Within the dominion of the Han Empire lay the city of Linjiang, where the Crimson Rose Sect thrived. Among its disciples was a boy whose brilliance appeared only once in a century. His name was Lin Jiang, and though merely eleven years old, he had already ascended to the mid-stage of the Spirit Realm. Such talent stirred envy across rival sects, each scheming to wrest him away from the Crimson Rose.Behind the sect’s main hall stretched a secluded training ground reserved solely for him. The air was heavy with the scent of pine resin and damp earth, while the faint clang of distant weapons echoed like whispers of destiny. Lin Jiang’s small frame moved with fierce determination, sweat glistening on his brow as he repeated the forms drilled into him. Every breath carried the weight of his family’s hopes, every step the burden of a city’s expectations.“Move your feet, Lin Jiang! Your stance falters!” Elder Ju Bin’s voice rang sharp yet steady, cutting through the crisp morning air.“Yes

The sky above seemed to collapse upon him, crushing his spirit beneath the weight of his father’s ultimatum. To choose between death or exile—such a cruel demand for a boy of only eleven years. “Enough!” Wen Jiang cried, her voice trembling yet fierce. She snatched the dagger from Lin Jiang’s trembling hands, her touch warm against his cold fingers. “Come inside, Lin Jiang,” she urged, guiding his frail body back toward the dim chamber. The air smelled of dust and old wood, the silence broken only by his uneven breaths. “You have three days,” Lord Jiang’s voice thundered from behind, echoing like a curse. “If you do not leave this house, I will kill you myself!” His footsteps receded, leaving behind a trail of dread. Lin Jiang’s body quivered, his heart pounding against his ribs. The world he thought he knew had twisted into something unrecognizable. “Mother… why has it come to this?” he whispered, his eyes searching hers for comfort. Wen Jiang’s smile was tender, though sor

A guttural laugh echoed through the cavern, its resonance vibrating against the jagged walls. “Devour you? Is that what you think?” sneered the crimson-eyed dragon, its voice rumbling like thunder aimed at Lin Jiang. “Yes,” Lin Jiang shot back, his tone sharp yet trembling. “From the hunger in your gaze, I can tell you crave my flesh.” “Foolish boy,” the beast growled, its breath hot and metallic. “It was you who stirred me from slumber. Had you not bled upon this soil, I would still be lost in dreams.” Lin Jiang’s chest tightened as realization struck. His wounds—inflicted by his own brother and their allies—had reopened earlier, spilling blood across the ground. Yet now, as he glanced down, he found no trace of injury. Not only had his external cuts vanished, but the internal agony from the explosion within his body had dissolved as well. “What happened to me?” he whispered, bewildered. “I healed you,” the dragon declared, its eyes gleaming with ancient fire. “You… heale

Lin Jiang pried open the ancient chest once more, its iron hinges groaning like a beast disturbed from slumber, and uncovered a collection of treasured scrolls. Among them lay one that immediately caught his eye—the manual of the Deadly Staff. “Could this be the guide to wield that demonic staff?” he murmured, his voice echoing faintly against the damp cavern walls. He unfolded the brittle parchment, its surface smelling faintly of aged ink and dust, and began to trace the instructions with his eyes. “This isn’t complicated,” Lin Jiang whispered, determination flickering in his gaze. The staff—Toya—was considered the simplest weapon in the martial world, a tool of both wanderers and soldiers alike. Its design was plain, yet its practicality unmatched. With only three fundamental movements—thrust, block, and strike—it was accessible to all. But in the hands of a master, the staff transformed into a weapon of devastating force, a silent storm that could overwhelm even the most s

Lin Jiang had already strengthened his defenses, and now he resolved to leave the cavern where he had fallen from the middle realm. “With the demonic staff finally in my grasp, my survival here will be far more secure,” he declared, stepping into the forest’s shadowed embrace. The boy knew this was no ordinary woodland. The air carried more than the musk of beasts—it pulsed with the sinister aura of spirits. From the moment he crossed its threshold, he felt unseen eyes watching, a weight pressing against his senses. “Am I truly within the spirit realm?” Lin Jiang whispered, uncertainty flickering in his eleven-year-old heart. He had always believed the spirit realm to be the final destination for mortals, not a place for wandering. Gresekkk! His sharp ears caught the rustle to his left. Instantly, his grip tightened on the silver staff, every nerve alert. “Who’s there?” he shouted, thrusting the weapon’s tip toward the sound. Silence answered him, heavy and suffocating.