The scent of blood spread through the small inn room, heavy and sharp.
The first Scarlet Sun disciple's body fell with a dull thud, eyes wide in disbelief.
The other two froze — they had expected a frightened rogue cultivator, not someone who could kill with a single strike.
Wang Chung's sword gleamed faintly in the moonlight seeping through the shattered window. His face was calm — too calm. The same expression one might wear while brushing dust from their sleeve.
> "Y–You killed him!" one shouted, spiritual qi flaring around his blade. "Do you know who we are!?"
Wang Chung didn't answer. His gaze was cold and distant, as though he were looking through them, not at them.
The bead in his soul pulsed faintly, purifying the faint traces of killing intent that threatened to cloud his mind. It didn't erase his emotions — it refined them, made them sharp and precise.
> "Scarlet Sun Sect…" he murmured softly. "You took everything from me. You'll repay that debt — one corpse at a time."
"Arrogant fool!" the second disciple roared, lunging forward with his sword glowing red, blazing with a fiery technique — Crimson Fang Strike. The air rippled with heat as the strike cut through the air toward Wang Chung.
Wang Chung's body moved almost instinctively.
A single step to the side — the ground beneath him cracked. His sword flashed upward, clean and controlled.
Clang!
The fiery sword shattered. The disciple staggered, horror filling his face. Before he could retreat, Wang Chung's palm slammed into his chest.
A muffled explosion echoed.
Blood sprayed from the man's mouth as he crashed into the wall and slid lifeless to the floor.
The last disciple, trembling, stumbled backward.
> "Y–You're mad! We're disciples of Scarlet Sun! Our elders will hunt you down!"
Wang Chung's eyes flickered with a faint light — not of fear, but of remembrance.
> "Then let them come."
The sword moved again — silent, merciless, final.
When the last body hit the floor, the room returned to silence. Only the faint drip of blood echoed against the wooden walls.
He exhaled slowly, sheathing his blade. The bead within him pulsed once more, drawing in the violent qi lingering in the air and refining it into something clean.
He didn't rejoice. He didn't smile. He simply stood there, staring at the three corpses.
> "Three small ripples," he said softly. "But the waves will come."
He quickly gathered their storage pouches — low-grade artifacts, spirit stones, and a few minor pills. Nothing of great value, but for someone walking alone on the path of vengeance, every fragment of strength mattered.
Before dawn, he buried their bodies outside the town under a large pine tree. Not out of pity, but to avoid unnecessary attention.
As the first light of day touched the sky, he gazed at the rising sun.
It burned red — the same color as the Scarlet Sun Sect's emblem.
> "Enjoy your peace while you can," he whispered. "For every ray of your sun will drown in blood."
He turned and walked down the dusty road, disappearing into the forest's shadow once again.
The path ahead was uncertain, steeped in danger and pain. But Wang Chung's heart was steady.
He knew what he had chosen — a life of killing and cultivation, of endless silence and revenge.
And somewhere deep within his soul, the mysterious bead gleamed faintly — as if awakening further, resonating with his growing strength.
The road to becoming the Celestial Immortal Emperor had begun in blood.