Chapter 3: A Shrouded Identity
1446 Words
"Where are we going?" Han Ye asked, his voice raspy, far deeper and colder than he remembered.
"To a place where you can taste a fraction of their fear," the Emperor’s voice answered, echoing inside his skull. "Don’t be in a rush to destroy the main course. Lin Xue and Mu Chen must watch their world crumble slowly. You need practice, Han Ye. Your vessel is still too weak to contain pure Nothingness."
Han Ye pulled his black cloak tighter, hiding the scorched black scars that snaked up to his neck. He walked through the morning mist toward Low Cloud City, a small settlement where the Han Clan’s outer disciples gathered.
After three days of travel, he arrived at a bustling tavern. The stench of sweat and cheap alcohol stung his nostrils. There, at the center table, sat three young men he knew all too well.
"Word is, Mu Chen has already reached the fifth level of the Foundation Establishment realm thanks to that spirit root," said one of the youths, Zhao Feng, as he downed his wine. "That damn Han Ye actually provided a decent legacy before he croaked in the abyss."
"He was a useful piece of trash, after all," another chimed in with a loud laugh. "Remember when we forced him to wash our boots last month? He just stood there like a coward."
Han Ye stopped directly behind Zhao Feng’s chair. His hand, hidden beneath his long sleeve, began to tremble. It wasn't from fear, but because the dark energy in his veins was pulsing wildly, as if it wanted to explode outward.
"Your boots are still dirty, Zhao Feng," Han Ye whispered right into the young man's ear.
The laughter at the table died instantly. Zhao Feng turned around, his face flushed with anger. "Who are you? How dare you address me so disrespectfully!"
Han Ye slowly lowered his hood. His pitch-black eyes stared directly into Zhao Feng's pupils. There was no light there only a void that swallowed anyone who looked into it.
"Han... Han Ye? Impossible! You’re dead!" Zhao Feng recoiled so hard his chair flipped over. His face turned deathly pale, as if he were seeing a ghost crawling out of hell.
"Death is a boring place. I decided to come back," Han Ye said. His voice was flat and devoid of emotion, yet it made the hair on everyone’s necks stand on end.
"You... you must be a demon in disguise! Guards! Kill him, now!" Zhao Feng screamed at his two companions.
The two youths drew their swords and lunged at Han Ye.
Han Ye didn't move. He didn't dodge or draw a weapon. He simply raised his right hand, palm open toward them.
"Erase," Han Ye muttered.
There was no flash of light. No thunderous boom. Only a violent pull of air, as if the space around Han Ye’s hand was being sucked into an invisible point.
The moment their swords touched the thin black aura emanating from his palm, the metal vanished into fine dust. The two youths shrieked in agony as the dark energy slithered into their chests.
"What did you do to me?! My Qi! Where is my cultivation?!" one of them screamed. He collapsed, clutching his chest. Inside his body, the meridians he had spent years building were gone, completely erased, as if he had never spent a single day practicing.
"You don't need power to bully others. Now, you’re just ordinary men," Han Ye said.
Zhao Feng tried to run, but Han Ye moved faster, seizing him by the throat.
Han Ye felt the energy of the void beginning to eat away at his sanity. There was a powerful urge to erase the entire city, to wipe out every soul in front of him.
"Steady, Han Ye. If you let it go now, you’ll lose yourself before you can take your revenge on Lin Xue," the Emperor's voice warned with an amused tone.
Han Ye gritted his teeth. Cold sweat mixed with black blood dripped from his forehead. His hand shook violently as he struggled to control the unstable power.
"Please... don't kill me. Han Ye, we’re old friends, right?" Zhao Feng whined, tears streaming down his face.
"Friends don't rip out their brother's spirit root," Han Ye hissed. He didn't kill Zhao Feng. Instead, he pressed a finger to the youth's forehead.
Zhao Feng let out a hysterical scream. He felt something more precious than his life being forcibly torn away. Every memory of cultivation techniques, every ounce of the energy he took pride in, vanished in seconds. He was now a cripple, unable to even lift a wooden sword.
Han Ye released his grip. Zhao Feng slumped over like a pile of dirty rags. The people in the tavern remained frozen, too terrified to breathe. They had witnessed something that defied the logic of the cultivation world: the erasure of existence.
Han Ye turned away, his head feeling like it was about to split open. The black energy still rebelled inside him, demanding more victims. He walked out of the tavern, leaving a suffocating silence behind.
"Did you see that, Han Ye? That is true power. You don't need a sword when you can erase reality itself," the voice in his head said.
Han Ye leaned against the exterior wall of a building, gasping for air. The hand he had used to attack was now pitch black up to the elbow, and the skin was beginning to crack.
"This power is dangerous. I can feel my soul being erased piece by piece every time I use it," Han Ye thought anxiously.
"Of course there's a price. But isn't it worth it to see them suffer?"
Han Ye didn't answer. He tried to regulate his labored breathing. Suddenly, he heard cheering from the town square. He saw several residents hanging red lanterns and large banners along the main street.
An old merchant passing by smiled broadly while carrying a roll of red silk.
"Excuse me, old man. What’s the celebration for today?" Han Ye asked, trying to steady his voice.
The merchant turned, unaware of who he was speaking to because Han Ye's hood was back in place. "Oh, lad, are you from out of town? The whole central continent is talking about this! Four days from now is a massive day for the Han Clan and the Sky Peak Sect!"
Han Ye felt his heart thumping. "A big day?"
"Yes! The grand wedding between the genius Mu Chen and the beautiful Lady Lin Xue. They say Mu Chen was recently blessed with a rare golden spirit root. The wedding will be held at the highest peak of the Sky Peak Sect. All the major sects are invited to witness the union of these two geniuses."
Han Ye’s fist clenched until his nails dug into his palms. Black blood seeped from between his fingers, dripping onto the ground and causing the grass beneath him to instantly wither and blacken.
"A wedding?" Han Ye whispered. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Aye! A perfect match, aren't they? The cultivation world finally has new hope," the merchant replied obliviously before walking away, leaving Han Ye alone on the increasingly crowded street.
Han Ye stared at the sunset. The deep red of the sky reminded him of the blood that had flowed on the ritual altar that night. Four days. He had only four days to prepare the most unforgettable wedding gift in the history of this continent.
"Four days, Lin Xue. Four days, Mu Chen," Han Ye thought.
He walked away, but every footstep he left on the ground was marked by a permanent scorch.
Inside his mind, the Emperor’s laughter echoed—a booming, malevolent sound that promised absolute ruin to anyone who dared to build their happiness upon Han Ye's suffering.
Han Ye paused, a cold sensation washing over him as he noticed something unsettling about his shadow. It no longer followed the logic of the light; instead, it moved of its own accord, as if possessed by a sentient hunger for vengeance.
"Emperor, is this also part of your power?"
"It is a part of the new you, Han Ye. Do not fear your shadow. Save your fear for the day it disappears, for that is the moment you truly become Nothingness."
Han Ye clenched his fists as he gazed toward the highest peak on the eastern horizon, the seat of the Heaven’s Peak Sect. He made a silent vow: the red lanterns they hung in celebration today would be replaced by white ones for mourning by the time he arrived.
- Writer
