Three years had bled away since the declaration that branded him. Lethean, now ten, sat on the familiar protruding rock in his desolate courtyard. His long hair, more silver than snow, cascaded down his back, catching the faint light. His frame was taller, his features sharpening toward adolescence, but his deep blue eyes held a stillness that was far too old for his age.
His gaze was fixed beyond the crumbling wall, watching the other slave children practice. The air thrummed with the thud of fists on straw dummies and the whistle of wooden swords. Their parents sat clustered together, voices buzzing with pride as they compared their children's progress.
A profound longing burned in Lethean's chest, a cold, bitter envy that had become a constant companion. His mind drifted back to the day his world had shattered. The words "vein-locked trash" had carved a hollow in his soul that even his mother's fierce love could not entirely fill. He had almost cried himself to death in her arms.
To make his existence more bitter, the scorn never ceased. The other slave children, and even the lowliest Qi clansmen, saw him as a punching bag—a vessel for their own frustrations. He would often return home bruised and battered, his only solace a mysterious, rapid healing that left his skin flawless by morning. He hid the injuries meticulously; the sight of a single scratch would break his mother's heart.
"LETHEAN!"
A booming shout shattered his reverie. A hulking, fat man swaggered into the courtyard, his face contorted in a permanent sneer. He shoved a tray of food roughly into Lethean's hands.
"Trash! Young Master Qi Situ demands his breakfast. Don't dawdle!" the man spat before waddling away.
Lethean rose in silence. Unlike other slaves who began chores at fifteen, his status as the clan's "cripple" had condemned him to servitude at age seven. The Qi clan turned a blind eye to the abuse; he was beneath their notice, a ghost already forgotten.
As he walked through the compound, a chorus of whispers and snickers followed him like a foul odor.
"Look, the trash is doing his rounds," one slave child hissed. "TRASH!"another boy boldly shouted, bursting into laughter with his friends before scampering away.
Lethean's expression remained a placid lake, undisturbed by the stones they threw. He had long since built walls against their scorn.
Soon, the dilapidated slave quarters gave way to the opulent courtyard of Young Master Qi Situ. The air here was rich with spiritual energy, a stark contrast to the barrenness Lethean called home.
He found Situ practicing sword forms, his movements sharp and infused with the potent energy of the 10th Level of Body Tempering—a bottleneck just shy of the Martial Realm. Lethean made his footsteps audible.
Situ turned, his face a mask of arrogance. "You're late. I told that fat fool to be quick."
Lethean met his gaze with icy calm, saying nothing.
"Are you mute, or just stupid?" Situ snapped.
"I came as soon as I received the order," Lethean replied, his voice cool and even. "If there is a delay, blame the messenger, not me."
Anger flashed in Situ's eyes. "You've got a tongue after all. Drop the tray. You're my practice partner today."
Lethean sighed inwardly. He had accelerated his own humiliation. He placed the tray on a nearby stool and returned to the center of the courtyard.
Situ discarded his sword and suppressed his cultivation to the 3rd Level of Body Tempering. "Let's see how you dodge this, cripple!" He launched forward, a palm strike aimed at Lethean's chest.
Lethean sidestepped with minimal movement, the wind from the attack rustling his robes.
Grunting, Situ pivoted, his fist becoming a blur aimed at Lethean's abdomen.
Lethean jumped sideways, the attack whistling past him.
Though he could not cultivate, Lethean had honed his body into a weapon. He had devoured every mundane martial art he could find—Kung Fu, Muay Thai, Tai Chi. He was a grandmaster of the mortal arts, his reflexes and precision his only shields.
Enraged by his misses, Situ unleashed a sweeping kick aimed at Lethean's head.
Lethean dropped into a seamless backflip, landing solidly as a wind kicked up, whipping their hair and sending leaves skittering across the stones.
With a furious cry, Situ charged again. This time, Lethean did not just dodge. He moved in. As Situ's leg swept toward him, Lethean grabbed it, using the momentum to pull Situ off-balance and—driven by pure, ingrained instinct—landed a solid, shocking punch directly on the young master's chest.
The moment his fist connected, Lethean froze. A mistake. He immediately dropped into a deep bow,his silver hair falling to hide his face. "Young Master, this lowly one apologies! I became too entranced in the spar and lost control. Please, forgive my overstep."
Silence.
When Lethean dared to look up, he saw Qi Situ standing frozen, one hand pressed to his chest. There was no pain—his superior cultivation had negated the damage—but the sheer, unbelievable insult of it bloomed on his face, quickly morphing into pure, undiluted rage. A trash, a cripple, had not only dodged all his attacks but had touched him.
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" Situ screamed, his voice cracking with fury.
He snatched his sword from the ground, his suppressed aura exploding outwards to its full 10th Level power. The spiritual pressure was immense. He lunged, the steel blade gleaming as it sliced through the air toward Lethean's neck.
Lethean stood paralyzed, the sword's force cutting tiny rents in his robe. Death was inches away.
BOOM!
A concussive blast of energy erupted, dissipating the sword strike like mist. Qi Situ was thrown backward, landing hard with a pained grunt.
An elder materialized between them, his white beard and robes flowing though there was no wind. It was Elder Qi Po, Head of the Outer Clan, his cultivation at the 5th Level of the Origin Realm radiating palpable authority.
He looked down at Situ with profound disappointment. "To draw your sword with intent to kill on a slave who cannot cultivate? Where is your dignity? You shame the Qi name."
Situ scrambled to his feet, bowing deeply, all his arrogance evaporated under the elder's gaze. "This foolish junior accepts Elder's criticism!"
"Hmph," Elder Qi Po scoffed. "I did not come for this disgraceful display. Your father summons you. Now." His tone brooked no argument.
"Yes, Elder! This junior obeys immediately!" Situ said, his head still bowed.
The elder then turned his stern gaze to Lethean. "Why are you still standing here? Begone to your quarters."
Snapped from his daze, Lethean offered a deep bow. "This junior thanks Elder for his intervention." He rose and quickly walked away.
But at the gate, he paused. He turned his head, and for a single, fleeting moment, his eyes met Qi Situ's. In that look was not fear, nor submission, but a cold, stifling promise. A gaze of such dense, chilling killing intent that it seemed to freeze the very air—a look that should never exist in the eyes of a ten-year-old child.
As he walked back to his courtyard, he stared up at the vast, uncaring blue sky. He clenched his fists so tightly his nails drew half-moons of blood in his palms.
A whisper, fierce and unwavering, escaped his lips, carried away on the wind.
"Power. I must have power. No matter the cost."
**A/N: To everyone reading this: Thank you. Seriously. 🙏
Seeing the read count go up makes my day.
If you're enjoying the story, even a '<3' in the comments lets me know you're out there and helps me write faster!
· Shadow0eyes**