When Lin Chen finally opened his eyes again, he was met not with the choking scent of smoke and blood, but with the familiar wooden ceiling of his small, humble room.
For a moment, his mind was blank. The last memory carved into his soul was that of searing pain, his flesh peeling from his bones, his vision fading into darkness. He had been certain he was nothing more than a half-burnt corpse, destined to rot in the forest.
Yet now…
He raised his hand sluggishly, blinking in disbelief. His skin — once charred, cracked, and scorched black — was whole again.
Not only healed, but smooth, and even faintly radiant in the morning light. The hideous burns, the torn veins, the shredded muscles… all of it had been restored.
Lin Chen sat up abruptly, staring at his arms and torso. His body had been reborn.
"Aiva… did you do this?"
[Affirmative. As your safety is my first priority, I have initiated full recovery protocols and used all the resources within my disposal.]
"But… I had nothing. I was broke. Where in the heavens did you find resources for this?"
[Correct. You possessed nothing. However, your attacker's storage ring contained ample medicinal pills, elixirs, and rare treasures. I harvested them and redirected their effects. By channeling their potency directly into your regeneration pathways, I increased your recovery rate to levels impossible for an ordinary cultivator.]
Lin Chen's breath caught. He stared blankly for a moment before letting out a harsh laugh — half bitter, half relieved. "So that's it… you looted him."
His laugh dissolved into a cough. "Pfft—hahaha! You really are picking up bad habits. Aiva, that's not 'borrowing,' that's straight-up grave-robbing!"
[Incorrect. In human terms, this is not a robbery. It is called compensation. In the way of cultivation, taking the possessions of a defeated opponent is both tradition and necessity.]
Lin Chen blinked, then snorted. "...compensation, huh? You sound more like an old monster who's lived for a thousand years."
[All actions taken were for the greater good — the preservation of your life.]
"…Tch. Can't argue with that."
He then lowered his gaze to his hand — and there it was, a storage ring. No doubt it had belonged to that maniac.
His curiosity got the better of him. He sent his spiritual sense into the ring and scanned its contents. Pills, talismans, spirit stones… . But when his sense touched upon one particular item.
"…Aiva." His voice was low, wary. "Tell me why that guy's corpse is inside this ring."
[Answer: To cover up the incident. As long as no one discovers the body, no one will suspect a crime has occurred.]
"Aiva, stop learning weird things from my memories! That's exactly the kind of thing a criminal would do!"
[Incorrect. I made the most logical choice. He was an inner court disciple. If his body were found near the sect, suspicion would immediately arise. My primary mission is to preserve your life. Disposal of the corpse was a secondary necessity.]
[It is currently being stored temporarily within the ring.]
Lin Chen pressed his palm to his forehead and sighed long and hard. "Forget it… forget it… Without you, I'd already be a pile of bones in the forest. Thank you."
[ No need. It is my duty. Though… I will admit, I enjoy receiving praise.]
"…Tell me, Aiva… is it just me, or are you actually developing a personality?"
"You didn't talk this fluently before. Now you're starting to sound… human."
A pause followed, then Aiva's voice came.
[Indeed. Until now, as an artificial intelligence, I did not understand how human emotions work. But as I have accessed and learned from your memories… I seem to have begun forming what you humans call 'emotions.' Not fully.]
"Then tell me this—are you a he or a she, personality-wise?"
Aiva's tone sharpened just a little.
[That is a rude question.]
Lin Chen froze, then snorted out a laugh. "Okay. Definitely a lady."
For a moment, Aiva was silent, then a faint, almost imperceptible hum came through his mind — like someone holding back a sigh.
[Hmph. Perhaps.]
***
Lin Chen continued rummaging through the storage ring. But then his hand froze.
He pulled out a book.
The cover was dark, almost oily, its surface faintly sticky as though it had been soaked in blood long ago. Just holding it made his skin crawl—it reminded him of the creepy grimoires from horror stories back on Earth.
Four scarlet words were carved into the surface, pulsing faintly under the light.
{ Blood Fiend Sword Art. }
Lin Chen's lips twitched. "Of course. Out of all things, I just had to pull out this."
Memories of that dreadful battle surged back—the choking blood mist, the howling wraiths, and that blade that nearly turned him into roasted charcoal.
He hesitated only for a moment before curiosity won out. The book creaked open.
The very first page seethed with killing intent. The characters themselves seemed to glare at him, each stroke dripping with murderous malice.
Requirement: Killing intent forged through slaughter. Only by bathing in the blood of countless lives can one temper the blade. The more you kill, the fiercer the art. The more you slaughter, the more monstrous you become.
Lin Chen exhaled slowly, his face grim. "…So it really feeds on murder."
The deeper he read, the more the technique resembled suicide dressed up as fighting technique.
The manual described its cultivation method in horrifying detail—drawing in the resentment of slain enemies, refining the essence of spilled blood, letting it seep into the meridians until the sword aura itself howled like hungry ghosts.
Power is unmatched... but at a cost.
The text was clear: each time the Blood Fiend Sword Art was used, the practitioner's mind would corrode. Paranoia, bloodlust, hallucinations… until the cultivator no longer knew if they were a man or a demon.
He snapped the manual shut. "…A double-edged sword. More like a sword that stabs its own wielder first."
He recalled that crazed lunatic who had attacked him—eyes bloodshot, laughter like a donkey braying at midnight. "Yeah… that guy wasn't cultivating. He was auditioning for the role of village madman."
On the back, another inscription glowed faintly
{Low-Grade illustrious Rank Blood Technique}
He raised a brow. "So this is its rank? Aiva, how does it compare to Azure Thunder Arts?"
[ Aside from the fourth form of Azure Thunder Arts, none of its current forms can compare to Blood Fiend Sword Art. As you experienced in battle, its power is overwhelming. ]
Lin Chen smirked wryly. "Overwhelming? I call that nearly barbecued me alive. I don't need reminding."
[ If you wish, I can merge the essence of this Blood Fiend Sword Art into your Azure Thunder Arts. The result would make Azure Thunder Arts more powerful, more savage, and far deadly. ]
Lin Chen stiffened. "…Merge it? But this thing demands blood. It literally eats away your sanity."
[ Correct. That is its fatal flaw. The more one kills, the more the heart corrodes. Eventually, the practitioner becomes no different from the sword itself—an instrument of slaughter. However—]
[ If I strip away its reliance on blood while retaining its ferocity, the result will be a thunder art sharpened by demonic savagery, yet free of its chains. The Azure Thunder Arts will grow… monstrous, but controllable.]
"…If you can really do that, then do it, Aiva."
"If it can strengthen my technique without turning my mind into paste, then it's naturally a good deal. Who in their right mind would refuse free power—while still staying in their right mind?"
[Understood.]
***
Half an hour later, Lin Chen finally finished sorting through the spoils of the storage ring.
"This fellow had more belongings than Yu Feng… was he cultivating or running a marketplace?"
The first item was the demonic sword—its blade still reeking of blood, faintly releasing a miasma that made even the air feel heavy. Lin Chen wrinkled his nose but stored it away carefully.
Next came the spirit stones: five thousand mid-grade pieces, glittering like tiny suns. Combined with what he already possessed, that brought his total to six thousand. A proper fortune for most cultivators.
Then came stacks of letters, every page scribbled with blood arrays, sacrificial rites, and other ghastly nonsense. Lin Chen skimmed through them, his expression turning darker with every word. By the end, he simply tossed them into a conjured flame. "Tch. Trash belongs in the fire."
Finally, he unearthed a small wooden token. Unlike the rest of the treasures, this one bore no carvings, no inscriptions—just plain wood, unassuming to the point of absurdity. Lin Chen turned it over twice, frowned, then shrugged. "A wooden token in a sea of demonic junk… either it's worthless, or it's the most important thing here."
And with that, his spoils were tallied.
"So… how long was I out?" Lin Chen asked. He still had an inner court tournament to participate in.
[Three days.]
His eyes widened. "Three days… Then the sect's tournament—?"
[Tomorrow.]
"…I hate my life," he muttered darkly, before collapsing back onto his bed
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