The Ethereal Dao Sect was a beast. A massive, ancient, overpowered beast.
To outsiders—Chen, Feng, and Yun—called all the shots. And sure, they did run a lot of stuff. They had the history, the bloodlines, the backing. It was their ancestors who helped build the foundations of the sect, after all.
But inside the sect, there was another big player.
The Sectarian Faction.
Made up of powerhouse elders and talented disciples who had no ties to the three clans. These were the orphans, the wanderers, the lone geniuses who got picked up by the sect over the years. On the surface, they held just as much power as the three ruling clans. Just as many Dao Beings, just as many monstrous disciples.
On the surface.
Who really knew the truth behind those numbers though? Some whispered that the clans hid their true strength. No one could say for sure, but one thing was clear—the sect was balanced, barely, between these four powers.
And in the Ethereal Dao Sect, disciples weren't all equal. Far from it.
You started at the bottom as an Outer Court Disciple. Basically, glorified errand runners and punching bags.
If you showed some talent and didn't get crippled in the process, you got moved up to Inner Court Disciple. That's when real cultivation started—decent resources, some actual face, and the occasional chance to go out on missions.
Then came the Core Disciples. The elite of the elite. These guys had sect elders backing them, direct access to ancient techniques, and their own spirit peaks. If you were a core disciple, you were basically untouchable in the eyes of outer and inner court trash.
But above even them?
The Legatees. Monsters so talented, so terrifying, they were being groomed to become the next Sect Master. Only one would make it. And it didn't matter where you came from—clan or sectarian, if you could crush all the other geniuses beneath your feet, you got the throne.
Easy, right?
Now.
Chen Chao was ten.
And at ten years old, every young genius in the Ethereal Dao Sect was supposed to have their first kill.
Cultivation wasn't all about pretty robes and cool techniques. It was war. Blood. Pain. Endless challenges. So the sect made sure its rising stars got a taste of death early.
To build killing intent.
The underground prison beneath the Wang Clan's estate was cold, dimly lit, and stank of blood and sweat. Three men sat slumped in chains, their bodies covered in bruises and spiritual suppressing shackles that left them weaker than ants.
Chen Chao stood there with his father, the Sect Master, silent and expressionless.
"These three," his father said, his voice calm but heavy, "are nothing more than beasts in human skin. Murderers. Rapists. Bandits. All of them."
He handed a dagger to Chen Chao.
"Doesn't matter what kind of people they are, truthfully, doesn't matter what they did before. What matters is that you kill them. However you like."
Chen Chao looked down at the dagger. His violet eyes were cold. He didn't ask any questions.
He didn't hesitate.
He just walked forward.
The first man didn't even have time to speak.
Slash.
His throat opened like a broken wineskin, blood splattering across the cold floor—and across Chen Chao's robes. The man gurgled and collapsed. Dead in seconds.
Chen Chao didn't blink.
The second man's eyes widened. "W-Wait! Please! I didn't mean to hurt anyone! I was just following orders! Please—don't—"
Stab.
Right into the neck. Blood shot out in bursts. Chen Chao pulled the blade out calmly, face blank.
The third man? He was already shaking.
"N-No, please! I have a family! Kids! A wife! I'm all they have—if you kill me, they'll not survive without me, please think of my little ones and spare me!"
Chen Chao looked into his eyes. Saw the horror. The despair.
Then—slash.
Another clean cut. Another life gone.
Blood dripped from his hands, soaked into his sleeves.
He stood there for a long moment, just… thinking.
Why?
Why didn't he feel anything?
Why wasn't he disgusted? Why weren't his hands trembling?
Why did it all feel so familiar?
Like this wasn't his first time doing this.
Like he'd held a dagger before… and used it.
Again… and again… and again.... and again.
But he pushed those thoughts aside.
He turned back toward his father.
The Sect Master looked at him quietly, his face unreadable. Thoughtful.
Then he gave a small nod.
They left together.
Chen Chao returned to his courtyard, his little feet silent against the polished floor. Inside, he stripped off the bloodstained robe and stepped into a spiritual spring to clean himself.
As the warm, glowing water washed over him, he stared at the steam rising into the air.
Still thinking.
Still… calm.