His body was half-buried in the earth, grass and moss creeping over his form, shrouding him in a thin veil of green. The dark figure of the Divine Creature lay motionless, staring emptily at the sky.

  For fifty years, he remained like this—unmoving, frozen like a statue—until, at last, he blinked, dislodging the thick layer of dust from his eyelids.

  Jiang Tu had spent the past two hundred years in silence, paralyzed by the weight of his own fury. He feared what he might unleash if he acted without first quelling the raging storm within.

  Why had this happened to him? Why bestow him with divinity, only to take everything away?

  A thousand years ago, Jiang Tu had lived in another realm, under the dominion of the Pillar of the Eternal Heavens. He was not born but rather forged—raised from the very Ether of existence itself. His lord was a Major God of the Pillar of the Eternal Heavens, Mo Xuanji, the Abyssal Paragon, ruler of the Pillar of Honor.

  His essence was one of war and carnage. A god of butchery. Yet, such was the abundance of power within the Pillar of the Eternal Heavens that they could afford to create a god like him solely for menial tasks. His duty? Simple management. He traveled across the worlds under the Pillar’s rule, ensuring order. If faith waned, he forced it back into alignment. If famine struck, he provided sustenance. If war arose, he ended it.

  And in time, he improved.

  Jiang Tu’s talent was unparalleled. As a Butcher God, his spiritual energy aged like a ten-thousand-year-old heavenly wine—refined, potent, ever-growing. Even in complete stillness, his cultivation would advance. The Pillar of the Eternal Heavens did not employ conventional cultivation realms; they simply referred to gods as either "weak" or "strong." But Jiang Tu had a deeper understanding of power. Through his observations, he deduced that he had reached the Sixth Layer of the Intermediary Ascension. Mo Xuanji deemed his progress sufficient to reward him with a system to govern.

  He took to his new domain swiftly, constructing his palace from spatial debris in the vast emptiness of the cosmos. There, he fulfilled his duties with diligence.

  Oh, how he had come to cherish his work. Mortals were fascinating creatures—fragile, fleeting, and yet possessed of an unyielding determination to reach for the heavens. He could not help but admire them, to lend them a hand in their ascent.

  Millennia passed, and Jiang Tu ascended to the Seventh Layer of the Intermediary Ascension. In recognition of his efforts, his master allowed him to establish a Celestial Realm above his domain. He fashioned it within his palace, using a simple dimensional spell to expand its interior by thousands of kilometers. It amused him greatly to witness the mortals’ astonishment at such a minor display of divine might.

  He nurtured his people there, and in gratitude, they honored him with the title of Greater Immortal King. Their cultivation system named the lower ascension path the "Immortal Path," divided into six layers, the highest being "Nascent Soul." As a gesture of respect, he adopted their terminology for the lower realms of ascension. Those who reached his Celestial Realm were then guided through the first steps of the Intermediary Ascension under his tutelage.

  Three hundred years passed, and Jiang Tu found his cultivation stagnating midway through the Seventh Layer. He had long surpassed his peers, yet he felt content. He could have remained like this until his divine spark settled, awaiting the quiet embrace of oblivion.

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  He truly meant it. He could have died that very day with no regrets.

  But as with all great institutions, the Pillar of the Eternal Heavens harbored its share of corruption.

  One day, at the edge of his divine sense, Jiang Tu detected a god of higher standing rapidly approaching his world. In less than five breaths, the figure descended harshly upon the main world of the system—and began a massacre.

  Stunned, torn between shock and fury, Jiang Tu prepared to intervene. But another presence arrived alongside the invader, speaking with a casual, almost jovial tone.

  "God of Autumn’s Inferno, Jiang Tu, Master Celestial Arbiter commends you for cultivating such fine lives. Now, refrain from interfering with Brother Xie Hongwu. The energy from their souls should be enough to aid his breakthrough!"

  The deity grinned as he reached into a bag of holding, presumably retrieving some sort of gift, hoping to curry favor with Jiang Tu.

  But Jiang Tu could not be bothered with such trivialities. His focus was consumed by a single word: "cultivating."

  "Cultivating? Him? For that pathetic excuse of a man, Xie Hongwu? His people, his passion—the very thing he had devoted his four thousand years of existence to—were nothing more than fodder?"

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Jiang Tu executed a Butcher spell, eradicating the envoy in an explosion of scattered divine shards.

  With a single bound, he descended upon his world. What he saw sent his fury into a maelstrom.

  Xie Hongwu—Crimson Feathers of War, a god of slaughter, a twisted variant of a Butcher God—was butchering his people. His followers. His servants. Thousands upon thousands perished before his eyes.

  "Xie Hongwu! You court death! This Greater Immortal King shall grant you your fantasy!" Jiang Tu roared, splitting the earth as he charged into battle.

  Xie Hongwu had no chance. Though he had reached the early Seventh Layer of the Intermediary Ascension, Jiang Tu was no ordinary foe. As a Butcher God, his cultivation thrived on carnage—each death, each strike, each moment of battle propelled his power forward. As his blood-soaked rampage continued, his cultivation surged, shattering past the Eighth Layer’s threshold. Xie Hongwu, now nothing more than a weakened insect, crumbled before him.

  A few precise blows shattered his divine body. Not wishing to further ravage his own world, Jiang Tu finished him off by hurling him into the system’s star, reducing him to cosmic ash.

  The battle was won, but Jiang Tu had no time to revel in victory. He had questions for his master.

  Mo Xuanji dared to attack his people? He was a Celestial of the Demi-God level, but that granted him no right!

  Jiang Tu did not retreat. He never did. Even against a Demi-God, he was confident he could claw out a victory. Yet, to his surprise, Mo Xuanji did not personally appear. Instead, another deity—one of Jiang Tu’s own peers—stepped forth to challenge him. A peak Seventh Layer god.

  The battle began, but Jiang Tu quickly realized something alarming. Though he was stronger, his opponent held the advantage. A swordsman. Each of Jiang Tu’s attacks was effortlessly parried and countered. For the first time in his existence, Jiang Tu felt the gap left by his lack of training. He had relied solely on raw power, never once refining his technique.

  His howls of fury turned to frustrated growls. The realization struck him like a divine hammer—he was losing.

  But it mattered little. The Sword God had no time to waste. He raised his blade, and as it descended, something was different—space itself twisted in reverence, bending to serve the strike, to carve Jiang Tu from existence.

  In those final milliseconds, the last remnants of Jiang Tu’s people converged around him, throwing themselves forward. They died—not in vain, but to grant him a fraction of a second.

  And thankfully… it was enough.

  The swing was incomplete. The world had folded into the blade, but in its wake, it left a tear in the void—a gap in reality itself.

  Jiang Tu did not hesitate.

  He dove into the rift, vanishing just as the Sword God’s strike was about to erase him.

  And when he awoke… he was far, far away.

  His system, his people, the world he had built with his own hands…

  Gone.