Rise of the Broken Warrior

Lucas stumbled through the great iron gates of the Morana estate, his knees shaking with every step.

In his arms, twelve-year-old Clara was shivering. Her small face was as white as paper, and her lips were dry and blue.

Every seven days, Clara’s strange blood illness flared up like a fire in her veins. For three years, Lucas had used the pure heat of his own golden dragon core to calm her pain and keep her alive.

Now, his chest felt completely empty.

Only yesterday, Lucas had laid on a stone table and cut out his own core. He had given up his legendary cultivation, reducing himself to a weak mortal, all to brew the medicine for his mother-in-law’s rotting curse.

He had done it because his wife, Morana, had knelt at his feet and wept. She had sworn on her life that once her mother was cured, House Morana would treat Clara like their own daughter and give her the finest spirit herbs in the realm.

"Hold on, Clara," Lucas whispered hoarsely, his breath catching in his throat. "We are home. Morana has the medicine. You will be safe."

Clara opened her heavy eyes, clutching his torn shirt with weak fingers. "Brother Lucas... my chest hurts so much. It burns..."

"I know, little one," Lucas said, forcing a gentle smile despite the sharp agony throbbing in his hollow chest. "Just a few more steps."

He dragged his feet across the grand courtyard toward the main hall. But before he could reach the marble stairs, a loud crash echoed behind him.

The heavy iron gates slammed shut.

Heavy chains rattled into place. From the shadow of the pillars, twenty armored guild enforcers stepped out, their long swords drawn and gleaming in the cold afternoon sun.

Lucas stopped. His heart tightened. "What is the meaning of this? Stand down! It is me!"

None of the guards moved. They looked at him not with respect, but with cold amusement, like wolves watching a dying rabbit.

From the high marble balcony above, the sound of slow clapping broke the silence.

Lady Morana walked out into the sunlight. She was not wearing the plain clothes of a grieving daughter. She wore a stunning crimson silk gown embroidered with gold, her dark hair pinned with sparkling jade.

Standing right beside her was a tall, handsome young man in a white robe. It was Lord Valen, the famous young master of the High Sky Guild.

And next to Valen stood Morana’s mother.

The older woman was smiling brightly, holding a cup of sweet wine. Her cheeks were rosy and full of life. There was no trace of the black rotting curse that had supposedly been eating her alive just two days ago.

Lucas froze, his mind reeling. "Mother? Your... your skin. Where are the marks of the rot? It is as if you were never cursed at all..."

Morana’s mother took a sip of her wine and let out a sharp laugh. "Mother? Who gave a stray dog like you permission to call me mother?"

Lucas stared up at the woman he had sacrificed his life to save. His voice shook. "What are you saying? Yesterday... you were dying in bed. I carved out my core to save your life!"

"Save my life?" the old woman sneered, looking down at him with disgust. "You foolish brat. I was never sick. A simple skin-dyeing herb was enough to make you cut open your own chest like a stupid sheep!"

The words hit Lucas like a physical blow. The world seemed to spin around him.

He looked at Morana, his eyes begging for this to be a terrible dream. "Morana... tell me this is a joke. Tell me she is lying! We are husband and wife!"

Morana looked down at him, her eyes completely devoid of warmth. There was only icy mockery on her beautiful face.

"Husband?" Morana scoffed, leaning her shoulder against Valen’s arm. "Lucas, did you really think a peasant orphan who got lucky with a dragon core could ever be my equal? I only smiled at you because you had something my Valen needed."

Valen smiled, pulling open the front of his silk robe.

There, right in the center of Valen’s chest, a bright golden light pulsed beneath his skin. The light was shaped like a coiling dragon, beating with a familiar, sacred rhythm.

Lucas’s breath seized. "My core..."

"Not anymore," Valen laughed, his voice dripping with arrogance. "It is mine now! Look at this power! Only true noble blood deserves such a divine gift. You were just a beast of burden carrying it for me until I was ready."

Lucas clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms, drawing blood. The betrayal burned through his chest hotter than any fire.

He had loved this woman. He had fought through a hundred deadly dungeons to bring honor to her family. And it had all been a lie from the very beginning.

Then, Clara groaned softly in his arms, shivering violently as her fever spiked.

Lucas swallowed his pride. He fell to his knees on the cold stone, holding Clara tight against his chest. Tears of desperation burned his eyes as he looked up at the balcony.

"Fine!" Lucas yelled, his voice cracking with raw pain. "Take my core! Laugh at me! Treat me like dirt! I do not care! But give me the spirit medicine! You swore you would save Clara! She is only a child! Master Vane gave his life to protect this city—you cannot let his only daughter die!"

Morana laughed again. The sound was high, cold, and cruel.

"Master Vane?" Morana said, tapping her chin with a polished fingernail. "You still think that old fool died of old age?"

Lucas’s head snapped up, his blood turning to ice. "What did you say?"

"He was too smart," Morana said casually, as if talking about the weather. "He warned you not to marry me. He suspected our plans. So, three months ago, I personally brewed his daily tea with Soul-Wither Poison. It took six weeks for his lungs to melt into black water. He died choking on his own blood, all while begging the gods to protect you."

"You... you murdered Master?" Lucas’s voice turned into a ragged, guttural roar.

Master Vane had raised him from a starving street child. He had taught him to hold a sword, taught him honor, and loved him like a real father.

"You monsters!" Lucas screamed, trying to stand up, his vision turning red. "I will kill you! I will tear you apart with my bare hands!"

"Kill us? With what?" Valen mocked, flicking his wrist.

Two guards rushed forward. One kicked Lucas squarely in the stomach, while the other ripped Clara from his grasp.

"Lucas!" Clara shrieked in terror, reaching out her tiny hands toward him. "Brother Lucas, help me!"

"Clara!" Lucas lunged forward, but the guards slammed their boots onto his back, pinning his face against the hard stone. He struggled wildly, coughing up mouthfuls of red foam, his fingers scraping uselessly against the rock.

Morana walked down the grand stairs, holding a small jade bottle filled with thick, black liquid.

She stopped in front of Clara and grabbed the little girl by the hair, forcing her head back.

"Stop! Morana, do not touch her! Touch her and I will curse your soul to hell!" Lucas screamed, thrashing beneath the guards' boots with everything he had left.

"Shut up, cripple," Morana snapped.

She shoved the neck of the bottle into Clara’s mouth and forced the black liquid down her throat.

Clara choked, coughing violently as her small body convulsed. Within seconds, the light in Clara’s bright blue eyes began to dim. The tears stopped. Her expression went completely blank, staring straight ahead like a wooden doll.

"The Mind-Erasing Draught," Morana said with a cold, satisfied smile. "She will not remember who you are. She will not even remember her own name."

Morana turned to the guards holding Clara.

"Take her down to the lowest blood cellar. Chain her to the altar. Her Celestial Blood is rare and sweet. We will drain a bowl every morning so Lord Valen can drink it and fully fuse with the dragon core."

"Yes, My Lady!" The guards dragged the limp, silent girl toward the dark dungeon stairs.

"Clara! Clara, look at me!" Lucas wept, his voice breaking into ragged sobs as he watched her disappear into the dark.

For the first time in his life, Lucas felt true, crushing helplessness. His core was gone. His master was murdered. His little sister was dragged into hell to be treated like cattle.

And the woman he gave his life to was smiling at his ruin.

Valen walked down the stairs, drawing a gleaming silver dagger from his belt. He kicked Lucas in the ribs, flipping him onto his back.

"Do not worry, brother-in-law," Valen sneered, pressing the sharp tip of the dagger against Lucas’s hollow chest. "Once I reach the Divine Realm with your core and her blood, I will make sure House Morana rules the entire province. You can die knowing you were very useful to us."

Morana waved her hand dismissively. "Do not dirty your hands with a dead dog, Valen. Enforcers, end him. Throw the trash where it belongs."

Three enforcers stepped forward. Without a word of hesitation, they raised their heavy iron spears and drove them down together.

The cold steel punched through Lucas’s shoulders and chest, pinning him to the courtyard floor.

Lucas choked, a fountain of dark blood spilling from his lips. The agony was blinding, tearing through every nerve in his ruined body. Yet his bloodshot eyes never left Morana and Valen. He stared at them with a hatred so deep, so bottomless, that even the smiling Valen took a small step back.

"Even if I become a demon in the underworld..." Lucas whispered through the blood filling his mouth, "I will rip your flesh from your bones..."

"Throw him over," Morana ordered coldly, turning her back on him.

The guards ripped the spears free. Two men grabbed Lucas by his broken arms, dragging his limp body across the courtyard stones, leaving a wide trail of dark crimson behind them.

They carried him out to the edge of the estate, right to the brink of Dreadspire Cliff.

A thousand feet below, the Corpse Torrent raged through the jagged canyon. Its waters were black and toxic, filled with the rotting mana of ancient dead beasts. No mortal who fell into that river had ever survived.

"Have a nice swim, trash," the guard laughed.

A heavy boot slammed into Lucas’s broken chest.

Lucas flew backward into the empty air, his body tumbling down into the cold, howling darkness of the abyss below.