Chapter 2: Legacy of Ash and Storm
The clash between the Heavenly Demon and the Sword God did not end with the fall of Black Demon Mountain.
That battle unleashed an unparalleled catastrophe upon the mortal realm:
Fifty years of drought—
Followed by fifty years of apocalyptic storms.
Millions perished. Ancient civilizations crumbled. The world teetered on the edge of oblivion.
And yet, after a century of suffering, the heavens finally calmed.
It was then that the Celestial Court cast fragments of Black Demon Mountain down to the mortal world—chunks infused with cosmic energies, remnants of a war that had torn space and time itself.
These shards landed in remote, unreachable corners of the realm. Each one became a hidden domain, pulsing with mystic power.
The survivors of that terrible age, hardened by loss and driven by ambition, soon turned against one another in pursuit of strength.
The hidden realms became objects of desire—shrouded in secrecy, steeped in spiritual energy. Though no one could penetrate their depths, the spiritual energy radiating from them was enough to fuel cultivation for generations.
Over time, smaller sects, unable to stand alone against rising powers, united.
On the very grounds above these mysterious realms, they built towering sects—monuments to their ambition. Though the treasures within remained sealed, the spiritual energy they emitted became an endless source for cultivation.
Thus, the age of ruthless conflict gave way to a new era:
The Age of Blooming Prosperity.
In this new age, the wars subsided.
Cultivators turned to alchemy, trade, weapon-forging, and exploration.
Adventurers sailed to unknown continents, and bonds were forged between sects old and new.
And during one such expedition… a land was discovered.
A land unmapped and untouched.
A forbidden continent—
The Land of Demons.
The inhabitants were not human.
They possessed a unique civilization, foreign culture, and strange powers that defied mortal understanding.
Some cultivators sought peace—an alliance between the races.
But the great sects saw only a threat to their dominion.
Through lies and manipulation, they stirred chaos.
Conflict erupted—
And soon, the world spiraled into a new age:
The Age of the Thousand-Year War.
For a millennium, demons and mortals slaughtered one another.
Majestic lands were reduced to ash.
Sects were shattered.
Cities burned.
The eastern continent—bordering the demon realm—was all but annihilated.
In time, after a thousand years of blood and fire, the leaders of both races convened.
A great barrier was forged:
The Black Sea, a vast and storm-wracked ocean, teeming with spiritual beasts—
Its very presence served as a living wall between mortals and demons.
And so, the Thousand-Year War came to an end.
From the ashes of war and ruin, a new era emerged—
The Era of Advancement.
Five thousand years have passed since its dawn.
Eastern Continent – Feng Wang Gao Kingdom – Imperial Palace of the Feng Clan
The markets bustled with restless crowds, all eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Ling Clan's procession.
"Did you hear? They're bringing someone from the Ling Clan into the palace today!"
"Yeah… Ling Yun, the clan's eldest son. They say he's being brought in as a hostage."
"Ling Yun?! That man's as handsome as a celestial… But hey, Heaven never grants beauty without reason—his fate must be darker than his face!"
"Haha! Word is, Lady Feng herself is welcoming him. They say her harem is full of broken men!"
"Hush! Don't talk like that about Lady Feng! Those are just rumors. The Feng Clan Patriarch would never allow something like that… Besides, have you heard? After years in seclusion, he's supposedly emerging this year. Word is—he's reached the Golden Core Realm!"
"Golden Core?! You've gotta be kidding. The strongest cultivators on this continent are barely in the Nascent Soul Realm. If that's true, the Feng Clan is unstoppable... The Ling Clan made a grave mistake crossing them."
Just then, a man who had been silently listening stepped forward and joined the conversation.
"If you ask me… this whole thing is a setup. Some say it's a scheme to crush the Ling Clan. Their eldest son is a genius—already at the fourth layer of Qi Refinement at his age. That kind of talent? Threatens every great clan. They're trying to force him to join the Feng Clan."
"And if he refuses?"
"They'll either kill him… or worse—sell him to a demonic sect. You've heard the rumors. There are sects that practice dual cultivation techniques… especially when the subject is this damn good-looking."
"Damn… So it's either death, or surrender your body and soul to some demon? Though I have heard the female cultivators in those sects are so beautiful, even the heavens get jealous."
"Hey, hey! Look there! The Ling Clan's carriage! It's entering the city!"
A grand procession, adorned with the banners of both the Ling and Feng Clans, entered Feng Ming, the capital city.
Cultivators soared overhead on flying swords like graceful swallows. The elders of the Feng Clan rode third-rank spirit beasts—towering, majestic, and roaring with presence. Their gaze alone silenced the crowd.
"Brother! That grand carriage—look! That's the one! Ling Yun is inside!"
"Oh my heavens… that face… Is he even human?!"
Both men and women alike found themselves speechless at the sight of Ling Yun.
"His skin's like snow… His hair, like flowing silk beneath starlight. That jawline—like it was carved by the hands of a divine sculptor…"
"Young Lord Yun! Young Master Yun!"
Cries of awe and excitement rang through the air.
To the common folk, it was as though a celestial being had descended among them.
But inside the grand carriage, a young man sat still—his eyes lifeless and void.
His gaze, devoid of emotion, remained fixed on the road ahead.
Not the gasps of the crowd,
Not their praise of his beauty,
Not even thoughts of the fate awaiting him—none of it could break the heavy silence that bound him.
Ling Yun.
The exiled prince of the Ling Clan.
Once fated to hold the world in his palm—
Now reduced to a mere hostage.
Upon reaching the palace, the convoy swiftly escorted Ling Yun to a luxurious manor in the eastern quarters.
A few servants were assigned to him.
Guards—barely at the early stages of Foundation Establishment—were stationed to prevent his escape.
Ling Yun staggered toward the bed in the corner of the room.
By the time he reached it, his strength had already failed him.
He collapsed onto the mattress, barely managing to roll over and stretch his arms toward the ceiling.
"…So this… is what defeat tastes like."
A bitter smile tugged at the edge of his lips.
"The genius of the Ling Clan? Heh… now nothing but a loser."
"Fourth layer of Qi Refinement? What does it matter now…? I'll be dead soon enough anyway…"
A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, trailing silently down his cheek.
In the darkness, he lay still—
The silence of the night embracing him like a burial shroud.
---
Midnight
A shadow moved.
It slipped silently past the patrols.
A master of stealth, it crept across the walls like a wraith.
Through an open window, it entered the manor.
Under the soft light of the moon, it saw a man in white robes lying still upon the bed—
A pale face, void of expression.
Silent.
Like a ghost adrift.
The figure drew a blade from its sheath, dropped to one knee, and whispered:
"Young Master…"
Ling Yun turned toward him, his empty eyes locking on the shadow.
"You came… I was waiting for you."
The man in black met his gaze, eyes glistening.
The mission he bore was heavier than death itself.
But this was his master's will.
"Young Master… please. It's not too late. I can still get you out of here. There will be time for revenge later—"
Ling Yun cut him off with a faint smirk.
"Revenge? Heh… I don't even have a cultivation base anymore. There's no future left for me."
The man clenched his fists.
"Master…!"
"Silence. That's an order."
Ling Yun's voice was low—but resolute.
"If I'm to die… I'll die with pride.
Not in chains.
Not in some demonic sect's chamber.
Do you understand?"
The man could no longer hold back. His voice cracked.
"Young Master… You're still thinking of the clan… What about us? What about your sister?!"
Ling Yun slowly rose from the bed.
With heavy steps, he walked to the window—
And gazed up at the full moon hanging in the sky.
"All of this… is for her future."
"I'm sure she'll understand… why I had to leave her behind."
With gentle fingers, he loosened his hair.
Tore open the collar of his robe.
His physique, shaped by years of discipline and pain, gleamed under the faint moonlight—
A statue carved from will and suffering.
He pulled out a small vial of spirit wine, uncorked it, and drank deep.
A sweet, eerie fragrance filled the air.
"This wine… masks the scent of death…"
"When they realize what's happened, you need to be long gone.
Go back. Take care of my sister.
That… is my final command."
The masked man looked at him with trembling eyes.
Uncertainty clouded his face.
But in the end, he raised his sword.
"I pray… that in the next life, I may still serve you, Young Master."
Ling Yun raised the bottle one last time and smiled.
"Do it."
The blade flashed.
A single, clean stroke.
His chest split open.
Blood erupted like a crimson fountain.
The youth collapsed—
Silent.
But in that final moment…
His lifeless eyes shimmered.
The masked man never understood what that glimmer meant.
Minutes passed…
The assassin knelt beside his fallen lord.
He pressed trembling fingers to Ling Yun's neck.
No pulse.
The flesh had already grown cold.
Expressionless, he sheathed his sword.
Lowered his head in silent respect—
And vanished into the night.
Silence draped the eastern manor like a funeral shroud.
A cold breeze crept in through the open window,
twisting the scent of blood and spirit wine into something… strange.
Something haunting.
And in that silence…
In that breathless moment of stillness…
The corpse moved.
Fingers twitched.
Eyes—half-lidded—fluttered open.
Ling Yun slowly rose.
His gaze wandered through the room—
To the blood splashed across the floor,
To the open window,
To the moonlight dancing across the wooden planks,
And to the shadows that trembled with the cry of cicadas.
He staggered toward the mirror.
Touched his pale face.
Something had changed.
His lips curled into a smile—
Not one of relief,
But of something far darker.
A devil's smile.
A whisper rose from his throat, low and eerie:
"…I did it."
His eyes gleamed—
As if the burnt stars of another world had awakened within them.
"I am… the Heavenly Demon.
The reincarnation… is complete."
With slow, deliberate steps, he approached the window.
Gazed into the star-strewn sky.
The night air sang softly, like a lullaby for the damned.
He clenched his fist.
His eyes burned with hatred and longing—
A thousand years of vengeance coiled within them.
His voice no longer a whisper—
Now it trembled with wrath:
"I succeeded…! HAHAHAHA!"
His laughter echoed through the room—
A fusion of madness, liberation, and pride drowned in shadow.
"You lost, Sword God!"
"This time… I'll uncover the truth behind this world.
The real Sacred Realm—
Will belong to me."