The wasteland stretched endlessly under a sky that looked like bruised glass. Lin Xuanyuan's boots dragged through dust and fractured stone, his every step labored. He was bleeding from his side, his vision still flickering from overusing the blade. But the AI guided him forward, ever silent now, as if conserving its own dwindling systems.
Ahead, shrouded in haze, rose a wall.
Cracked, ancient, but standing.
A gate loomed—half-collapsed but flanked by twin statues, their faces worn by time. One bore a broken spear. The other cradled a scroll that had long since eroded into dust.
A faded banner fluttered overhead. He could barely read the glyphs: Verdant Sky Sect.
> "Border sect," the AI murmured. "Established during the final years of the empire. Records indicate high attrition. Potential haven—if they don't kill you first."
Lin stepped forward.
No sooner had his foot crossed the threshold than the ground beneath him shifted. A glyph snapped to life.
A surge of force hurled him backward.
He landed hard, choking on dust.
A figure stepped from the shadows behind the wall—robes torn and patched, hair tied in a topknot that barely held.
"You look like hell," the voice drawled. "And you walked into a trial formation without even sensing it."
Lin coughed. "Didn't know it was there."
The man whistled. "Well, either you're bold… or suicidal."
More figures emerged from the rubble. Half a dozen, maybe more. Young men and women dressed in threadbare sect uniforms. Some held weapons. Others just looked hungry.
The first man—a tall, hawk-eyed figure with twin daggers—stepped forward. "Name?"
"…Lin Xuanyuan."
"Huh. Never heard of you. Not that it matters. You want in?"
Lin nodded slowly.
"Then pass the trial." He pointed toward the glowing glyphs. "Survive the Circle of Binding. Three breaths. If it doesn't tear your core apart, we let you in. If it does…" He shrugged. "At least we can scavenge what's left."
Lin's body screamed in protest, but he limped forward.
The glyph flared again.
Pain lanced through him—heat and cold, light and shadow, ripping through his channels like wild lightning.
His vision dimmed.
> "Stabilize your core," the AI whispered. "Let the sword guide your resonance."
He gritted his teeth.
The blade pulsed faintly on his back—its golden veins reacting to the energy in the formation.
He focused.
Let it flow.
The storm became a stream. The pain… a tide he learned to ride.
Three breaths passed.
Then four.
The glyphs shattered like glass.
Silence fell.
The watchers stared in disbelief.
Someone muttered, "That should've killed him…"
The hawk-eyed man stepped forward, offering a hand.
Lin didn't take it. He rose on his own.
"Name's Huo Tian," the man said. "Outer sect senior. You're in, stranger. But don't get comfortable."
He led Lin through the broken gates.
Beyond them, the Verdant Sky Sect sprawled like a carcass. Broken towers. Collapsed pavilions. A cultivation ground reduced to cracked stone. But there were signs of life—cooking fires, sparring youths, and instructors yelling half-heartedly at trainees.
Lin felt a pang of disappointment. This wasn't a sanctuary.
It was a dying relic.
Still… it was something.
They brought him to a crumbling hall where an old man sat cross-legged, eyes clouded by age. His robes, though faded, bore golden embroidery: the mark of a sect master.
"This is Master Qian," Huo Tian said. "He'll decide if you stay."
The old man opened one eye.
And paused.
His gaze sharpened, cutting through Lin's battered form like a blade.
"You," he rasped, "are not normal."
The AI flared softly within Lin's mind.
> "He's scanning you. Strong spiritual perception. Careful."
The old master leaned closer. "You carry… something ancient. I can feel it."
Lin remained still.
Qian chuckled. "But you're clever. You won't tell me. Good. We need clever. We need survivors."
He gestured.
"Put him in the outer disciple quarters. Let's see if he lasts the month."
They took Lin to a rundown dormitory, its roof half-caved in, but it had a bed and clean water—more than he'd had in weeks.
He sat on the floor and exhaled slowly.
Safe. For now.
Later that night, as shadows stretched long across the sect's ruins, another voice stirred in the dark.
A girl—no older than Lin—stood in the doorway. Her eyes sharp, posture wary.
"You're the new one," she said. "I'm Yan Yue. Don't trust Huo Tian. Or the elders. They'll test you, then break you."
She turned to go.
Then paused.
"But if you're smart—and patient—this place still has secrets. Some buried deep enough that even death forgot them."
Then she vanished into the night.
Lin lay back and stared at the cracked ceiling.
He was alive.
He was inside.
And in the shattered skeleton of a dying sect… he had taken his first step toward something greater.
Not just survival.
Not just vengeance.
Empire.
The cracked ceiling above Lin Xuanyuan looked like a starless sky—fragmented, ancient, and endless. Wind howled through the broken tiles, but inside, it was quiet. Too quiet.
Sleep evaded him.
His body still throbbed from the Circle of Binding. Yet, it wasn't the pain that kept him awake.
It was the way Master Qian had looked at him.
> "He sensed the core's presence," the AI finally spoke again, low and metallic. "He may not understand its origin, but he knows you're… different."
Lin turned on his side, listening to the wind.
He couldn't afford to draw attention—not yet. But suppressing power that wasn't entirely his own would be like holding fire inside silk. Eventually, it would burn through.
Dawn came gray and hard.
A gong echoed through the sect ruins, calling outer disciples to the sparring grounds.
Lin moved with the others, blending in as best he could. Most of the trainees here were younger, worn thin by hunger and hardship. Their eyes darted between him and Huo Tian as they gathered around the cracked arena stones.
Huo Tian stood at the center, his twin daggers gleaming faintly beneath his robe. "Listen up," he barked. "We've got new meat—and that means we test his bones."
A few chuckled. One, a broad-shouldered youth with burn scars trailing down his left cheek, stepped forward. "Let me break him in."
"Chen Bai," Huo Tian said, nodding. "Go easy. He still needs to breathe."
Chen Bai cracked his knuckles and turned toward Lin with a sneer. "You're not special, outsider. This isn't some wasteland where beasts roam free. This is a sect. Here, strength has rules."
Lin stepped into the circle. "Then let's see them."
The fight began with a roar.
Chen Bai was fast—faster than Lin expected for someone so large. His first punch cracked the air, missing Lin by a breath. The second grazed Lin's shoulder, sending a jolt of pain down his arm.
> "Avoid direct hits," the AI advised. "He's brute-force trained. Minimal technique. Weak joints. Target the knee."
Lin rolled under the next blow, striking low. His foot snapped into Chen Bai's leg, just behind the kneecap.
A satisfying crack.
Chen Bai howled, stumbling.
Lin didn't wait—he pressed in, two quick strikes to the ribs, then leapt back.
But it wasn't enough.
Chen Bai surged forward, bloodlust ignited, and grabbed Lin by the throat mid-dodge. "Let's see you talk now."
His grip tightened.
Lin's vision began to dim.
> "Release the core resonance," the AI urged. "Just enough to disrupt his Qi channels—don't kill."
Lin clenched his jaw, closed his eyes—and let a thread of the fused core's energy slip through his body.
Golden light rippled beneath his skin, just for an instant.
Chen Bai screamed, releasing him as his arm spasmed uncontrollably.
Lin gasped for air, spun, and struck with his elbow to Chen Bai's temple.
The giant collapsed.
Silence followed.
No one clapped.
No one moved.
Then Huo Tian gave a single, deliberate nod. "Surprising."
He motioned to the others. "Get him to the healers. Xuanyuan stays."
The crowd dispersed slowly, a few pairs of eyes lingering on Lin—some with fear, others with interest.
That night, Lin sat again beneath the broken ceiling, his core trembling faintly. The blade on his back pulsed once—settling.
A knock came.
It wasn't Yan Yue.
A boy entered—small, nervous, with ink-stained fingers and a scroll case slung over his shoulder.
"I'm Min Ping," he said. "Archivist's apprentice. They said you should see this."
He unrolled a parchment. It showed a sigil—half-erased, half-burned—matching the mark etched into the blade's hilt.
"This," Min Ping whispered, "was the standard of the last emperor before the Fall. We only have fragments, but I've seen that mark twice before. On a ruin deep in the poison jungles… and once… on an ancient corpse encased in metal."
Lin stared at the sigil.
"I think," Min Ping added hesitantly, "you're part of something very, very old."
Lin took the scroll and studied it in the flickering torchlight.
The empire wasn't dead.
Not yet.
It was buried.
Waiting.
And he would be the one to raise it again.
Even if he had to start from a sect of ruins, lies, and ghosts.