The battlefield of the heavens had long gone silent, but the scars remained. And so did the whispers.
"If the rumors of the scriptor are true… then that old demon will come again."
Those words echoed across sects, clans, and empires, seeding fear into even the most arrogant hearts.
The Night of the Xuan Clan
It was a night when the world itself seemed uneasy. Clouds weighed heavily upon the sky, veiling the moon. Rain lashed against rooftops like countless arrows, while the wind howled through the ancient courtyards. The Xuan Clan's ancestral mansion loomed against this storm, its towers lit by wavering lanterns that flickered as though afraid.
Inside the grand ancestral hall, shadows stretched long across the floor. A man in ceremonial robes knelt before an ancient altar, his forehead pressed against the cold stone tiles. His voice trembled as he prayed:
"Ancestor… please shower your blessings upon us. The heavens stir, and our enemies sharpen their blades. Without your will, our clan will fall into darkness."
Behind him, footsteps echoed. A cultivator in black robes approached, his aura calm but sharp, the weight of the 4th Realm rolling off him like invisible thunder. His presence silenced the hall.
"Clan Leader," the man bowed slightly, "the elders have gathered. They await your judgment."
The kneeling man Xuan Shi'an, patriarch of the Xuan Clan slowly rose to his feet. His hair was streaked with silver, his eyes stern and weary from centuries of guarding the clan's seat of power. He turned, facing the council chamber where the elders had assembled.
The Gathering of Elders
The chamber was vast, its walls lined with ancient banners and carvings of dragons—symbols of the Xuan Clan's thousand-year dominance. Around a circular stone table sat the elders, each radiating a different kind of power, their wrinkled faces sharp with calculation.
The storm outside raged louder, as though the heavens themselves leaned close to listen.
One elder spoke, his voice gruff with age:
"For a thousand years our clan has risen while the others faltered. We have seized more land, more disciples, more treasures. But the winds of fate are shifting. We cannot ignore it any longer."
Another elder leaned forward, his tone biting:
"The Gu family has birthed a prodigy. Gu Zang reached Rank 2 in just three years after awakening—unheard of. And the other two families have their own gifted seedlings this generation. Do not take this lightly."
A silence fell. The words stung, for they were true.
Then, a third elder spoke, his voice carrying a strange pride:
"Yet do not forget we too hold a diamond. A youth unlike any the clan has ever seen. He is still young, yes, but his talent is undeniable. His blade is sharp, and his mind… sharper still."
Several elders exchanged doubtful looks, but the third elder pressed on:
"I have heard his poems."
That startled them. Poets were rare in their clan.
"Poems?" one scoffed.
"We are cultivators, not scribes."
But the elder shook his head, eyes gleaming.
"No, you don't understand. His words are not mere scribbles. They cut deep so deep that even I felt shaken. For a thousand years, not one in our clan has possessed such a voice. His poems are filled with hidden meanings, heavy as mountains, sharp as swords. Tell me, is this not a sign? Perhaps the heavens themselves have chosen to place a diamond in our hands."
The room fell into silence once again. Outside, thunder cracked, as if to punctuate his words.
For an instant, the elders' minds strayed back to the legends of Xuansha, the Old Demon. He too had been a poet, a man whose verses carried curses and prophecies.
Was this youth a blessing?
Or… the shadow of something far older?
The storm howled louder, drowning the hall in its roar.
The elders murmured among themselves, the rain outside drumming against the tiled roof like a warning from heaven. One of them spoke, voice low but steady.
"Such a child truly has a different kind of spirit. But I've also heard his mother is expecting another child soon. Perhaps he will soon have a brother or sister."
The clan leader narrowed his eyes, his thoughts turning inward. I've read that boy's poems. Lines so deep, so refined… can a child of only fourteen truly write such things? His mind lingered on the question, heavy with doubt. Is this the time for our clan to rise… or are we wasting our strength on empty hope?
Yet, even in his doubts, a spark of possibility glimmered. If that boy is willing to work hard, he could very well become the main pillar of the Xuan Clan.
Straightening, the leader's voice filled the hall.
"The Awakening Ceremony will be held tomorrow. Everyone, go and rest. I will not tolerate scams or tricks during the ceremony. Do what preparations you must, but it must be fair. I will not allow anyone to point their finger at my Xuan Clan and speak of dishonor. Elders engrave my words into your hearts."
As he spoke, a small wave of pressure leaked from his body. It rolled across the chamber like the shadow of a storm, cold and suffocating. The elders stiffened, sweat beading along their brows. Not one dared to meet his eyes. They bowed quickly, voices trembling.
"Clan Leader, we do not have the courage to disobey."
"Good," he said flatly. "Leave."
The council dispersed in silence, the echo of their footsteps fading into the long corridors of the ancestral hall. Left alone, the clan leader walked to the window. Heavy rain blurred the world beyond, the courtyard lanterns flickering against the storm.
For a long moment, he simply watched, listening to the rhythm of water striking stone. Then, almost to himself, he whispered:
"Perhaps today, even heaven itself is crying with joy. That child… perhaps he will take our clan farther than we have ever gone."
The storm answered with a clap of thunder, as if the heavens had heard his vow.
That night, the heavens themselves seemed restless. Rain poured down in endless sheets, battering the rooftops, swallowing the valleys, and painting the world in shades of black and silver. Lightning carved jagged scars across the sky, followed by thunder that shook the mountains.
Inside a lonely wooden house perched on the slopes of the Xuanwo Mountains, a man's laughter broke through the storm. It was wild, unrestrained, echoing like the cry of a beast freed from its cage.
"Hahaha…! Here I am again. Xuansha has returned!"
He staggered forward, his bare feet splashing against the damp wooden floor. His hand grabbed the window latch, flung it open, and the night wind rushed in, carrying with it the raw scent of rain and earth. His eyes widened as they drank in the sight beyond.
The mountains. The same jagged peaks, wrapped in eternal mist. The same valleys where his footsteps had first echoed. The Xuanwo Mountains.
His lips curled into a grin that was both savage and victorious.
"So it's true. I went back. Five thousand years… back to the beginning. Back to where everything started."
For a moment, silence fell within him, as if the world itself paused to let him remember. Then the images surged forth the heavenly army, the five arrogant leaders, their voices full of contempt, their blades pressing him to the brink. The moment he had torn open his chest, his blood igniting in a final act of defiance.
His fists trembled on the window frame. The wood creaked under the pressure of his grip. His eyes burned.
"You forced me to self-destruct," he growled. "You thought you had erased me from existence. But you failed. You all failed."
He lifted his hand, staring at the pale, uncalloused fingers of a body not yet tempered by cultivation. A cruel smile touched his lips.
"The Soul-Transferring Artifact… it truly worked. I gambled everything on it, and I won. I don't know if the artifact still exists now, or if it was swallowed by the river of time… but it doesn't matter."
A deep breath filled his chest. The storm's cold wind soaked him, but his spirit burned hotter than fire.
"One thing is certain I must begin from the start. My cultivation is gone, my treasures are gone, but my will… my will remains."
His laughter returned, quieter this time, but sharper like the hiss of a blade unsheathed. He raised his head, eyes gleaming with madness and certainty.
"No matter how hard the path, I will not retreat. Not now. Not ever."
His expression hardened, his words sinking like iron into the fabric of fate.
"I will walk the devil's path again. And this time, when I rise… Heaven itself will tremble."
The storm roared in answer. Lightning split the sky, thunder shook the peaks, and the world seemed to recognize the rebirth of a nightmare it had once thought destroyed.
The ocean of time was no mere stream of hours; it was the hidden blessing of the world itself. A vast, sacred sea that preserved balance and order, it flowed silently beneath all creation. To touch it was sacrilege, to cross it was to defy the laws of heaven itself.
No living being had ever dared such a thing. Not gods, not demons, not even the most reckless immortals. Yet Xuansha had thrown himself into that forbidden tide. His madness had carried him where no one else dared tread, and for him it was not curiosity, not escape—it was revenge. Revenge that burned hotter than fear, sharper than reason.
As his soul pierced the current, the flood began. Memories cascaded into him like a storm that could not be held back. His childhood, his first stolen scripture, the trembling hands of his first sacrifice… then centuries of blood and fire, battles fought beneath shattered skies, betrayals and victories, the unending climb toward supremacy. Fifteen years, fifty, five hundred, five thousand each layer of time collapsed into his mind all at once.
It was a gift and a curse. Every failure catalogued, every triumph etched into him, every scheme remembered. He now held the wisdom of five millennia within a single breath. But the torrent was too vast, too merciless. Knowledge became knives. The weight of five thousand years pressed against the fragile vessel of his reborn body, threatening to split it apart.
Pain bloomed behind his eyes, faint at first, then crushing. His head throbbed with the agony of time itself. Colors smeared. Thought unraveled. He clutched at his temples as if to cage the storm within his skull, but the memories burned hotter, faster, brighter.
For a moment, he almost faltered. The method had not been perfect there were cracks in the transfer, jagged edges where moments blurred, names slipped away, battles bled into one another. Was the artifact damaged? Had time itself resisted him? Or was this the price demanded by the ocean he had dared to cross?
A price of sanity. A price of years. A price that even he, the demon who had mocked heaven, could not yet measure.
His breath came ragged, but then he laughed a low, broken sound. "All of you… just wait. I will come very soon."
The world around him swam in confusion, but the vow remained clear. Though the tide had wounded him, though the memories had torn at his mind, Xuansha had crossed where no one else had dared. And even if it broke him, he would walk the devil's path again.