"A man can be forgotten. A legend never dies."
The embers of the fire flickered, then faded, swallowed by the wind.
Xian Ren stood, his cloak rustling against the night air, his body nothing more than a silhouette in the moonlight. He had slept for only an hour, if sleep could even describe the restless stillness he had allowed himself. His body was weary, but his mind burned like a star—sharp, unrelenting, and cold.
There was no true safety in this world.
No mercy, no sanctuary.
Only the strong dictated their own fate. The weak, no matter how noble, were nothing more than stepping stones for those who sought the heavens.
And so, the world had hunted him since birth.
But the hunted would not remain prey forever.
A man who feared the dark would only stumble deeper into it.
A man who embraced it… became the blade hidden within.
He moved before the sun rose, his footsteps silent against the forest floor. The moon was a ghost above him, its pale glow illuminating the narrow mountain path.
For three days, he had walked.
Through valleys where the rivers murmured forgotten names.
Through ruins swallowed by vines, where the bones of nameless warriors lay scattered, forgotten by history.
Through old battlefields, where rusted swords stood like tombstones, their masters long since devoured by time.
And now, before him, was a village—small, insignificant, the kind of place where men were born, lived, and died without ever touching the great tides of the world.
Yet something was wrong.
The air was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that made even the wind hesitant to move. The villagers walked with hurried steps, their eyes never straying too far from the ground. The children did not laugh. The dogs did not bark.
Fear had taken root here.
Xian Ren did not slow his pace.
He passed a group of old men whispering under the shade of a banyan tree. The moment their eyes met his, they stiffened. One man gripped the hilt of a rusted dagger at his waist. Another looked away as if afraid to be caught staring.
Xian Ren moved on.
The first rule of a world ruled by cultivators: the weak were not allowed to look too long at the strong.
And these men were weak.
By the time he reached the village square, the unease had become suffocating.
He stopped.
A platform had been raised in the center of the square. A crude, wooden thing, meant for one purpose alone.
Punishment.
On it, a man was bound, his body bruised, his breathing shallow. The blood on his robes had dried under the sun, but the wounds beneath it were fresh. His hands had been broken. His knees shattered. His face unrecognizable.
Xian Ren did not care for the suffering of others. He had seen worse. He had lived worse.
But it was not the dying man that caught his attention.
It was the figure standing beside him.
Tall, draped in robes that bore the insignia of a sect—one Xian Ren recognized.
The Iron Vein Sect.
A minor branch under the rule of a greater power, but still strong enough to crush villages like this beneath its heel.
The man who stood before them was not a mere disciple.
He carried himself with the weight of one who decided the fates of others. His voice was calm, slow, measured—the voice of a man who believed his words were law.
"…and so, for the crime of sheltering a fugitive, this man shall be an example. Let all who seek to defy the will of the sect know—no crime goes unpunished."
The crowd was silent.
The man on the platform was beyond speech.
Xian Ren understood immediately.
This was not an execution. It was a message.
But messages could be answered.
The sect enforcer turned, stepping down from the platform. His gaze swept over the villagers, satisfied with their silence. Then he spoke again.
"The fugitive remains in hiding." His voice was like iron, cold and final. "By tomorrow, if he is not found, we will burn this village to the ground."
Murmurs. Stifled gasps.
A mother clutched her child closer. A man's hand curled into a fist, then loosened as fear overtook anger.
They would not resist.
They had never been meant to.
The strong decided. The weak obeyed.
Xian Ren turned away.
He did not care about this village. It was nothing to him.
But he knew the truth.
The fugitive they sought…
It was him.
By nightfall, the village was silent.
A thick fog had rolled in from the mountains, cloaking the narrow streets in an eerie stillness. Most had retreated into their homes, locking their doors, pretending sleep could shield them from what was to come.
But Xian Ren did not sleep.
He moved unseen, stepping through the mist like a shadow unbound.
The enforcer of the Iron Vein Sect rested in the village elder's home. A lavish room compared to the rest, filled with silks and ornaments stolen from places like this one.
Xian Ren found him sitting at a table, pouring himself wine.
The enforcer did not react at first.
Then, without looking up, he spoke.
"I was wondering when you'd come."
Xian Ren did not reply.
The enforcer took a slow sip of wine, then placed the cup down with deliberate ease.
"Did you think we did not know?" His voice was almost amused. "A boy, traveling alone, with eyes that burn red? The sect has long known of you, Forsaken Blade."
Xian Ren's grip tightened around his sword.
The enforcer chuckled. "Do you truly believe yourself to be beyond our reach?"
Xian Ren stepped forward.
The enforcer raised a hand.
"You misunderstand," he said, smiling. "I am not here to kill you."
Silence.
"I am here to offer you a choice."
The enforcer leaned back, the smirk never leaving his face.
"You have potential. It would be a waste to throw it away so young."
Xian Ren remained motionless.
"Join the sect," the enforcer continued. "Serve under our banner. And all this—" he gestured vaguely to the village, "—will mean nothing. You will have power. Safety. A place in a world that does not forgive those without it."
Xian Ren exhaled.
Then, slowly, he unsheathed his blade.
The sound was soft, barely more than a whisper. But it carried through the room like a funeral bell.
The enforcer's smirk faltered.
"…I see."
Xian Ren raised his sword.
And the killing began.
By dawn, the village was quiet again.
Only this time, it was not fear that kept it silent.
It was death.
Xian Ren stepped over the enforcer's corpse, his blade still dripping crimson.
The world had hunted him long enough.
Now, it was his turn to hunt.