The cold of Mo Province seeped deep into the bones.
Snow-laden winds tore across the land like invisible blades, yet the silence inside the Mo Clan's main palace was far more terrifying than the storm outside.
Today, the sole heir of the Mo Clan, Mo Fan, had turned sixteen.
He stood at the center of the grand hall, dressed in white cultivation robes. His light silver-gray hair fell loosely around his pale face. His posture was straight, his breathing steady—but his eyes were empty.
No excitement.
No pride.
No joy.
Only silence.
Elders of the Mo Clan stood on both sides of the hall, their smiles polite, their eyes cold. To them, this ceremony was not a celebration—it was an investment.
"The Clan Head has arrived!"
The massive doors opened.
Mo Tian, the head of the Mo Clan and Mo Fan's father, stepped inside. His presence alone caused the hall to quiet down.
"Fan'er," Mo Tian said calmly, "from today onward, you are the official successor of the Mo Clan."
Applause filled the hall.
Mo Fan lowered his head slightly.
"Yes, Father."
That was all.
No one noticed that when he raised his eyes again, there was no respect within them.
That night, the snow fell heavier than ever.
In a secluded courtyard, Mo Fan stood before an old man with a bent back and lifeless eyes.
The Butcher Sage.
"Do you know your fate?" the old man asked.
Mo Fan did not answer.
"To become a butcher," the old man continued softly. "To carve your path through blood."
He handed Mo Fan a black blade. The moment Mo Fan touched it, a cold sensation spread through his body.
Mo Fan did not hesitate.
He accepted it.
Before dawn, the Butcher Sage was found dead in a hidden cave beneath Mo Province.
His throat had been cleanly slit.
And Mo Fan returned to his room without a single drop of blood on his clothes.
Only his eyes were different now.
Cold.
Sharp.
Awakened.
Thus, the destiny of the butcher began.