The bodies were ash now.
Lucien had burned them with their own spirit stones, a crude but effective method to erase the evidence. The flames rose high into the night, and for a brief moment, he wondered if someone above was watching. Maybe a clan elder. Maybe a sibling. Maybe the gods themselves.
He hoped they saw it.
Let them know what they created.
By the time the sun rose, he was gone, leaving behind only scorched earth and a silence thicker than before.
Lucien walked until the forest changed.
The trees thinned. The air lightened. The shadows didn't cling to him so tightly. For the first time since his fall, he could see the edges of the world again—the winding dirt roads, scattered farmsteads, and distant silhouettes of towns.
Civilization.
He stood on a hill overlooking it all, the Wrath Core thrumming softly in his chest. His wounds from the last fight had mostly closed, and his stamina had returned faster than expected. He wasn't whole, not yet, but he was no longer prey.
And more importantly—he now had something close to control.
[Wrath Core: 14%][Skill Proficiency: Infernal Pulse – 17%][Sin Trait: Pain → Strength Active][Codex Status: 1/7 Sins Connected]
Still a long way to go. But it had begun.
He touched his chest, where the strange warmth of the Codex's presence lingered. Sometimes, he could hear faint echoes—distant murmurs of wrath not his own. Rage older than memory. Anger that had sunk into the bones of the world.
He wasn't sure if it was a blessing.
But it was his.
He entered the village at dusk.
A simple place—stone houses, wooden carts, and tired faces. Farmers, traders, worn-down cultivators with barely active cores. No sect presence. No guards. Just people trying to survive.
Exactly the kind of place that didn't ask questions.
Lucien pulled his hood low and made his way to the tavern. The building leaned slightly to one side, the scent of stale beer and wood smoke hanging heavy in the air. Inside, a fire crackled and a few travelers nursed drinks in silence.
He sat at the farthest table, back to the wall, watching.
He didn't need food. The absorption from the hunters had filled him for now.
But he needed information.
A barmaid with copper hair approached cautiously. "Evening," she said, voice soft. "Stranger, are you—?"
"A drink. Water. And news," Lucien interrupted. His voice had changed. Quieter, sharper. The kind of voice people didn't argue with.
She blinked, nodded, and scurried off.
When she returned, she set the water down with a faint tremble.
"Three days ago," she began, unprompted. "A patrol of bounty cultivators passed through. Said they were chasing a rogue."
Lucien's gaze flicked up.
"Rogue?"
She nodded. "Some fallen clan child. The kind the noble sects don't want around. Said there was a bounty for his corpse."
He said nothing.
She looked nervous, fidgeting with her apron. "They haven't come back."
Lucien sipped the water. "Shame."
"People say... someone saw smoke in the east hills. Thought it was a forest fire. Might've been them."
He leaned forward. "Anyone else looking for him?"
She hesitated. Then, with a glance to the door, she lowered her voice.
"There's a monk in the temple nearby. Not a normal one. He's... strange. Asked the same questions yesterday. Said he was hunting a 'sin-touched soul.' Nobody knew what he meant."
Lucien's hand tightened around the cup.
"Where?"
"Old Shrine. West edge of the village, just past the rice fields. Used to be abandoned. He's been there two nights now."
Lucien nodded.
He stood.
Dropped a silver coin on the table.
And left without another word.
The old shrine looked forgotten. Cracked tiles, faded banners, a crooked altar. The lanterns outside were still lit, flickering in the soft wind. The fields behind it swayed in silence.
Lucien approached quietly.
The door creaked as he entered.
Inside, incense burned low, the scent bitter and herbal. A lone figure knelt before the altar—a man in black and crimson robes, his head shaved clean, but not a monk's shaven humility. No. His aura pulsed with killing intent, quiet but sharp, like a sword hidden in shadow.
"You're late," the man said without turning.
Lucien didn't flinch. "I wasn't invited."
"True." The man rose slowly. "But your scent is loud. The Codex hums inside you."
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "You know about it?"
"I do more than know it." The man turned—and smiled.
His eyes were solid red.
Not like blood.
Like fire.
Lucien's hand instinctively moved to his side. "What are you?"
The man chuckled. "A pilgrim. Like you. Once." He stepped closer, light glinting off the chains wrapped around his arms. "I bore Gluttony. You bear Wrath. Different sins, same origin."
Lucien's heart thudded.
"You... cultivated sin?"
"Yes." His smile faded. "And it nearly destroyed me."
Lucien didn't back down. "Then why are you here?"
"To warn you. And to test you."
He moved.
Lucien barely had time to react.
The blow came fast, like a whip of heat. Lucien dodged, rolled, and released Infernal Pulse in a reflexive burst. The man took the hit—but didn't stagger. He absorbed it.
"What—"
"Sin cultivators cannot fight with fear," the man said calmly. "Our strength is not energy—it is defiance."
He struck again.
Lucien was ready this time.
He let the punch connect to his ribs. Pain flared.
[Sin Energy +2.3%]
He spun, elbowed the man in the temple, and drove a knee into his stomach.
The man grunted, then smiled.
"Better."
They fought for several more minutes—silent, vicious, close-range. No wasted movement. Lucien moved like a beast now, unrefined but lethal. The man tested him, pushed him, but never truly went for the kill.
Finally, he stepped back.
"Good," he said, breathing lightly. "You haven't broken."
Lucien was drenched in sweat, sides heaving.
"Why test me?" he asked.
"Because you're not the first bearer of Wrath. And most fall. Not to enemies. But to themselves."
Lucien stayed silent.
The man walked to the altar, pulled a scroll from beneath it, and tossed it to Lucien.
"A map. Not just of roads. But of sin locations. Other Codex fragments. The next one is north."
Lucien stared at him. "You're helping me?"
"No." He turned. "I'm surviving through you. If you rise, you burn the heavens. If you fall, you give them one more excuse to bury us all. Either way—our war continues."
And then he vanished.
Lucien stood alone, the scroll heavy in his hand.
Outside, the wind had shifted.
He looked up at the stars again.
Once, he thought they were beautiful.
Now, they looked like targets.