed him like shadows.
"Look who decided to show up again," sneered Lin Haoran, his voice dripping with mockery. "Are you here to stumble around and entertain us, Brother?"
Lin Xiaoyu laughed, twirling her spear with practiced ease. "Maybe we should give him a wooden sword this time. Wouldn't want him hurting himself again."
Tianwu's lips curled into a faint smile, though his eyes burned with cold determination. He was no stranger to such scorn. In his divine past, many had doubted him until he crushed them beneath his heel.
The head instructor, Master Huang, stepped forward, his expression stern. "Lin Tianming, since you've been so diligent in attending practice, let's see if yesterday's performance was a fluke. Spar with Lin Haoran."
The crowd erupted into laughter. Sparring with Lin Haoran was less of a challenge and more of a death sentence. The younger Lin was a prodigy, his cultivation years ahead of Tianming's crippled state.
Lin Haoran smirked, already envisioning the humiliation he would inflict. He grabbed a gleaming longsword, its blade humming faintly with qi. "Don't worry, Brother. I'll go easy on you."
Tianwu stepped forward, his face calm as he picked up a basic training sword. It was crude and unbalanced, but in his hands, it felt like an extension of his will. He took a stance, his movements deliberate and precise.
Lin Haoran frowned, sensing something unfamiliar in his elder brother's demeanor. Gone was the clumsiness and hesitation. In its place was an unnerving composure, like the calm before a storm.
"Begin!" Master Huang barked.
Lin Haoran launched forward, his movements a blur as he swung his sword in a wide arc. The crowd gasped, anticipating a quick end to the duel.
But Tianwu's body moved on instinct, honed by countless lifetimes of combat. He sidestepped the attack with minimal effort, his wooden sword tapping against Lin Haoran's exposed wrist.
The younger Lin stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock. "What—?!"
Tianwu didn't give him time to recover. He pressed forward, his strikes deliberate and controlled, exploiting every flaw in Lin Haoran's technique. Though his blows lacked power, they carried an undeniable precision that left the audience stunned.
Lin Zhaoyu leaned forward in his seat, his brows furrowing. This was not the Lin Tianming he knew.
Haoran growled, his embarrassment fueling his aggression. He channeled his qi into his sword, its blade glowing with a faint blue aura. "Enough playing around!"
With a shout, he unleashed a powerful slash aimed at Tianwu's chest. The crowd gasped, certain the fight was over.
Tianwu's eyes narrowed, and time seemed to slow. He shifted his weight, pivoting on his heel as the blade narrowly missed him. In the same motion, he brought his wooden sword down on Lin Haoran's shoulder, forcing him to his knees.
The training grounds fell silent, save for the sound of Haoran's labored breathing.
Master Huang stared, his mouth slightly agape. "Enough!" he finally called, ending the match.
Tianwu stepped back, lowering his sword. His breathing was steady, his face devoid of emotion.
Lin Haoran glared up at him, humiliation etched across his face. "You... you cheated somehow!"
Tianwu tilted his head, his voice calm yet cutting. "Cheated? I simply used what little talent I have. Perhaps you overestimated yourself."
The crowd murmured, unsure of how to react. For the first time in years, Lin Tianming had not only held his own but emerged victorious.
Lin Xiaoyu's eyes narrowed, suspicion replacing her usual smugness. She stepped forward, her spear gleaming in the sunlight. "Let me see how far you've come, Brother."
Before the duel could escalate, Lin Zhaoyu stood, his voice commanding. "Enough."
The patriarch's gaze locked onto Tianwu, his expression unreadable. "You've shown improvement, Tianming. Continue this path, and perhaps you won't shame the Lin family further."
Tianwu bowed his head, hiding the smirk playing at his lips. "Thank you, Father. I will do my best."
---
That evening, Tianwu returned to his courtyard, his body aching from the exertion. Though his techniques had been flawless, his mortal vessel was still weak. Every strike, every movement, had pushed his limits.
He sat beneath the moonlit sky, gazing at the stars that once felt so close. "This is only the beginning," he whispered.
Reaching into his memories, he recalled ancient techniques long forgotten by mortals. If he could rebuild his foundation, he would not only reclaim his former glory but surpass it.
Closing his eyes, he began channeling qi through his meridians, refining it into a purer form. The process was grueling, each blockage a reminder of his current limitations. Yet, he persevered.
As the night deepened, the faint glow of qi surrounded him, a spark of defiance against the fate that sought to bind him.
The God of War had been reborn, and he would stop at nothing to reclaim his throne.
—