The midnight moon bathed the forest in a ghostly silver, casting fleeting shadows through the tall trees as the wind stirred the leaves with a low, mournful rustle.
A bone-deep chill crept through the air, a foreboding silence hanging thick like the final breath before the storm.
The campfire, once blazing, had long since been reduced to smoldering ash, its embers soaked in the blood of a lifeless body.
The acrid scent of iron blended with the wet, earthy musk of the forest, creating a haunting atmosphere that made the night itself seem alive.
Out of nowhere, a blade cleaved through the stillness, gleaming ominously under the moon’s glow.
It hissed through the air like a venomous serpent, aimed directly at Lucian’s arm with surgical precision, ready to cripple him in one decisive strike.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl.
Lucian’s blood-red eyes locked onto the advancing blade, his gaze as steady as the flow of time itself.
The world around him seemed to blur, fading into insignificance as the silver steel inched closer.
His breathing stilled, not a muscle in his body flinched. He stood motionless, unyielding, as if daring the very heavens to strike him down.
The attacker’s face twisted into a sneer, his lips curling with sadistic satisfaction.
“Courting death,” he spat under his breath, already savoring the victory he believed was within his grasp.
But just as the blade was a hair’s breadth away from tearing into flesh, Lucian’s arm shot forward with a force that defied the very laws of nature.
Like a thunderbolt from the heavens, his fist collided with the blade, the impact resounding through the night with a thunderous crack.
Crackle~
The sword shattered into countless fragments, the steel exploding into a shower of glittering shards that caught the moonlight, cascading to the ground like fallen stars.
The man’s expression twisted from triumph to pure, unbridled horror.
His eyes widened in disbelief, body frozen as though time itself had betrayed him.
Before he could even process the nightmare unfolding before him, Lucian’s foot slammed into his chest with a bone-shattering force.
Bang! Crack!!
The sickening sound of ribs breaking echoed through the forest, followed by the wet, guttural groan of blood gurgling from the man’s mouth.
“Agghhh— ”
His body was flung through the air, a broken, lifeless doll that crashed to the earth with a dull thud, unmoving, his breath seemed to snuff out as quickly as the flame of a candle.
The silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of what had just transpired pressing down on the remaining men like a vice.
Their breath hitched in their throats, eyes wide and filled with disbelief.
“Is he… is he also like us, a Transcendent?” one of the men stammered, his voice trembling as his hands shook uncontrollably, his face drained of all color.
Drake stood a few paces away, his heart pounding in his chest. The terror in his eyes was unmistakable — he was staring at something beyond his comprehension.
His mouth went dry, a cold sweat running down his spine. His legs felt weak, his knees on the verge of giving out.
How could this be happening? His mind raced, scrambling to make sense of what he’d just witnessed.
The leading man gasped for breath, his body trembling from the impact, fresh blood seeping from his mouth, yet his disbelief was even greater than his pain.
“Im… impossible! How could a mortal’s physical body withstand my One-Prohibation Blade?” his eyes widened in realization.
“Un… unless… he possesses a naturally born physical body, a monstrous strength beyond ordinary…” His gaze locked onto Lucian, who stood eerily still, unscathed.
Gritting his teeth, the man’s voice quivered with frustration, “all… all of you… attack together… kill… KILL him!”
His command broke the silence, but it was met with hesitation.
“But… senior brother,” one of them stammered, wide-eyed and pale, “this man seems to be also a cultivator.”
Suddenly, the spear-wielding man shouted in desperation, “junior brother, he’s still a mortal. This man only innately possesses a strong physical body! If we attack together, we’ll surely kill him!”
“Senior brother is rig—” The words barely left his lips when Lucian appeared in front of him, faster than the blink of an eye.
With a single, terrifying motion, his hand wrapped around the man’s throat, hoisting him into the air.
The man’s eyes bulged with panic, and he choked out, “D-don’t… don’t kill me! My cousin… my cousin is an inner sect disciple! He’ll—”
Crack!
Lucian’s grip tightened, silencing the man’s desperate plea, “how noisy!”
A sickening crack echoed through the trees as his neck snapped like a dry twig.
The body dropped lifelessly to the ground, crumpling like a ragdoll, while the forest swallowed the sound of his last breath.
As Lucian stood over the corpse, his heartbeat quickened.
Adrenaline surged through every fiber of his being, not from fear, but from something far more primal. He felt exhilarated.
The sensation was intoxicating. His body didn’t tremble, and there was no guilt gnawing at his soul.
He felt nothing. It was as if killing came as naturally to him as breathing, as though he had always known this path.
Before the remaining men could react, Lucian moved again.
Whoosh~
The first archer loosed his arrow in a panic, but it missed its mark, the whistling of the arrow lost in the chaos.
Lucian sidestepped the shot and closed the distance in a blink, his hand piercing through the man’s heart with one clean slash.
Puchi—
“Arghh!” The sound was brief, the archer collapsing in a heap.
The second archer turned to run, terror etched on his face.
“No… no… I can’t die here. I refused to die here. Junior sister is still waiting for me!”
His voice cracked, but Lucian was already there, his hand holding an arrow flashing in the moonlight.
Blood sprayed as the man’s throat was sliced, his body crumpling to the earth with a gurgling whimper.
The spearman, his hands trembling, gripped his weapon tightly and thrust it forward with all his strength.
His attacks were quick, relentless — yet desperate.
Lucian danced around the strikes, his movements smooth, unhurried.
With one swift motion, Lucian grabbed the spear, snapped it in two with a deafening crack, and impaled the man with the broken shaft.
“Arghhhh!” The spearman gasped, his body jerking before falling lifeless to the ground.
The last of the four, wielding a longsword, tried to stand his ground.
His form was strong, his strikes calculated, but Lucian countered every swing with ease, deflecting the blows as if toying with him.
The fight ended as quickly as it had begun — Lucian’s hand directly pierced through his heart with a sickening thud.
The swordsman’s mouth opened in a silent scream, before collapsing to the forest floor.
Drake, who had been watching from the sidelines, could feel his legs give out beneath him, “you t-two go and kill him!”
Lucian barely glanced at the two death soldiers as they charged toward him, their movements stiff but powerful.
Though their bodies were forged for battle, their minds were empty — void of any strategy or thought.
A simple grin flickered across Lucian’s face as he raised his hand.
With a single, effortless slap, his palm struck the first soldier’s neck, and the sound of bones snapping echoed through the night.
The man’s head twisted unnaturally, rotating 180 degrees before his lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
The second followed just as swiftly, meeting the same fate.
They were strong, but strength without thought was nothing before Lucian’s overwhelming power.
Seeing this, Drake didn’t dare to run. His body hit the ground with a dull thud, paralyzed by the horror unfolding before his eyes.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his gaze fixed on Lucian, who moved among the corpses like a butcher slaughtering livestock.
It was a sight Drake would never forget!
“Is this supposed to be the power of… an Immortal being!?”