Dawn broke over the wilderness like a blade drawn across the sky—sharp, golden, and indifferent.
Shen Zian emerged from the cave just as the first rays filtered through the jagged cliffs. His robes were still torn, his face pale from exhaustion, but his eyes—those strange, slit-pupiled golden eyes—burned with clarity.
The blue corpse flame hovered faintly at his shoulder, a willful wisp that dimmed at daylight but never vanished. The Flamebrand mark across the back of his hand pulsed with each heartbeat, binding death to his qi flow in quiet harmony.
He wasn't whole.
But he was no longer broken.
And the first name that came to his mind was—
Shen Liang.
Zian's lips curled into a quiet snarl.
"Three days ago, I was a cripple. Today…" He clenched his hand, and the air trembled with residual qi. "Today, I could crush you."
But he wasn't ready to return. Not yet.
He needed more strength.
And more cores.
His beast core had stabilized, but the fusion of the fox-beast and panther had left it only half-full. The Primeval energy, potent as it was, could not be replenished—not without more ancient beasts. Which meant only one thing:
Hunt. Feed. Grow.
By midday, he had reached a narrow ravine carved deep into the red cliffs that bordered the eastern wilds. According to half-forgotten maps he had studied as a child, this gorge was once part of a beast-testing ground—where failed spirit beasts, or uncontrollable mutations, were discarded.
What survived there now were feral, abandoned, and hungry.
Perfect.
Zian crouched at the edge of a ledge, scanning the terrain below. The gorge walls were high and slick, overgrown with thorny vines and fungi. Broken bones littered the path, and dark stains on the rocks whispered of old battles.
He didn't have to wait long.
A mutated boar-beast lumbered into view, tusks curved backward like sickles, its hide covered in stony armor. Its qi was dense—not refined, but fierce. More importantly, Zian felt its core.
It pulsed like a drumbeat in his skull.
The beast hadn't seen him yet.
Zian drew a deep breath and summoned the wind-aspect agility of the fox-beast. His body blurred.
He struck from above.
The boar shrieked as Zian landed on its back, driving a dagger downward. The blade skittered off the armor, sparks flying. The beast bucked hard, slamming into the ravine wall, but Zian held on with clawed fingers.
He reached inward—and unleashed the corpse flame.
A tendril of blue fire lashed out, wrapping around the beast's eye.
It sizzled and screamed.
Zian took that moment to jam his dagger beneath the jaw, where the armor was weakest. It sank deep.
The boar convulsed.
Zian leapt free as it collapsed in a heap, steam rising from its eye socket.
He landed in a crouch, panting.
Too close.
He approached the corpse and knelt, placing a hand on its chest. The beast core within it was large—dense with earth-aspect qi. Slowly, Zian reached with his mind and core.
Submit.
The beast core resisted, shuddering within its prison of flesh. But it was already dying. Already weak. And Zian was no longer a passive vessel.
He was a Devourer.
The core broke.
Qi rushed into him—heavy, gritty, grounding. His limbs thickened slightly, his muscles tensing. A new glyph appeared on his palm beside the Flamebrand: an angular, jagged rune representing earth.
His beast core glowed with a third light—flame, wind, and now stone.
Zian shuddered, overwhelmed by the conflicting energies. For a moment, he feared it would tear him apart.
But the corpse flame flared, wrapping the wild qi in cold fire, slowing it, binding it.
Balance.
When it passed, Zian opened his eyes.
He was stronger.
Slower, but tougher. He could feel it in his stance, in the way his breath rooted him to the earth. His claws looked heavier. His legs more stable.
He smiled faintly.
He was evolving again.
But then—
Footsteps.
Zian turned, instantly alert.
From the far end of the ravine, three figures emerged—armed, armored, and clearly not ordinary travelers. They wore crimson leather robes with twin serpent insignias on their shoulders.
"Serpent Fang mercenaries," Zian muttered. "Qi scavengers."
One of them pointed. "That's our kill."
Another laughed. "You're just a stray boy. Leave the core and walk away."
Zian cracked his neck.
"I already took it," he said.
They frowned. "Liar. No one drains a beast that fast."
Zian raised his right hand, letting the Flamebrand shimmer.
The mercenaries stiffened.
"Corpse cultivator…"
One of them drew a blade. "Then we don't need to leave a body."
Zian didn't speak.
He just moved.
The battle was over in seconds.
He blurred into the first man's shadow, claws slashing across the throat. The second raised a shield, but Zian's corpse flame struck it directly—melting through metal like water on salt. The third tried to run.
Zian let him go.
He wasn't a murderer. Not yet.
But word would spread.
The boy they'd exiled was no longer prey.
He was predator.