CHAPTER 125: FIRE

He didn’t know whether it was the ground beneath his feet spinning or if he himself was the one rotating, but everything around Damien suddenly lost its stability. Little White’s voice faded into an unintelligible whisper, and Arctic’s figure blurred from the corner of his vision—both vanishing like mist under sunlight.

His senses grew muffled.

His perception twisted.

Then... the world dissolved into pure, blinding white.

There was no pain. No movement. No breath.

Just a vast, blank nothingness.

Damien couldn’t tell if seconds passed or entire centuries. Time seemed to stretch infinitely, until suddenly, clarity returned like a light flickering on in a dark room.

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the inheritance ground. No trace of the stone pillars, ancient runes, or hellish genie remained.

He stood in an entirely different world.

His eyes widened in surprise—but that surprise deepened the moment he looked down at himself.

"What is this...?"

Gone were his flesh and bones.

His arms, his torso, his legs—everything was now forged from a glass-like jade substance. Smooth, polished, and utterly transparent, his new form shimmered faintly with an inner glow.

Each movement caused subtle ripples of light to dance across his limbs, like moonlight on still water.

He could see through himself. Yet, instead of feeling horror... he only felt familiarity.

A ghostly form—ethereal, beautiful, and unexplainably nostalgic.

Did I die... and become a ghost?

The thought slipped into his mind with a wry smile tugging at his lips.

Strangely, there was no panic. No dread.

Instead, a sense of profound safety wrapped around him like a warm blanket in winter. It was a primal comfort, as if he had returned to his mother’s embrace—gentle, soothing, and absolute.

The emotion was so deep, so alien to his recent battles, that it caught him off guard.

A moment passed before he gathered his thoughts, steadied his breath—not that this new body required breathing—and slowly turned his gaze to take in the new world around him.

The first thing he noticed was the architecture.

What kind of houses are those?

Row upon row of ancient structures stretched before him, their wooden frames and elegant, slanted roofs whispering of a long-lost civilization. The tiles were dark, and their curved edges glistened with fresh rain. They were unmistakably Eastern—like something pulled straight from an old painting of the Dragon Country.

The soil underfoot was soft and damp, carrying a faint earthy fragrance.

Above, heavy black clouds hung low, brooding and pregnant with thunder. The wind was crisp, carrying a chill that nipped at the skin—if he had any.

It felt like a land on the edge of a storm.

He began to wander.

His jade-like feet made no sound on the muddy path. Every step was silent, like a ghost gliding through the realm of mortals.

He walked aimlessly, not guided by logic, but by instinct.

And then, in the distance, the faint shouts of young men and women caught his attention. Their voices echoed through the mist—energetic, high-pitched, brimming with passion and youthful spirit.

He turned toward the sound.

Up ahead stood a large wooden hut—more like a training hall than a home. The shouts grew clearer with every step, sharp and rhythmic like a martial chant.

Damien stopped in place, hesitating.

His fingers curled slightly.

His current form was anything but normal. What if the people inside attacked him on sight? What if this world wasn’t as peaceful as it looked?

Yet despite his hesitation, he couldn’t deny the pull.

Something about that place... about those voices... felt familiar.

Like a memory long buried.

And deep within, a whisper stirred.

A calling.

Just as Damien was lost in thought, contemplating whether or not to approach the strange building, the silence was broken by a loud crack. The wooden gate of the hut was flung open with such force it slammed against the wall, startling even the birds from nearby trees. A small figure was hurled out like a discarded ragdoll.

Damien froze, caught off guard by the sudden development. His gaze locked onto the figure, and as the dust settled, he saw it was a young boy—no older than ten.

The child lay sprawled on the ground, his face smeared with mud, blood, and bruises. His frail body trembled slightly, but what truly caught Damien’s attention were his eyes.

Although partially swollen, one of the boy’s eyes remained slightly open, shimmering with something rare and hard to define—something Damien knew all too well.

"Those eyes..." Damien whispered under his breath, his voice laced with disbelief.

As a gang leader, he had crossed paths with countless individuals—some born with brilliance, others hopelessly mediocre. Over time, he had developed a keen instinct for spotting people who were different.

What set the truly exceptional apart wasn’t strength or talent alone—it was the fire, the refusal to break, the sheer defiance etched into the soul.

And this boy... this beaten, discarded child... had that look.

The fire hadn’t been extinguished.

Damien didn’t move. He simply stood there, silent and watching, his ghost-like form shimmering faintly in the gray atmosphere. Although he was deeply impressed, he didn’t dare approach. He expected the boy to notice him at any moment and scream his lungs out.

Yet, strangely, the boy didn’t even lift his head.

Instead, he slowly sat up, wincing from the pain, and wiped his face with a tattered sleeve. There wasn’t a single flicker of emotion in his expression—not shame, not fear, not anger. Just calm, eerie composure.

Damien’s frown deepened.

From behind the half-open gate, more voices spilled out, sharp and dripping with venom.

"Hehe... taught him a lesson! How dare that no name peasant breath the same air as us Noble kids?"

"Yeah, next time he steps inside to learn martial arts, I’ll break all his damn bones!"

Damien narrowed his eyes, disconcerted by the malice in their words.

Tender children spitting such poisonous insults with ease—it revealed more than just immaturity. It spoke of an environment soaked in cruelty. A world where hierarchy and status were so deeply entrenched that even the young were indoctrinated into disdain.

If Damien could hear it so clearly, the boy surely could too.

He watched carefully, half-expecting the child to scream back, to weep or curse or throw a stone in rage.

But what the boy did next left Damien completely speechless.

He stood up slowly and turned away from the hut. Without glancing back, without a single tremor of emotion, he began walking, his steps steady despite his injuries.

As Damien floated silently behind him, growing more curious by the second, he finally heard the boy whisper to himself, his voice quiet but thoughtful.

"Is this what Father meant when he said, ’Little Yu, we can’t control the situations the world throws at us, but how we react to those situations is up to us’? When those nobles attacked me... I could have fought back in anger. But if I did... I’d be walking a path that isn’t mine. By choosing to ignore them... am I resisting the fate they want me to follow?"

Damien halted in place, stunned by the depth of the boy’s reflection.

That wasn’t something a normal child would say.

There was silence again. Only the sound of distant wind brushing against the wooden eaves filled the space.

Damien didn’t know what to say. He simply stood there, as if the words had pierced something deep inside him.

The world around them seemed to blur for a moment, like a painting brushed by wind—faint, surreal, and fragile.

And for the first time since arriving in this strange realm, Damien didn’t feel like a bystander.

He felt like a witness to something... important.

Little Yu continued to walk in silence, his small figure moving steadily through the dense mountain paths. Hours passed, and the scattered wooden huts that once dotted the surroundings had long disappeared, swallowed by the forest and the fading daylight.

His footsteps were slow, deliberate, almost too calm for someone his age. It was as if he were waiting for something—or someone—to appear.

Then, without warning, he stopped.

Yu’s small head turned slightly as his gaze swept across the treeline. His eyes, still youthful but hardened by experience, searched the area carefully. His shoulders tensed, his breathing slowed, and he scanned the path behind him with a practiced wariness that didn’t suit a child.

Damien, watching from the shadows, felt a strange chill crawl up his spine.

For a brief moment, Yu’s eyes seemed to land directly on Damien’s hidden form.

A flicker of surprise crossed Damien’s face. Did he just... see me? The thought surfaced instinctively.

But he quickly shook his head. No. That was impossible. The boy didn’t possess the cultivation level or spiritual sensitivity to detect his presence.

And indeed, as if to confirm his thoughts, Yu’s gaze moved on, showing no signs of suspicion. After a few more seconds of scanning, he turned away and stepped off the worn path, heading toward a narrow trail hidden by hanging vines and wild grass.

The detour led him to a secluded hut, nestled behind a massive stone formation that shielded it from view. It was a humble structure, with moss-covered walls and a sagging wooden roof—clearly maintained by a child’s hands rather than an adult’s.

Yu paused at the threshold, letting out a quiet sigh. His eyes dimmed slightly as he straightened his tattered clothes, brushing off dirt and smoothing the wrinkles. Then, with a careful motion, he reached into his sleeve and wiped away the last traces of blood that stained the corner of his lips.

"I can’t let Little Mei see me like this..." he whispered to himself, voice low and steady.

"She’s still growing up. I won’t let her see these bad things or might affecte her negatively."

Damien stood frozen a few feet away, hidden behind a bush. He said nothing, only watched silently as the boy composed himself like a soldier returning from war—pretending nothing had happened.

There was no adult in the hut. No guardian, no elder.

Just Yu... and his little sister.

They lived alone here in the remote mountains, far away from the protection of the cities and sects. Alone—but not weak. At least not in will.