The wind howled through the valleys, carrying with it the scent of burning wood and ash. The quiet mountain village of Yanjing had always been a place of peace—nestled far from the warring sects and kingdoms that dominated the world. For years, it had been a sanctuary, a hidden gem in the shadows of the great martial world. But now, the flames consumed it, devouring everything in their path.

  Wei Shuren stood at the edge of the forest, his heart pounding in his chest. The herbal pouch in his hand slipped from his fingers, the fragrant leaves scattering across the dirt path. His legs felt like lead as he took a step forward, then another, before breaking into a sprint.

  He wasn’t gone for long. Just a day’s journey to gather rare herbs for his mother’s healing salves. How could everything have changed so quickly? The village, his home, was now nothing more than a sea of flames.

  His father’s voice echoed in his mind, “Always be prepared, Shuren. The world may seem peaceful, but darkness hides in the most unexpected places.” He had always thought it was a lesson about martial arts, about being vigilant in battle. But now, as he stood before the destruction of everything he had known, he realized his father’s words carried a weight he hadn’t understood until now.

  The village square was a charred ruin. The sound of crackling wood and collapsing roofs filled the air, punctuated by the distant cries of the last survivors. The bodies of those he had known—friends, neighbors—lay scattered across the ground, some cut down by blades, others burnt beyond recognition.

  “Mother!” Wei’s voice cracked as he sprinted toward the remains of his home. The once modest house, where the scent of herbs and warm meals always welcomed him, was now a smoldering heap of debris. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sifted through the wreckage, his hands trembling. His heart pounded in his ears, louder than the inferno around him.

  And then, beneath the rubble, he found her.

  Her face was pale, her body cold. His mother’s once kind eyes were closed, her hands still clutching the family’s old herb basket. He fell to his knees, shaking, the weight of grief crushing him. He had always believed that as long as his family was by his side, everything would be fine. His mother’s gentle touch, her warm smile—they were the anchors that kept him grounded. But now, they were gone.

  Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision as he held her lifeless form close. "No... please," he whispered, choking on his words. "This can't be real. This can't be happening."

  “Father…”

  Wei turned his gaze toward the training yard beside their house. His father’s sword, once polished and cared for, now lay broken in two, embedded in the ground. The blade glinted faintly in the firelight, a symbol of the strength his father had always exuded.

  His father, Wei Zhen, had been the protector of the village, the last remaining martial artist in the region. He had taught Wei everything he knew about the basics of martial arts, but his father’s techniques were only a shadow of what they once were. Wei Zhen had left the world of sects long ago, choosing a peaceful life with his family, far from the power struggles that consumed so many others.

  But even that choice hadn’t been enough to keep them safe.

  A low growl of fury rumbled in Wei’s chest as he looked around. He hadn’t seen his father’s body yet, but he knew—he knew his father would never have let the village fall without a fight. Someone had done this. Someone had taken everything from him.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Who?”

  His hands clenched into fists as his body trembled with anger and grief. He could feel his heart racing, his chest tightening with a mixture of rage and sorrow. Whoever had attacked the village had to be far more powerful than he could have imagined. His father’s skill alone should have been enough to defend their home, but something—someone—had destroyed them.

  Wei’s thoughts spiraled, but he had no answers. All he knew was that the village wasn’t just destroyed—it was annihilated. The attackers hadn’t just killed the people; they had wiped out the entire place, leaving no trace of the peaceful life that once existed here.

  He scanned the wreckage, his mind racing. Who would have done this? What could they have wanted? His father had always been careful to keep the village hidden, to avoid attracting attention from the larger sects and empires. But none of that mattered now.

  The sound of footsteps echoed through the stillness, cutting through the crackling flames. Wei’s body tensed, and he turned toward the approaching figure. His instincts screamed at him to hide, to run, but he stood frozen in place, his grief and anger pinning him to the spot.

  A figure emerged from the smoke—a tall man dressed in dark, flowing robes adorned with the symbol of a crescent moon. His eyes glowed with a faint red light, and his expression was cold, detached. In his hand, he held a blood-stained blade that dripped with the lives it had taken.

  “Ah, one survivor,” the man said, his voice smooth and eerily calm. He looked at Wei with mild curiosity, as though he were examining a bug. “You must be the son of Wei Zhen.”

  Wei’s heart pounded as his mind raced. This man... this was the enemy. The one responsible for the destruction of his village. His father had always warned him of the dangers that lurked in the martial world, but this—this was beyond anything he had imagined.

  “Who are you?” Wei demanded, his voice hoarse. “Why did you do this?”

  The man chuckled softly, flicking his blade to rid it of the blood. “Why? Because we had no choice. Your father harbored something we needed. It’s unfortunate, really. We don’t usually bother with small, insignificant villages like this.” He glanced around at the burning ruins, almost as if the destruction were a minor inconvenience to him.

  “Your father knew something,” the man continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Something he shouldn’t have.”

  Wei’s mind was a blur of questions, but the only thing that mattered now was revenge. His body ached, and his muscles screamed in protest, but his rage fueled him. He lunged forward, his hands reaching for the broken sword lying in the dirt.

  The man raised an eyebrow, amused by Wei’s desperation. In a blur of motion, he struck. Wei barely had time to react before he was knocked back, the impact sending him crashing into the ground. His vision swam as pain exploded through his chest. He tried to get up, but his limbs felt like they were made of stone.

  So this is it?

  The man approached, his blade gleaming in the firelight. “Such a waste of potential,” he mused, raising his sword to deliver the final blow.

  But before the blade could descend, a figure appeared between them—a shadowy silhouette moving with impossible speed. The sound of steel meeting steel rang through the air as the figure parried the man’s strike, sending him stumbling back.

  Wei blinked, trying to focus his blurry vision. The newcomer was a woman, her movements swift and precise. Her face was partially hidden beneath a hood, but her eyes burned with fierce determination.

  “Get up,” she said to Wei, her voice sharp and commanding. “If you want to survive, get up.”

  The man in dark robes growled in frustration. “Who are you?”

  The woman didn’t answer. Instead, she attacked, her strikes fast and relentless. The man was forced to defend, his amusement replaced with irritation as he was pushed back by her onslaught.

  Wei’s heart raced as he struggled to his feet, his body trembling. He didn’t know who this woman was, but she had saved his life. For now, that was enough.

  But deep in his soul, the fire of vengeance burned hotter than ever. Whoever this man was, whatever he had come for—it didn’t matter. Wei would find out. And when he did, he would make them pay for everything.

  He would rebuild his strength. He would learn. He would fight.

  And he would never stop.