Author's Note: Do Not Unlock Yet. Chapter Is Still Under Construction.

-------------

Victor exhaled while stepping back but holding the line. "Erm just a regular dude who eats his vegetables?"

The sky above the Ironhand Marauders stronghold darkened with thunderclouds as the eyes of the Ironhand Marauders Lord locked onto Victor with cold intensity.

"You've caused enough trouble, boy," the Lord voiced while slowly raising his blade. "Let me show you what it means to rule through strength."

Victor said nothing. His breathing was steady. His crimson-lined black robe flapped gently as wind rolled across the wasteland. Then came the glow—the sharp, golden arrow-like markings that lit across his arms and torso, pulsating with Void essence. His hair floated upward, and space itself rippled around him.

Void Emperor Bloodline—activated.

The Lord struck first.

With a flash, he vanished—appearing behind Victor mid-swing with his lightning blade, cloaked in Phantom Thunder Steps, a rare movement art that created a static veil masking his presence.

Clang!

Victor pivoted just in time, his sword intercepting the blow. Sparks flew. A shockwave cracked the earth.

"Your reflexes..." the Lord muttered, retreating mid-air.

Victor didn't answer. He lunged forward instead, sliding into Phantom Mirage Step, and split into a dozen afterimages. The Lord scoffed and slashed sideways. Thunder surged outward in a whip-like arc, shattering most of the images.

Except the real one.

Victor had already appeared below the Lord, his Frost Bloom Palm coating his free hand in glacial qi. He slammed upward—crack!

The Lord's stomach caved slightly, frost crawling across his abdomen and slowing his inner circulation.

"Argh...!" The Lord gritted his teeth and backflipped.

Victor didn't give him time. He rotated and exhaled fire—Dragon Breathing Art: Skyfire Spiral.

A vortex of spinning flame burst from his mouth, shaped like a flaming buzzsaw. The Lord's eyes widened. He crossed his blade in defense, barely blocking it—though his robe burned, and the impact flung him backward into a stone pillar.

Smoke clouded the area.

Suddenly—

Whoosh!

A blade cut from behind Victor—not the Lord's. A clone?

Victor shadow-blinked, reappearing above.

Too slow.

The clone vanished, and the real Lord, hidden behind it, unleashed Flickering Edge Descent, a multi-sword projection art from the Lightning Phantom Scripture. Dozens of curved lightning blades fell from the sky.

Victor clenched his palm and extended qi invisibly—Spatial Cloak—covering a flat slab of stone.

He hurled the now-invisible slab through the air, spinning it.

Slice!

Two of the lightning blades struck the slab midair and shattered harmlessly.

Victor used Wind Glide, double-jumping through the air and hurling a Gale Strike downward. The turbulence crashed into the Lord like a hurricane wall.

This time, the Lord growled in pain.

"You're... no ordinary Nascent Soul brat," he muttered, blood trailing from the edge of his mouth. "I'll rip your soul apart."

The ground trembled.

The Lord's qi pulsed strangely—then Victor's surroundings changed. Shadows slithered, forming phantom limbs that clawed toward his soul.

Soul Arts.

Victor winced. His vision flickered. It felt like cold nails were scraping his consciousness.

This wasn't his domain of strength. He bit his lip, drawing blood to force clarity. His physical body moved even as his soul trembled. He spun and slashed out with Phantom Moon Slash, masking his strike within multiple afterimage slashes.

But the Lord didn't dodge.

"Too predictable!"

He redirected Victor's real blade and counterattacked—plunging his sword into Victor's shoulder.

Blood spurted.

Victor grunted, eyes wide.

The Lord laughed, but the smirk vanished quickly.

"Why—can't I pull my blade out?!"

Victor smirked through gritted teeth. "That's the problem... with trusting your senses too much."

He had coated the hilt of the Lord's blade with a sliver of invisible qi using Spatial Cloak, causing the weapon to temporarily anchor itself to his shoulder by manipulating space itself.

Before the Lord could react, Victor's free hand surged forward—Frost Bloom Palm, again. This time, at close range to the chest.

Boom!

A wave of frost qi exploded, and the Lord was blasted backward, ribs shattered, body covered in ice patches that crackled and slowed his movements.

Victor stumbled and pulled the blade from his shoulder with a grunt, tossing it aside.

"You think you've won?!" The Lord roared. His soul aura flared again.

But Victor blinked from view.

And reappeared mid-air behind him—Shadow Crescent Strike, cloaked with Spatial Cloak, completely invisible.

The Lord spun—too late.

The curved slash passed through the Lord's chest—not around it.

He didn't even feel the cut until he saw blood burst in front of him and the phantom shadow of the slash curve upward into the sky.

The Lord dropped to one knee, coughing blood.

Victor descended slowly, his glowing skin dimming, hair settling, breath ragged.

"You..." the Lord wheezed, "You're not just Lingyun Sect... you're something else..."

Victor walked past him, sword dragging behind him.

"I told your men to surrender," he said. "You didn't listen."

With one final motion, he turned and slashed horizontally, sending a gust of qi wind—

SPLAT!

The Lord's head soared through the air and landed with a dull thud against the blackened soil.

Silence reigned once more.

Victor exhaled and dropped to one knee, clutching his injured shoulder. His robe was soaked in blood, and his qi was nearing depletion.

But the Ironhand Marauders were no more.

He glanced at the fallen body of the once-feared Lord.

"This world has enough tyrants," Victor muttered. "Time someone started clearing them out."

---

---sss

The dawn breeze carried a tang of iron as Bai Xue and her squad of Ashen Hawks returned to Lingyun's north gate, dragging the broken remnants of the Ironhand Marauders' hideout behind them. The scattered bodies of defeated rogues lay in the wagon bed, still slick with mana burn marks and scorched earth. Without a word, Bai Xue knelt atop the wheelbox, drawing her slender blade. With one swift slice, she decapitated each corpse, tilting their empty skulls into her waiting hands.

Victor watched in grim silence as she pressed each severed head onto a stout wooden stake. The blood-rimed stakes were then planted one by one in the soft earth along the outer perimeter of the gate. As Bai Xue positioned the last head—complete with a mocking grin frozen in death—Victor felt the chill of the tableau. A warning, etched in gore, to any who might seek to storm Lingyun Town.

Behind them, the banners of the Bai family fluttered against the copper gate, their jade-crane sigils newly bright. "Let this be the first of many," Bai Xue said, voice low, lips curving in satisfaction. "Let every rogue know that Lingyun's walls bleed for those who dare breach them."

Victor returned her gaze with somber approval. "They will scare off half the marauders in the eastern ridges."

As Bai Xue and the Ashen Hawks departed, Victor turned back to the ruins of the Marauders' camp. The wreckage of shattered tents and splintered wood lay underfoot, and the morning light glinted off discarded weapons and broken talismans. Viktor knelt and began to gather the spoils: steel-edged chakrams etched with cursed runes, leather pouches of smoky quartz to fuel shadow spells, and intricately carved totems bound with fading spirit qi—trophies of a warband's ill-gotten gains.

In a battered chest tucked beneath a collapsed canopy, he found a small, intricately carved ebony box bound by bands of cold steel. Every lock and latch defied his efforts: his fingers danced across seals, his breath infused Void Severing Thread at the seams, even his Dragon's Roar Flame whispered warmth against the metal. Yet the box remained sealed, silent, mocking. When Victor touched the lid, his vision flickered with a system prompt:

[ Mystery Box ]

Contents: Unknown

Unlock Method: ? ? ? ?

He frowned. "Great," he murmured. "Another puzzle." The box would wait.

Nearby lay rolls of parchment—deeds, contracts, tax records stamped with seals from the neighboring villages of Willowbrook, Emberford, and Stormhollow. Each deed was signed by Marauder magistrates who had extorted those towns under threat of iron-fist rule. Even a collection of counterfeit spirit-coin ledgers lay mixed with small wooden stamps bearing the Ironhand crest. Victor straightened, mind already working the angles.

A notification pinged in his vision:

[ New Objective ]

Return stolen goods to Willowbrook, Emberford, and Stormhollow. Restore their rightful owners.

Victor gathered the deeds and the stack of keys—heavy iron rings passed through the parchments—and slung them over his shoulder. He tucked the Mystery Box into his cloak's inner pocket and strode back toward the gate, where a battered guard offered a respectful bow. "They won't bother us again," the guard said.

Victor nodded. "Not if we finish the job." He mounted his riding beast—a sleek, narrow-muzzled dire stag gifted by Bai Xue's retainers—and galloped eastward along the old trade road.

---

Delivering Justice to Willowbrook

The first stop was Willowbrook, a riverside village whose wooden palisade had been battered by Marauder raids. As Victor neared the broken gate, villagers clustered at the ramparts—some wide-eyed with hope, others wary of yet another stranger bearing gifts. Victor reined in his mount and called out, "Fang Chen of Lingyun Town. I have what was stolen from your village."

A middle-aged woman in soot-streaked robes clutched her son's hand and approached. Victor presented her the deed to the village mill: a torn parchment stained with mud. "Your mill's ownership is restored," he announced. She broke into tears and embraced the document. Behind her, a group of craftsmen hurried forth, carrying battered sacks of grain and ruined milling stones—surplus provisions Og territory was forced to send to the Marauders. Victor allocated them to the millwrights and watched as the villagers set about repairing their gate and mill in renewed fervor.

"Thank you," the woman sobbed. "Lingyun will always be our ally."

---

Freedom for Emberford

Next was Emberford, set atop a windswept mesa plateau. The entrance was flanked by cracked sandstone columns and tumbleweed. Victor dismounted, raising a polished steel seal stamped with the town's emblem—two crossed hammers on a blood-red field. "This seal was used to extort your forge," he told the blacksmith guild master, a burly man with ash-white hair. "It belongs to you now."

As the seal changed hands, Victor produced a pouch of spirit-coin ledgers—each entry erased, debts forgiven at a single stroke of his sword's hilt. The guild master roared his gratitude, bellowing to assembled forges to resume their work. Iron hissed in roaring furnaces once more, and the clang of hammer on anvil rang in the crisp air—an anthem of newfound liberty.

---

Rescuing Stormhollow

The final stop lay through dense, drizzling woods to Stormhollow—a mountain hamlet renowned for harvests of rare rain lilies. Marauder thugs had commandeered their granaries and imposed heavy grain tariffs. Victor arrived as twilight fell, the villagers huddled under dripping eaves. He held aloft a set of battered grain scales and the original distribution ledgers, now bearing the rightful Stormhollow crest. "The taxes you paid to marauders—returned to you," he declared.

A tall elder stepped forward, gnarled staff in hand. "We feared our lilies would rot under the weight of their demands. You have saved our seeds—and our children's futures."

He pressed the scales into Victor's palm, bowing in deference.

With three villages restored, Victor felt a warmth spread through his chest. The road back to Lingyun Town took him through moonlit pines, each rustle of leaf a reminder of the peace he had forged.

---

A Hero's Rewards

When he returned to Lingyun Town two days later, system notifications bloomed in his vision:

[ Reputation Increased: +500 ]

[ Achievement Unlocked: Champion of the Three Towns ]

[ Reward: 100,000 Wisps of Qi ]

[ Reward: "Justice's Scale" Bloodline Enhancement ]

The townsfolk cheered as Victor rode into the square; children waved torches, and elders knelt to touch the hem of his cloak. Bai Xue approached, offering him a flask of sweet mead. "Well done," she said, voice proud. "You've given hope back to three villages."

Victor winked. "All in a day's ride." He set the Mystery Box on a stone bench. "Now, to unlocking this."

---

A Return to the Valley

The cheers faded into the nightsong of crickets as Victor looked to the eastern road. Only three days remained before the Ascendant Realms session would end for him. He had one final priority: to meet Tarkos and continue his cultivation in the Valley of Qi Eddies—the place he had first spawned in this realm.

The next morning, he mounted a swift-gray cloudhorse—gifted by the grateful Emberford Guild—and galloped toward the valley. The landscape shifted from rolling fields to rugged limestone peaks, the air thick with rising qi. The Valley of Qi Eddies lay concealed beneath drifting mists, a sunken basin where petals of azure energy danced like will-o'-wisps above jade-wet grass.

There, on a smooth granite slab beside the swirling eddy-pool, stood Tarkos—lean, sharply dressed in assassin's black leathers, twin daggers at his hips. His back rippled with inky tattoos that sprang to life as Victor approached. Tarkos's pale smile was as cold as moonlight.

"Fang Chen," he said, voice echoing across the eddy. "You returned just in time."

Victor dismounted, gripping Tarkos's extended hand. "Three days left," he replied, stepping into the swirling qi. "Let's make them count."

And so, beneath the towering cliffs and amid the shimmering spirals of primal energy, Victor and Tarkos sat in silent vow. Tomorrow, the warbands beyond the Broken Spine Trail would learn that Lingyun's champion was not merely a phantom of legend—but a force that reshaped the very world around him.

In the Valley of Qi Eddies, time itself slowed under the influence of Victor's Void Emperor domain. And in those gentle, stretched hours, he would refine the arts he had won, readying himself for the trials to come—both in Ascendant Realms and the world he would soon return to at dawn's first bell.

---sss

The Valley of Qi Eddies lay hushed under a blanket of dawn mist as Victor Revenant closed his eyes and sank into the final wave of cultivation. For three days—virtually twenty-one in the realm of Ascendant Realms—he had remained within his Void Emperor domain, folding space and time around himself to amplify every heartbeat of learning. His qi had soared, his Void Bloodline integration crept from 62% to a threshold unspoken yet palpable in the tremor of his aura. Tarkos had guided him through hidden pathways of Void Silksmanship, teaching him to weave pockets of null-space into his strikes.

But now, the final moment had arrived. Victor opened his eyes and felt the air pulse against his skin—a reminder that even the greatest feats must end. He rose from the granite slab, stretching limbs humming with newfound potency. Across the swirling eddy-pool, Tarkos waited, daggers sheathed, tattoos glimmering with anticipation.

Victor approached, extracting the polished brass fragment of the Anchor Disk from his girdle. "This is it," he said, holding it out. "When I log out, you'll be alone in Blueflame City. Use this. It will teleport you to the Violet Springs Sect, and I'll be there."

Tarkos nodded, slipping the disk fragment into his pocket. "Safe travels, Fang Chen. I'll see you soon."

Victor smiled—wry, brief. "One last stop."

---

He walked the narrow path back toward Lingyun Town, each step echoing a lifetime of memories. As the town gates receded into view—now fully restored, the walls glimmering with fresh plaster, the banners of the Fang Chen Day celebration still hung in loose salute—Victor realized how tethered he had become to this place.

In the town square, Chen Wen waited by the twin-crane statue, flanked by villagers whose eyes shone with respectful awe. Bai Ting Ting stood behind Chen Wen, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Across the circle, Bai Xue watched from the shadows, her pale hair drifting like moonlight.

Victor dismounted his dire stag and strode forward. The villagers bowed in unison, voices rising in a single chant: "Fang Chen, our savior!"

He inclined his head. "Thank you all," he said, voice carrying over the stone. "Remember—courage, unity, and vigilance will keep Lingyun strong."

Chen Wen stepped forward, clasping Victor's forearm. "You return tomorrow?" he asked, eyes hopeful.

Victor offered him the other half of the Anchor Disk—smaller now, its edges worn but its glow undimmed. "If you need me—tap this fragment," he said. "I'll come back."

Chen Wen's eyes misted. "I owe you everything." He bowed.

Victor nodded, then turned to Bai Ting Ting and Bai Xue, exchanging quick words of gratitude and farewell. In Bai Xue's gaze he saw gratitude laced with unspoken warnings—this world would miss him, but he would return.

At last, he mounted his stag. With a final glance at the blossoming gates of Lingyun, he touched the fragment.

---

The world lurched. Victor's vision blurred, then snapped into the familiarity of his dorm room at the Awakened Academy. The VR helmet's interface flickered off, leaving him blinking at the blank ceiling. His wrist-timer read Sunday morning, 8:15 AM.

"Mornin'," Kairo's voice drifted from the foot of the bunk. He was laced in camouflage fatigues—headed to Camp 13 training. "You look like you pulled an all-nighter, Revenant."

Victor yawned, swinging his legs over the side. "Something like that," he said, voice hoarse. He rolled up his sleeves and moved to the door. "See you later."

Down the corridors, the cleaning staff had already begun their Sunday shift. Victor rounded the corner to the east dormitory wing—his punishment station for the weekend. Mop bucket in hand, he set to work, scrubbing floors and wiping railings with the same fierce precision he had brought to every task in Lingyun.

Two hours passed in methodical labor. Then, as the final scrub-brush stroke cleared scuff marks from the corridor, Victor rinsed the mop and set it aside. His punishment shift was done; the weekend end of community service concluded. Tomorrow, the automated assignment panel would dispatch him to Feedhub duty—serving meals to hungry awakened pupils. He grimaced at the thought but forced a smile. "One thing at a time," he muttered.

To reward himself, he headed directly to the personal sword-training grounds. There, he unsheathed his legacy warrior sword—five feet of dark steel crackling with the promise of thunder and lightning. He vaulted onto the practice platform, letting the first rays of Sunday sun glint off the blade.

He launched into a sequence of flows: Shadow Crescent Strike, tearing a long arc through morning mist; Phantom Moon Slash, two swift cuts that seemed to warp the world around him; Gale Strike, a flash of wind that scattered fallen petals. Each strike left rings of energy upon the wooden target dummies.

As he trained, he overheard two first-year students at the edge of the grounds, their voices carrying over the clang of steel and the thrum of energy.

"You ready for the Outland Excursion?" asked the first, wide-eyed. "They said Sector K-22 is where they'll take us."

The second snickered. "Ha! They'll send us to that Drakenar wasteland? I heard the MD Corps fought there years ago—still crawling with rogue Drakenars who survived the purge."

The first paled. "You mean those reptile-warrior fiends… my father died in a Drakenar raid. They butchered his caravan by the Underroot Pass."

Victor's grip tightened. His knuckles popped against the sword's hilt. "Outland Excursion," the second student murmured. "It's tomorrow. Time for first-years to see the true danger beyond the domes."

Victor's heart hammered. A Drakenar war party leader had blood on his hands for his father's death. Though the Drakenars had been all but eradicated, their last pockets of renegades still haunted Sector K-22 like ghost stories given flesh. This official excursion—under the Academy's banner—would send naïve first-years into the lair of his father's murderers.

He slowed his practice, lowering the blade. The world narrowed to the two students talking near the pavilion. Their feet fumbled, eyes bright with fear.

Victor took a deep breath. Tomorrow. They would journey beyond domed cities, beyond the underwater academy, into a restoration zone patrolled by MD Corps—but rumored to be overrun by Drakenar refugees. A massacre in waiting.

He clenched the blade, the pressure of his Nascent Soul Realm aura radiating outward. The air popped, tiny cracks preserving a circle of stillness. "I won't let that happen," he muttered, black hair spilling over his brow.

He tested the blade with an upward slash and sheathed it. The steel whispered across the scabbard, an iron promise: I will protect them.

Victor vaulted down from the platform, stride firm. The first-years would need more than observation—they would need guidance, a shield. And of that he was certain: tomorrow, when the Outland Excursion set forth, Victor Revenant would be there, sword drawn, ready to face old enemies for new generations.

Because some debts never die. Some blades never sheath. And some promises—etched in blood and vengeance—are never broken.

----sss

The captain hesitated, recognizing the valor in Victor's stance and the seal of Bai Ting Ting—his defection likely meant more to the family's reputation than an open massacre. He barked an order, but the two recruited miners knocked weapons from the guards' hands. Chen Wen, despite exhaustion, raised his axe beside Victor's sword.

The guards faltered, and the captain cursed. "After them!"

Victor snarled, "Not today."

He activated Gale Strike, wind whipping around them, and shoved through the guard line. The three fugitives sprinted toward the forest, lanterns bobbing behind them like angry fireflies.

---

By dawn, Victor had led Chen Wen and the two miners to safety within a hidden grove gifted by Bai Xue—her own secret route into the forest. Chen Wen sank to his knees beside a clear spring, water glinting in his tear-bright eyes. He splashed his face and looked up at Victor.

"Thank you," he whispered. "You saved me."

Victor clasped his shoulder. "No one deserves slavery," he said. "I promised vengeance for your father. Now I'll keep it."

Chen Wen handed Victor the sealed copy of the mining manifests. "This will free towns from their debts—and expose the family's crimes."

Victor nodded, bind the pledge firmly in his mind. "It will. Now—go find your father if he lives. I'll handle the rest."

Chen Wen embraced him in trembling relief before disappearing into the woods, the dawn sun gilding his retreat.

Victor watched him go, then retrieved the Mystery Box from his cloak. He tucked the manifests and box into his belt pouch, eyes aflame with purpose.

In a single night, he had uncovered the family's deepest secret—and rescued the innocent heart he had sworn to protect.

He would return to the manor at dawn, ledger in hand, ready to tear down the Bai–Qin tyranny from within—piece by piece, secret by secret, for vengeance and for justice.

And when the final reckoning came, no walls would hold him back.

---sss

---sss

The moon hung high, cloaked in mist, its silver light barely seeping through the dense clouds that loomed above Bai Qing Mountain. The annexed Bai and Qin family estate was quiet tonight. But that stillness was a lie. Beneath the surface, fires had already begun to spread—small, invisible ones, lit by the hand of a young man named Fang Chen.

Victor, or rather Fang Chen within Ascendant Realms, had been anything but idle. Since worming his way into the good graces of the Qin faction, he had played the role of the eager recruit perfectly. Always respectful, always sharp, always useful. But behind the courteous bow and the humble nods was a storm waiting to break.

Each day, he slipped into places he shouldn't have been. Heard whispers he wasn't meant to hear. And each night, he sowed doubt and tension among the two factions of the once-separate Bai and Qin houses, setting up false messages, anonymous reports, and manipulated meetings that gradually corroded their alliance.

But tonight wasn't about sowing seeds.

Tonight was harvest.