The underground prison reeked of blood and rot, its damp stone walls swallowing every sound like a starving beast. Flickering torches lined the corridors, their feeble flames casting jagged shadows that danced like demons.
Gu Zhang sat in the corner of his cell, his hands bound, his breath slow and measured. His ribs ached where they had been broken, his skin bore the evidence of countless beatings, but his mind-his mind was untouched.
His crime?
Stealing from the Demon Faction.
Not out of greed. Not out of rebellion.
Out of necessity.
From the moment he was born, he had known that life was a slow march toward death. What meaning was there in existing, in struggling? There was none. But despite that, he had always done one thing-survive.
He had survived when his village was burned to ash, the screams of the dying merging into the crackling flames. He had survived when his mother and sister were defiled before his very eyes, their pleas fading into silence as the demonic cultivator who slaughtered them turned his gaze toward him.
That night, at eight years old, he did not weep. He did not curse. He did not tremble.
He begged.
Not for revenge. Not for justice.
But for a chance.
The demonic cultivator had laughed, intrigued. Most would have fought, even if only to die with pride. But this child had no such delusions. No anger. No hatred.
Only the will to live.
And so, he was taken-not as a disciple, not as an heir, but as a servant.
For two years, Gu Zhang served without flaw. He cleaned. He obeyed. He endured. To his master, he was the perfect attendant. To the other servants, he was an anomaly-silent, detached, devoid of anything resembling humanity.
Then, one day, he grew bored.
That was all it took.
A single thought, fleeting yet undeniable.
Maybe if I were stronger, life wouldn't be this boring.
And so, he asked his master to teach him martial arts.
The demonic cultivator hesitated. He had always known this child was different. To raise him as a mere servant was a waste. Yet, when he tested him, the results were beyond disappointing.
Gu Zhang possessed a Oth-grade spirit root.
It was an impossibility, something whispered in myths. Spirit roots were ranked from 1st grade to 10th grade, with heavenly-grade spirit roots appearing once in millions of years. A Oth-grade spirit root was its opposite-an absolute failure. A spirit root that was no different from being mortal.
His fate was sealed. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how much he suffered, he would never break past the Qi Refining 10th Stage.
And so, his master abandoned him.
Gu Zhang did not complain. He did not beg. He simply thought.
He needed another way.
And that was when he heard about the Blood Pond.
A forbidden place within the sect, said to cleanse impurities and, in rare cases, enhance spirit roots. The process was dangerous, and only inner disciples were permitted to enter.
But Gu Zhang did not care about the rules.
He just needed an opportunity.
And so, he created one.