The morning sun didn't rise; it bled over the horizon, casting long, accusing shadows across the Servant Quarters.
CLANG. CLANG.
The bronze bell shattered the silence. Hundreds of servants in grey hemp robes shuffled into the courtyard. Heads bowed. Eyes glued to the dirt. They were the unseen gears of the Iron Sword Sect—cleaning filth, chopping wood, and dying quietly when they broke.
On the raised wooden platform stood Steward Ma ("Fatty Ma"). He was a mountain of grease and arrogance, sweating pork broth even in the cool morning air. He held a brine-soaked leather whip that looked like a black snake.
"Line up, maggots!" Ma roared, his belly shaking. "Inspection day! If I see dust on the walkways, nobody eats!"
He unrolled the scroll. "Zhang San!"
"Here!"
"Li Si!"
"Here!"
Ma sneered as he reached the bottom. "Jiang Chen!"
Silence.
"Hah." Ma spat a glob of phlegm on the wood. "Trash finally died. Heard Wang threw him into the Ravine. Good riddance. Saved me the effort."
He raised his red brush to cross the name out.
"I'm here."
The voice wasn't loud. It was calm. Dead calm.
Ma's hand slipped, dragging a red streak across the paper. He looked up. The sea of servants gasped and parted.
Walking through the gate was Jiang Chen. His robes were a ruin, stained with dried black mud and reddish-brown blood, but he moved with a strange, rolling rhythm. He didn't slouch. He didn't tremble.
"You..." Ma blinked, his piggy eyes widening. "You're alive?"
"Disappointed?" Jiang Chen asked, stepping into the line.
Ma's face turned the color of a bruised plum. A servant talking back? In front of the herd?
"Insolent dog!" Ma thumped down the stairs, the wood groaning under his weight. "You vanish for three days, come back looking like a beggar, and dare to give me attitude? I'll strip the skin off your back!"
Whoosh!
Ma swung. He was a mortal, but he knew how to hurt people. The whip, lined with jagged metal barbs, aimed for Jiang Chen's face.
Jiang Chen watched it come.
To his eyes—rewired by the [Predator's Instinct]—the whip looked like it was moving through molasses.
[Advisory: Block.]
Jiang Chen raised his left arm. He didn't flinch.
THWACK.
The sound was sickeningly loud. The servants covered their eyes, expecting a scream.
But when they looked, Jiang Chen hadn't moved. The whip was wrapped tight around his forearm, the metal barbs digging in. But there was no blood. His skin shimmered with a faint, metallic gray sheen, like polished lead.
[Passive Trigger: Iron Skin.]
[Damage: 0.]
"Is that it?" Jiang Chen asked.
He flicked his wrist.
It wasn't a pull; it was a yank. The force ripped the handle out of Ma's sweaty grip. The whip sailed across the courtyard and landed in the dust.
Ma stumbled back, clutching his empty hand, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. "You... your arm..."
"If you're done dancing," Jiang Chen said, his voice dropping an octave, "I have wood to chop."
He walked past the steward. As he passed, Fatty Ma felt a cold, primal chill run down his spine—the instinct of a prey animal realizing a tiger just walked by and decided it wasn't hungry.
The Woodshed
Jiang Chen kicked the door shut and exhaled. The tension left his shoulders, replaced by a hum of adrenaline.
"Status."
He needed to see the numbers. He felt like a loaded spring.
[Status Panel]
Name: Jiang Chen Cultivation: Qi Condensation (Layer 1) State: Hungry.
[Attributes](Avg Adult = 1.0)
Strength: 3.8 Agility: 2.5 Constitution: 3.0
[Skills]
Serpent's Breath (Novice) Iron Skin (Passive - Beginner)
[Evolution Points (EV): 20]
"Strength 3.8," Jiang Chen muttered. He flexed his hand, and the air popped in his palm. "Nearly four times stronger than a man."
He looked at the pile of Iron-Wood logs. The daily quota was 50. Usually, it took a servant till sunset because the wood was as hard as granite.
[Quest: Daily Grind]
Task: Chop 200 logs. Objective: Temper the body. Adapt to new muscle density. Reward: Strength +0.2, EV +5.
"200?" Jiang Chen grinned. "Too easy."
He picked up the heavy axe. It felt like a toy.
He placed a log. No Qi. Just muscle.
CRACK.
The log didn't just split; it exploded apart.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
He fell into a rhythm. Splinters flew like shrapnel. He wasn't just chopping; the System was guiding his swing, micro-adjusting his posture to maximize leverage. He could feel his muscles tearing and rebuilding in real-time, fueled by the residual energy of the Spirit Stones boiling in his blood.
One hour later.
A pile of 200 logs sat in the corner. Jiang Chen was drenched in steam, his skin flushed, but he wasn't tired. He felt electric.
[Quest Complete.]
[Strength: 3.8 -> 4.0]
[EV: 20 -> 25]
"Four," Jiang Chen breathed. "Limit of the mortal shell. To go higher, I need more Qi."
GRRRRRRR.
His stomach roared. A deep, resonant vibration that shook his ribs.
[Alert: Metabolic Rate Critical.]
[Biomass Required.]
He looked out the window. Lunchtime. The smell of the Outer Sect kitchens drifted over—roasting Spirit Chickens, glazed in honey and herbs.
Jiang Chen licked his lips. The hunger wasn't just physical. The Serpent inside him wanted meat.
I can't steal openly, he thought. But Ma sent everyone to the mess hall. The kitchen is empty.
He activated [Serpent's Breath].
His presence vanished. He slipped out of the woodshed, moving through the shadows like a wisp of smoke.
The Kitchens
He vaulted through the back window. The chefs were out front serving rice. On the cooling rack sat a tray of golden-brown chickens.
Jiang Chen didn't hesitate. He grabbed two.
[Item: Low-Grade Spirit Food.]
[Eat?]
He didn't just eat; he demolished. He bit through the meat, the gristle, and the bone. His jaw crushed the thigh bones like they were dry pretzels.
Warmth flooded his stomach.
[Consumed: Spirit Chicken x2]
[EV Gained: +4]
[Constitution: 3.0 -> 3.1]
He wiped grease from his mouth, satisfied. He turned to leave, but footsteps crunched on the gravel outside.
"Did you hear the news?"
Jiang Chen froze, melting into the dark corner behind a stack of flour sacks.
Two disciples walked in, grabbing wineskins.
"Yeah," one laughed. "The Elders are insane. A Servant Tournament? Why bother? They're just mortals."
"It's not about the fighting," the second disciple lowered his voice. "I heard the Alchemy Hall needs 'live subjects' to test the new Bone-Exploding Pill. The 'Top 3' winners get promoted... but the losers? They get sent to the labs."
Jiang Chen's eyes narrowed in the dark.
Labs? Test subjects?
"But," the disciple continued, "If a servant actually wins, the rewards are real. 10 Spirit Stones and a Low-Grade Artifact."
Ten. Spirit. Stones.
Jiang Chen's heart hammered. Three stones had pushed him to Layer 1. With ten... he could reach Layer 2. Maybe Layer 3.
He waited for the disciples to leave, then slipped back out the window.
Back in the woodshed, the hunger pulsed. His mind was a whirlwind of calculations.
"The tournament is a trap for the weak," Jiang Chen whispered, clutching his axe. "But for me... it's a buffet."
He looked at his stats. EV: 29.
"I have three days. I need more. I need a weapon skill."
He looked toward the jagged silhouette of the Black Mountains rising behind the sect.
"Tonight," he decided. "Tonight, the hunt begins."