The night after the Iron Cleaver Sect's destruction was unnaturally bright.
Not from moonlight.
From arrays.
Across the continent, ancient communication formations ignited one after another—vast, expensive constructs that only warlords and grand sects could afford to activate.
This was not a local response.
This was a summons.
The Council of Warlords
High above the clouds, inside a floating obsidian citadel, seven figures sat in a circular hall carved from voidstone. Each throne bore the sigil of a warlord who ruled through blood and fear.
At the center hovered a projection.
Liang Feng.
Captured through shattered remnants of the Iron Cleaver Sect's defensive array.
The image showed him standing atop the sect steps, drenched in blood, aura heavy enough to distort the air. Calm. Silent. Watching the horizon like a predator that had already eaten—but was not satisfied.
Silence followed.
Then—
"This is no rogue cultivator," said a woman cloaked in white flame. "This is a calamity seed."
"He annihilated an entire sect in one night," another warlord growled. "Without frenzy. Without madness."
Luo Zhen stood apart from the others, arms folded, gaze fixed on the projection.
"He is evolving," Luo Zhen said quietly. "And faster than predicted."
A third warlord slammed his fist into the armrest. "Then we erase him. Now."
"No," Luo Zhen replied.
All eyes turned to him.
"If you corner him," Luo Zhen continued, "he will break limits again. I've seen it firsthand."
The woman in white flame narrowed her eyes. "Then what do you propose?"
Luo Zhen's lips curved slightly.
"We declare him what he is."
He raised his hand.
The sigil above the hall burned crimson.
"From this moment onward," Luo Zhen said, voice carrying absolute authority,
"Liang Feng is designated a World-Level Blood Calamity."
The hall trembled.
"Any sect, warlord, or cultivator may kill him on sight."
A pause.
"And any who die trying," Luo Zhen added, "were simply too weak to matter."
Across the continent, cultivation worlds shuddered.
A bounty beyond imagination appeared.
And every predator turned its gaze toward one name.
The Truth Buried in Blood
Liang Feng did not know any of this yet.
He sat beside a dead river at dawn, washing blood from his hands for the third time.
It would not come off.
Master Shen stood behind him, silent for a long time.
Then he spoke.
"There is something I should have told you years ago."
Liang Feng did not look up. "If it's a warning, you're late."
Master Shen swallowed.
"You were not born with Blood Qi," he said.
Liang Feng's hands stilled.
Master Shen continued, voice heavy. "You were made."
Liang Feng slowly turned.
"What do you mean?"
"Eighteen years ago," Master Shen said, "a warlord-led experiment attempted to create a perfect Blood Qi vessel. Not a cultivator. A container."
Liang Feng's chest tightened.
"Hundreds of infants were used," Master Shen said quietly. "Their bloodlines tested. Their bodies broken."
Liang Feng felt nothing.
Not yet.
"You were the only one who survived," Master Shen whispered. "Because your body didn't reject the blood."
Liang Feng stood slowly.
"So I was livestock," he said.
"No," Master Shen said desperately. "You were a failure to them. They discarded you."
Liang Feng laughed.
It sounded wrong.
Dry.
Empty.
"And now they're afraid of their trash."
Master Shen stepped closer. "You still have a choice. You are not what they made you."
Liang Feng looked at the river.
He remembered screams that were not his.
Pain he never understood.
A hunger that had never faded.
"Choice?" he repeated softly.
He clenched his fist.
The river boiled.
Fish burst apart. Blood rose to the surface.
Liang Feng released his grip slowly.
"I don't feel anger," he said. "I don't feel hatred."
Master Shen's heart sank.
"What do you feel?"
Liang Feng searched himself.
And found—
Nothing.
"I feel efficient," he said at last.
Master Shen staggered back as if struck.
The First Crack
Later that day, they encountered a refugee caravan.
Families. Children. Wounded cultivators fleeing sect wars.
They froze when they sensed Liang Feng's aura.
Fear spread instantly.
One man fell to his knees. "Please… we have nothing…"
Liang Feng looked at them.
His Blood Qi reacted automatically.
Not violently.
Hungrily.
He felt how fragile they were.
How easily their blood would flow.
Master Shen stepped in front of him immediately.
"No," Master Shen said firmly. "These are not enemies."
Liang Feng tilted his head.
"What's the difference?" he asked.
The words chilled the air.
Master Shen stared at him in horror.
Liang Feng blinked.
Then frowned slightly.
"…I know there's supposed to be one," he said. "I just don't feel it anymore."
For the first time since meeting Luo Zhen—
Master Shen felt true fear.
Far above them, unseen, a warlord's observation array locked onto Liang Feng's position.
The hunt tightened.
Liang Feng turned away from the refugees, walking toward the mountains.
"I won't kill them," he said calmly. "They're inefficient."
Master Shen followed, heart heavy.
Behind them, the refugees wept in relief.
Ahead—
The world prepared to burn.
Liang Feng walked on, blood circulating steadily, eyes empty, power growing.
He had been born in blood.
Declared a calamity.
And with each step forward—
He drifted further from being human.