Chapter: 1 The weak are Guilty
The universe were vast, cold, and indifferent.
In the Azure Vast Cosmos, countless stars revolved in silence, each Stars concealing millions of worlds where strongest devourer the weaks, cultivators, Fight for survival, resources, supremacy and pursuits of immortality and ascend through ladder of cultivation realms and perished beneath the heaven his laws. Immortals looked down from above, gods issued decrees, and the laws of Heaven flowed like an unfeeling river—washing away the weak without mercy.
On the edge of one such insignificant world lay the Eastern Desolation Continent.
And within it… a nobody named Dao Ling once a failure untalented disciple of crimson Star sect,
The Sect stood upon jagged mountains that pierced the clouds, its stone stairways carved with ancient runes worn smooth by time and blood. To mortals, it was a sacred land. To cultivators, it was a battlefield.
To Dao Ling, it was a cage.
He knelt in the outer courtyard, forehead pressed against the cold stone, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Around him, disciples in crimson robes watched with amusement, disdain, or boredom.
"Again," a voice said lazily.
A boot slammed into Dao Ling's ribs.
Pain exploded through his body. Bones groaned. His vision blurred, but he did not scream. He had learned long ago that screams only invited laughter.
"Useless trash," sneered Zhao Ming, an outer disciple at the third level of Qi Condensation. "Three years in the sect, and you're still stuck at the first level. Even the pigs in the spirit stables cultivate faster than you."
Laughter echoed.
Dao Ling forced himself to stand. His body trembled, but his eyes remained clear—too clear for someone so weak.
"I will clean the courtyard," Dao Ling said quietly.
Zhao Ming raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You still think effort matters?"
He leaned close, whispering so only Dao Ling could hear.
"In this world, weakness is a crime."
Another kick sent Dao Ling rolling down the steps.
No one intervened.
Because this was the law of cultivation.
That night, Dao Ling dragged his broken body to the edge of the sect, where discarded disciples went to lick their wounds. He sat beneath an ancient withered tree, moonlight spilling like pale frost over the land.
His breath was shallow.
His meridians burned.
Three years.
Three years of cultivation, humiliation, and silent endurance.
"I'm not talentless," Dao Ling whispered, fingers digging into the dirt. "I can feel it… something is wrong."
Ever since childhood, his cultivation had been blocked, as if an invisible lock sealed his body. Qi entered him—then vanished, swallowed by something deeper.
Something dormant.
Something… hungry.
The wind stirred.
The withered tree creaked.
Then—
Pain unlike anything before tore through his chest and Tempering Bones
Dao Ling gasped, collapsing forward as his heartbeat thundered like a war drum. His blood began to glow—faint at first, then brighter, pulsing with an ancient rhythm older than the sect, older than the continent itself.
Cracks spread across the ground.
The air twisted.
The heavens above… paused.
Far beyond the Eastern Desolation, in realms where immortals slept within star coffins and gods observed cycles of creation, something stirred.
"A resonance?"
"No… impossible."
"That body was erased…"
A silent gaze brushed past Dao Ling—vast, curious, wary.
Then the heavens looked away.
Dao Ling screamed.
His bones shattered—then reforged.
His meridians collapsed—then expanded into something vast and boundless.
A golden sigil ignited within his heart, ancient runes unfolding like a sealed scripture finally open. Heavenly corresponding reflections phenomenals descending he also absorb Heavenly energy
Eternal Sacred Body — Initial Awakening
Flesh endures eternity.
Soul resists annihilation.
Dao shall not decay.
Qi flooded into him violently, no longer vanishing—no, it was being devoured, refined, and transformed.
The first bottleneck of Qi Condensation shattered instantly.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Dao Ling collapsed unconscious, his body steaming under moonlight, his breath steady for the first time in his life.
Above him, clouds gathered phenomenons
Lighting struck open heaven.
.
But Heaven had noticed.
When he awaken from conscience, Dao Ling opened his eyes.
The world looked… different.
He could hear the pulse of the earth, feel the breath of the mountains, sense the flow of Qi like invisible rivers in the air.
He clenched his fist.
Power answered.
A slow smile curved his lips—calm, cold, unshaken.
"So this," he murmured, "is what they were afraid of."
Dao Ling rose to his feet.
Behind him lay weakness.
Ahead of him—
Heaven.
And this time…
I would not kneel anyone again let me control my own Fate .