In the grand halls of the Heavenly Sky Clan, atop the floating peaks shrouded in eternal mist, tension simmered like qi before a storm.
The disappearance of Lin Drake—officially declared dead after the sect trial incident—had stirred ripples. No body recovered from the cliff base, just shattered rocks and bloodstains. Whispers spread among outer disciples: the crippled young master finally met his end. Some mourned the waste of potential; most shrugged.
In the third elder's residence, a woman paced endlessly. Lin Mei, Drake's mother, eyes red from sleepless nights. She clutched a jade pendant—Drake's childhood token—whispering prayers to ancestral spirits. "My son... where are you? Even if crippled, you were my light." Servants avoided her gaze; her worry had turned to quiet desperation.
In the inner courtyards, the brothers were less sentimental. Lin Hao, second son, sneered over tea with his retainers. "The worthless scum finally died. Good riddance. Saved us the embarrassment." Lin Feng, the eldest, nodded coldly. "Father was right. Weakness has no place here."
The third elder, Lin Zhan, sat in his study, staring at reports. His face was stone. When a disciple reported no new leads, he waved dismissively. "The weak die. That's the law of this world. If he couldn't survive a simple trial, he deserved the fall. Focus on the living talents."
No one searched seriously. The clan moved on.
Meanwhile, deep in the outer forest, far from clan eyes...
Drake stood in a frozen clearing, breath misting the air. Aokiji leaned against a tree, ice crystals drifting lazily around him.
The new Rank S coupon glowed in Drake's palm. He activated it without hesitation.
Space warped. A black rift opened, red clouds flickering within—like Sharingan eyes staring back.
A figure stepped out: black cloak with red clouds, long dark hair tied back, pale skin, crimson eyes spinning with tomoe. Itachi Uchiha. The prodigy of the Uchiha clan. Genjutsu master. Susanoo wielder. A walking nightmare in his prime.
Drake's eyes widened slightly—surprise, then calculation. "Itachi... of all summons."
Itachi scanned the surroundings calmly, expression unchanging. His voice was soft, measured, carrying that quiet weight of someone who'd seen too much death.
"...This is not my world. Yet the air feels familiar—thick with killing intent, bound by strength." He turned to Drake. "You summoned me. Why?"
Before Drake could answer, Aokiji straightened, sunglasses glinting. "...Another one. Interesting. Kid's got taste." He addressed Itachi directly, tone lazy but probing. "You feel... heavy. Like you've carried a lot. Justice? Or something colder?"
Itachi met Aokiji's gaze evenly. "Justice is subjective. I once believed in protecting what mattered, even if it meant becoming the villain. In the end... it cost everything." A faint, almost imperceptible sadness flickered. "And you? An admiral of ice, bound here. What chains you?"
Aokiji shrugged, frost trailing his coat. "...Lazy justice. Didn't like the orders, so I walked. Now I'm here. Kid's got his own path—avenge a dead boy, carve his rules. Troublesome, but... honest."
Drake stepped forward. "I'm Drake. This body's original owner was thrown away like trash. I'm fixing that. Starting with scum who prey on the weak. Bandits, rogue cultivators, slavers in the nearby cities. You handle them. Cleanly. No mercy."
Itachi's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Massacre... for justice? Or vengeance?"
"Both," Drake said flatly. "The original didn't deserve to die. Neither do innocents. But the guilty? They end."
Itachi was silent a moment. Then: "I understand sacrifice. If it prevents greater pain... I'll act." He glanced at Aokiji. "And you?"
Aokiji yawned. "...I'll watch. If it gets too messy, I'll freeze what's left. Fair?"
Itachi nodded once. "Fair."
Drake queried the system silently.
[Summon Respawn Mechanics: All summons can respawn upon 'death' via system energy. Strength scales with respawns—stronger each time. Cooldown: Proportional to power. Rank S like Itachi/Aokiji: 1–3 months base, reduced by Host cultivation/points.]
Drake smirked. "Good. Not many in these mortal cities can threaten you two."
Itachi vanished in a flicker—body flicker technique adapted to qi. Reports would come later: entire bandit camps frozen in terror before black flames consumed them, rogue cultivators trapped in endless genjutsu nightmares until their minds broke, slavers' heads rolling without a sound.
Drake trained relentlessly. Beast hunts continued—cores refined, points poured into qi circulation. Aokiji sparred lightly, teaching control over cold qi. Itachi's presence lingered as a shadow, his kills feeding the system.
Two months passed.
The clan finally stirred. A small investigation team—five Foundation Establishment disciples, led by a Golden Core elder—descended to the cliff base to "confirm" the body.
They found no corpse. Instead, a figure waited in the mist: Drake, taller, broader, aura steady at early Foundation Establishment. Ice faintly rimed his robes from passive bonuses.
The elder's eyes widened. "Lin Drake? Impossible—you fell!"
The others drew weapons, spouting clichés: "Imposter!" "Demon possession!" "Surrender!"
Drake didn't let them finish.
Aokiji appeared behind them in a blur—silent, efficient. Frost exploded outward. Bodies froze mid-motion, encased in unbreakable ice. Only heads remained mobile, expressions locked in shock.
Drake walked forward slowly. "Talk. What happened in the clan after I 'died'?"
They stammered—fear cracking bravado. "Mother worried... brothers celebrated... father said the weak deserve death..."
Drake's eyes turned cold grey. "Celebrated."
He raised a hand. Ice constricted around one head—squeeze. Skull crumpled like a lemon, blood freezing mid-spill. Brutal. Efficient.
Next. "More."
Another argued: "You were trash anyway—"
Squeeze. Pop.
One by one, until the last—a trembling junior disciple.
"Everything," Drake said.
The boy spilled: Mother's despair, brothers' mockery, father's indifference, no real search. "They... moved on. Said you weren't worth resources."
Drake nodded once. Then: ice spear formed inside the boy's skull—freezing the brain from within. Slow expansion. Veins burst in crystalline patterns. The body twitched once, then stilled. Brutal end.
Aokiji watched impassively. "...Messy. But deserved?"
Drake exhaled. "Necessary."
He checked points—hunts + Itachi's kills had piled up.
Enough for another Rank S.
"I need more power. Confident enough to crush the clan when the time comes."
As he prepared the coupon, a notification flashed.
[Ding! Itachi Uchiha report: 47 targets eliminated. Bandit groups, rogue sects, human traffickers. No survivors. Additional points: +12,000. Itachi's power increased slightly—respawn cooldown reduced.]
Drake's lips curled into a thin smile.
The shadows were spreading. And soon, the Heavenly Sky Clan would feel the cold.
[To be continued...]