Darkness.

A deep, endless void.

The void does not take those who are never seen.

Some seek to conquer the heavens. I seek only the door—any door—that leads away from this madness.

Then—pain.

A sharp, bone-deep pain spread across his entire body. His chest felt like it had been stomped on. His face was swollen, his lips cracked, and his limbs were cold and lifeless. His head pounded like a drum, and blood filled his mouth.

Lu Chunhe gasped and choked, coughing up blood. His body twitched violently as if rejecting life itself. His fingers dug into the dirt beneath him. It was rough, cold, and damp. He wasn't lying on a bed. This was... the ground?

His mind was a mess, but then, like a dam breaking, memories flooded in.

Ahhh, screaming.

A young master from a destroyed family. A weak, useless heir ignored by his clan. A lowly servant who stole his identity...

A lowly servant who looted the treasury and fled. He left the country and forged a new identity in a sect no one knew him in.

He claimed to be that same weak, untalented noble young master—the one no one remembered, the one no one cared about. The disguise was flawless—no talent, no backing, just another forgotten failure.

But power corrupts. The fraud had gotten greedy.

After securing a place in the sect, he became arrogant. He bullied disciples, oppressed the weak, and insulted elders when they weren't around.

If he saw a dog in the sect, he kicked it. If he saw a bird, he threw a rock at it. If he saw someone weaker than him, he robbed them. But he was a coward at heart. He never fought, only used money to escape punishment. No one killed him because he paid off the right people.

Until the day he got unlucky. An inner disciple of a famous peak challenged him. He thought he could buy his way out again, but the inner disciple didn't care. He was beaten senseless.

First, his arms were broken. Then his legs. Then came the ribs. He begged for mercy, but no one cared. In the end, his corpse was dragged to his abode and dumped inside. No burial, no ceremony. Just a body left to rot.

And now—Lu Chunhe had woken up in this corpse.

Lu Chunhe's mind spun. He was an ordinary man from Earth. A coward. A shut-in. Someone who never fought, never took risks.

Now he had become a villainous cannon fodder in a world of cultivators.

And worst of all?

He was already on the brink of death when he arrived.

He forced his swollen eyes open. His body was a mess.

His ribs? Broken.His left leg? Twisted.His face? Swollen beyond recognition.

His entire body was covered in bruises, dried blood, and deep wounds. He smelled like rotting meat.

"...I really died."

The previous owner of this body—Fei Chun, or rather, the fraud who pretended to be Fei Chun—had been beaten to death by an inner disciple.

The sect didn't even bother burying him. They just dumped his corpse in his room like trash.

Lu Chunhe sucked in a sharp breath. The pain made his vision blur, but he couldn't afford to pass out again.

He had to think.

His thoughts turned chaotic.

He was a normal man, an ordinary shut-in from Earth who avoided responsibility, who never took risks, who spent his life running away from problems. And now he had transmigrated into this useless, beaten-to-death bastard?

His body was ruined. His bones ached, his wounds were infected, and every breath felt like knives stabbing into his lungs. He needed medicine. He needed to heal. But before he could even think about that—

Suddenly, his vision shifted.

He saw something.

A battlefield.

The sky was black with smoke. The ground was drenched in red. Rivers of blood ran through burned-out cities. Screams of agony filled the air. Cultivators from the demonic faction were being slaughtered, one by one, torn apart like insects.

Their bodies were piled into mountains. Heads were displayed on spears. Not a single one was spared. Those who surrendered were hunted down and butchered.

This wasn't just a war. It was extermination.

Blood. Rivers of blood. Mountains of corpses. The sky burned. Screams filled the air.

The Demonic Faction was being slaughtered. One-sided destruction. The so-called "Righteous Sect Alliance" was wiping them out.

And this sect?

It was part of the demonic faction.

His heart turned cold.

This wasn't just any war. This was complete annihilation.

Even the ones who surrendered were hunted down and killed.

His breath quickened.

And this sect? The one he was in right now? It was part of the demonic faction.

Lu Chunhe's body trembled. He didn't know when this would happen, but he knew one thing for sure—he had to get out of here.

Now.

If he stayed here, he was dead.

Lu Chunhe gritted his teeth and forced his body to move.

He forced himself to move, ignoring the pain. His body felt weak, like it would collapse at any moment.

Every second counted.

He grabbed a nearby robe, wrapped himself in it, and staggered toward the door. His legs were weak, his body felt like it was falling apart.

He had to move fast.

His fingers touched the doorframe. He pulled it open.

He opened the door and stepped out—

And then—

—only to freeze in place.

Outside, in the courtyard, stood a disciple. A cultivator dressed in dark robes. His eyes were sharp, his aura strong. He turned his head and looked directly at Lu Chunhe.

A moment of silence.

The disciple's eyes widened.

"...Huh?"

Lu Chunhe's heart stopped.

Shit.

To Be Continued...