CHAPTER 28: SAD STATE OF TWO DESCIPLE

Just as the thought of letting go of the skill crossed his mind, a flood of memories surged through Wang Chen’s head like a broken dam.

Scenes of his countless lives and deaths flickered before him in vivid, merciless detail—each one a shard of agony, replaying in rapid succession like a film reel burning through its final frames.

Among them, one memory stood out.

A frail, crippled boy lay bound atop a snow-covered mountain, the merciless winter wind slicing through his flesh. The sky above was a pit of gray, and the earth beneath him was frozen solid. His thin cries echoed endlessly into the storm, mingling with cruel laughter.

The boy’s voice eventually grew hoarse. His screams faded into silence. The only witnesses to his final breath were the two silhouettes standing nearby—his father and mother—amused by his suffering.

They had watched him die.

The images were so real, so visceral, that Wang Chen’s breath hitched. His chest tightened as if that same wind still howled through him, freezing the last remnants of doubt in his heart.

He didn’t know why that particular lifetime had resurfaced—why that memory, among hundreds, had chosen this moment. But as it burned in his mind, something inside him hardened.

The hesitation he’d felt moments ago vanished like mist before the sun.

He wasn’t a saint. He never had been. And he certainly wasn’t going to pretend to be one now.

His path had always been selfish—ruthlessly, unapologetically his own. His personal gain was paramount. His liberation from this endless cycle of reincarnation, his escape from the curse that bound him—that was all that mattered.

No cause. No world. No lingering guilt would change that.

He would break free, even if it meant trampling over a thousand dying worlds.

And that random skill—the one gleaming faintly among the rewards—might just be the key.

Now certain, Wang Chen’s eyes sharpened, gleaming with a quiet, dangerous resolve. His voice dropped to a murmur, calm and final.

"I should not lose sight of my goal. I’ve already done enough for this world. Whether it survives or falls—it’s up to its own fate."

He repeated the words under his breath, again and again, as if each repetition carved the decision deeper into his soul, erasing the last traces of guilt.

Finally, he lifted his gaze and spoke clearly, his tone resolute enough to shake the very air.

"I choose the first and second options."

[Choice confirmed. Granting reward.]

The voice of the Tower resonated within his mind—calm, omnipotent, emotionless.

And then, everything began to dissolve.

The air quivered. The world around him blurred and twisted like a watercolor painting drenched in rain. His perception dimmed, stretched, and fragmented, as if he were being pulled through the thin veil of existence itself.

For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw the faint outline of Rin Luan’s figure within the fading light—her expression unreadable, her lips parted as if to say something.

Then everything turned to white.

...

Imperial City.

"Don’t you lay a hand on my senior brother! If you’ve got the guts, face me instead!"

Li Mei’s voice sliced through the chaos, trembling between fury and fear. Her jewel-like eyes, usually clear as mountain springs, now shimmered with panic and unshed tears. Before her, Lin Huang stood bloodied and half-bent, his breath ragged, his frame trembling like a candle against a storm. Yet even in that broken state, he stood tall—unyielding, like an iron pillar refusing to bow.

"Why?" she muttered weakly, her voice barely more than a whisper carried by the wind. "If you know you’re weak... why go this far?"

Lin Hung vision wavered. The world spun, light and shadow blurring together. Still, through the haze, he recognized the familiar voice of his junior sister.

A faint smile—a warm, radiant smile that belonged to gentler times—tugged at his bloodied lips. "Good... she’s safe. Otherwise, I would’ve failed as a senior brother..."

But before the sentence could leave his mouth, his knees buckled. The world tilted, colors fading into gray.

Thud.

His body hit the ground, limp and lifeless.

"Senior brother...!" Li Mei’s scream tore through the courtyard, raw and desperate. Her legs trembled, her fingers clutching at empty air as if trying to reach him through sheer will.

Before her eyes, the legendary figure of the upper realm—the man who once split realms with a swing of his blade—lay sprawled in the dirt, crimson blood pooling beneath him.

Li Mei’s chest constricted. Guilt crushed her like a vice.

If only I hadn’t come to the dojo... if I hadn’t drawn their attention... he wouldn’t have had to fight in this state.

Her lips trembled. "You... you bastard!"

Her gaze snapped to the young man standing a few steps away, his expression smug and composed, the faintest curl of mockery tugging at his mouth. Vice Head Zhang.

The man didn’t even flinch under her glare. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his cold eyes.

"What’s with that attitude, little thief?" he asked, his tone dripping with false concern. "Is this how you treat your benefactor? I was merciful enough not to kill that useless trash outright. Truly..."—he sighed, shaking his head as if lecturing a child—"this world doesn’t deserve kindness."

Mocking laughter erupted from the Blood Fang Gang members surrounding him.

"Vice Head Zhang hasn’t changed one bit," one of them jeered. "Still enjoys playing with his prey before the kill."

Zhang smirked and turned back to Lin Huang’s crumpled body. "Let’s see how much mercy this earns him."

He kicked.

The sound that followed was sickening.

"NOOO!"

Li Mei’s scream was raw enough to split her throat. She watched helplessly as Lin Huang’s body flew across the courtyard, smashing into the outer wall of the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo. Stone shattered like brittle glass. Blood splattered in wide arcs across the polished tiles, painting them in violent crimson.

Her knees went weak. She couldn’t even bring herself to look in his direction. Fear and disbelief clawed at her chest. She knew a Deity Realm cultivator wouldn’t die from a mere kick—but logic didn’t matter. The thought of losing him twisted something deep inside her.

All around, the Imperial City felt like a tomb. The streets were empty, silent, suffocating. The Blood Fang Gang’s banners fluttered in the smoke-filled air. The city had been sealed—no guards, no allies, no escape.

There’s no way out...

Her only hope—their master—hadn’t moved for twelve days.

Wang Chen remained in his chamber, motionless, his presence sealed behind layers of stillness so deep it felt like he had transcended life itself. Li Mei had tried calling him again and again, her voice echoing into the unresponsive void. Each failed attempt had chipped away at her courage.

Now, standing there amidst blood and ruin, she felt the same suffocating despair that had once gripped her in the upper realm—the same pain of betrayal, the same bitter helplessness.

Why am I so weak?

Vice Head Zhang didn’t spare her a glance. His gaze hardened, turning toward the dojo.

"Search for the Thousand Soul Banner," he ordered coldly. "If you have to, tear this palace apart. I want that treasure—no matter the cost."

His voice carried a chilling authority that made even the air tremble. Beneath the composure, though, there was a flicker of something else—a hint of impatience, of greed barely restrained.

The gang members instantly obeyed, storming forward in a frenzy. Boots thudded across stone, weapons clanged, and the air grew thick with killing intent.

Just as they were about to break through the inner gate—

A voice, calm and indifferent yet sharp enough to slice through steel, echoed from within the dojo.

"What guts."

The words struck like a thunderclap, reverberating through every heart present.

For a moment, even the air itself seemed to freeze.