The morning sun cast long shadows across the burned village of Blackwater. Smoke still rose from the charred remains of homes. Bodies lay scattered in the dirt streets. The stench of death filled the air.
Wei Liang stood among the corpses. His black robes were stained with dried blood. In his right hand, he gripped his iron spear. The weapon's tip dripped red onto the ground below.
"Pathetic," he muttered. His voice was cold as winter wind.
The villagers had tried to resist. They formed a militia with farming tools and kitchen knives. Old men and young boys stood together. They thought numbers would save them.
They were wrong.
Wei Liang had cut through them like wheat before the scythe. His spear moved like a striking serpent. Each thrust found its mark. Each swing opened new wounds.
The village elder had begged at the end. He offered gold and grain. He promised his daughters as concubines. Wei Liang had listened with empty eyes. Then he drove his spear through the old man's heart.
Now Wei Liang searched the ruins. He kicked over bodies and looked through burned houses. He needed something specific. Something that would make this slaughter worthwhile.
In the largest house, he found it. A jade box sat hidden beneath loose floorboards. Inside was an ancient scroll. The paper was yellow with age. The ink was faded but readable.
"The Iron Blood Manual," he read aloud.
This was what he came for. This cultivation technique would make him stronger. It would give him the power he craved. The power to crush anyone who stood in his way.
Wei Liang had been born into poverty. His father was a beggar. His mother died of hunger when he was ten. The world had shown him no mercy. Now he would show it none in return.
He rolled up the scroll and tucked it into his robes. As he turned to leave, he heard movement. A child crawled out from under a pile of debris. The boy could not be older than eight. His clothes were torn and bloody.
"Please," the child whispered. "Don't hurt me."
Wei Liang stared down at the boy. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. A memory of his own childhood. Of hunger and fear and helplessness.
Then his face hardened again.
"There is no place for weakness in this world," he said.
His spear flashed downward. The child's cry was cut short. Blood pooled in the dirt.
Wei Liang walked away without looking back. He had work to do. The Iron Blood Manual promised great power. But it required sacrifice. It demanded blood and pain and suffering.
He would give it all three.
The path to the mountain began at the village edge. Wei Liang followed it upward. Ancient pines grew thick on both sides. Their branches blocked out most of the sunlight. The air grew colder as he climbed.
After two hours of walking, he reached a cave. The entrance was hidden behind a waterfall. Inside, the walls were carved with strange symbols. This would be his new home. His place of cultivation.
Wei Liang spread the scroll on a flat rock. He began to read by torchlight. The Iron Blood Manual was different from other cultivation methods. It did not seek harmony with nature. It did not promote balance or peace.
Instead, it taught how to steal the life force of others. How to turn their blood into qi energy. How to make their deaths serve your strength.
"Perfect," Wei Liang smiled. His teeth gleamed white in the flickering light.
He began the first exercise. It required him to meditate while holding fresh blood. He had plenty from the village massacre. He poured it into a bronze bowl and sat cross-legged before it.
The blood began to glow with a dark red light. Wei Liang felt power flowing into his body. His muscles grew stronger. His bones became denser. His qi pathways widened to hold more energy.
But the technique demanded more blood. Always more blood.
Three days later, a merchant caravan passed near the mountain. Wei Liang heard their voices echoing through the forest. He grabbed his spear and descended from the cave.
The caravan had twelve guards and six merchants. They traveled with two wagons full of silk and spices. Their weapons looked well-maintained. Their armor was good quality leather and iron.
Wei Liang did not care. The Iron Blood Manual had already made him stronger. He could feel new power coursing through his veins.
He attacked at dusk when they made camp. His spear struck like black lightning in the growing darkness. The first guard died before he could draw his sword. The second managed to shout a warning before Wei Liang's spear opened his throat.
The remaining guards formed a circle. They held their weapons ready. Their leader was a grizzled veteran with scars on his face.
"What do you want?" the leader demanded. "Gold? Goods? We can negotiate."
Wei Liang laughed. The sound was like breaking glass.
"I want your blood," he said.
Then he attacked in earnest. His spear became a blur of deadly steel. It pierced armor and shattered bones. The guards fell one by one. Their blood painted the forest floor crimson.
The merchants tried to run. Wei Liang hunted them through the trees. His enhanced speed let him catch them easily. Soon all eighteen members of the caravan lay dead.
Wei Liang gathered their blood in leather waterskins. He would need it for the next stage of cultivation. The Iron Blood Manual promised even greater power. But the price would be higher too.
As he prepared to return to his cave, Wei Liang heard horses approaching. Torchlight flickered between the trees. Voices called out in the darkness.
"Search the area! The caravan should have reached the way station by now!"
Imperial soldiers. They had come looking for the missing merchants. Wei Liang counted at least twenty horses. Maybe thirty soldiers total.
A normal cultivator might have fled. But Wei Liang was not normal. The blood of eighteen people flowed through his qi channels. He felt stronger than ever before.
He stepped into the torchlight with his spear ready.
"Looking for something?" he asked.