Sovereign of the Nine Heavens

CHAPTER 1 — THE DISCIPLE BENEATH THE SNOW

John Carter knelt in the snow while blood streamed steadily from his split lips, staining the white ground beneath him a dark crimson.

Laughter surrounded him from every direction.

It was not the restrained laughter of people hiding amusement behind courtesy. The disciples made no effort to conceal their enjoyment. Open mockery echoed throughout the courtyard as dozens of outer disciples watched him suffer with the same casual entertainment one might reserve for street performers.

The winter wind screamed through the mountain peaks, dragging needles of snow across the stone courtyard. Above them, massive black towers pierced the clouds like ancient tombstones rising from the earth itself. Crimson banners bearing the symbol of the Sky Burial Sect snapped violently in the storm.

It was a sect built like a graveyard.

A world built on death, and John Carter existed at the very bottom of it. His trembling fingers dug weakly into the snow while pain burned through his shattered meridians. Every breath felt jagged, as though rusted blades were scraping through his lungs.

Across from him stood Kael Drake.

The strongest outer disciple looked completely untouched by the cold. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in dark silver robes lined with crimson fur while spiritual energy flowed visibly around his body in steady waves. Snowflakes evaporated before they could even touch him.

The surrounding disciples looked at Kael with naked admiration. Some looked fearful, others looked jealous. It was the kind of reverence only power could command in the cultivation world.

Kael stared down at John with calm indifference, as though he were observing an insect struggling to crawl through mud. “You still refuse to kneel properly?” he asked.

John slowly lifted his head despite the pain tearing through his neck. Blood slid from the corner of his mouth. “I’m already kneeling.”

The courtyard erupted with even louder laughter. One disciple nearly doubled over while clutching his stomach. “Did you hear the cripple talking back?”

Another sneered openly. “Maybe the cold finally froze whatever brain cells he had left.”

Kael’s expression darkened slightly. He stepped forward through the snow and grabbed John by the hair, forcing his head upward with brutal force.

“You crippled trash should learn gratitude,” Kael said quietly. “The sect allows you to breathe the same air as real cultivators.”

Pain burned across John’s scalp, but he refused to cry out. That only irritated Kael further. Strength mattered in the Sky Burial Sect; talent mattered, bloodline mattered.

Mercy meant absolutely nothing.

Kael released him with a violent shove that sent John crashing sideways across the frozen courtyard stones.

Pain exploded through his ribs the instant he hit the ground. The laughter around him only grew louder.

At the edge of the arena platform, Elder Morvane observed everything in complete silence with his hands folded behind his back. Unlike the disciples, the elder did not laugh. That made him far more terrifying.

Morvane wore long gray robes stitched with black spirit-thread symbols shaped like skeletal hands. Deep wrinkles carved harsh lines across his narrow face, while his pale eyes carried the permanent look of a man disappointed by everything he saw.

His gaze shifted toward the massive crystal pillar standing in the center of the courtyard.

The Spirit Measuring Pillar: A treasure artifact capable of reading spiritual roots.

Every month, outer disciples underwent spiritual assessment. For most disciples, the ceremony represented opportunity and advancement.

For John, it was simply a public execution without death. “Enough,” Elder Morvane said coldly. Silence spread through the courtyard almost instantly. Even Kael stepped back without argument.

Morvane’s pale eyes settled on John like slabs of frozen iron. “Bring him forward.”

Two disciples immediately grabbed John beneath the arms and dragged him toward the crystal pillar. His legs barely responded anymore. Years of damaged meridians had weakened his entire body to the point where even standing felt exhausting.

When he was younger, he used to believe determination could overcome talent. The cultivation world had beaten that illusion out of him long ago.

The Spirit Measuring Pillar emitted a faint glow as he approached. Snow continued falling across the mountain courtyard while hundreds of eyes remained fixed on him with eager anticipation, waiting, hoping, hungry for humiliation.

Morvane pressed one hand against the crystal.

“John Carter,” he announced. “Age seventeen. Outer disciple.” His voice echoed clearly across the silent courtyard.

“Broken spiritual roots. Meridian collapse. Spiritual degradation ongoing.” The crystal flickered weakly. Several thin strands of light appeared inside it before immediately fracturing apart like cracked glass. The crowd burst into laughter once again. “Even the artifact rejects him!”

“He’s weaker than last month!”

“A mortal farmer would cultivate faster than that trash!”

John lowered his eyes, not because the insults still wounded him, at least, not entirely. A small part of him feared they might actually be right.

Morvane studied the fractured light within the crystal with visible disgust.

“Your spiritual roots continue degrading,” the elder declared. “At this rate, your cultivation base will collapse entirely within the year.”

Murmurs spread through the disciples immediately. One disciple raised his hand openly. “Elder Morvane, why is he still allowed inside the sect?” Another quickly added, “He wastes food and cultivation resources.”

“He should be expelled!”

“No,” someone else shouted with cruel amusement. “Send him to the corpse mines instead!” The crowd quickly joined in. “Expel him!”

“Throw him out!”

“Trash has no right to cultivate!”

John remained completely silent while the voices swallowed him whole. Beneath his torn sleeves, his fists tightened slowly. The emotion twisting inside him was not pure anger. It was a shame. That feeling had followed him for years like a parasite whispering poison into his mind. Maybe they’re right. Maybe you truly are worthless.

Morvane finally raised his hand, silencing the crowd once more. “Broken spiritual roots cannot be repaired,” he said flatly. “Your existence wastes sect resources.”

John slowly raised his head. Snow settled across his bruised face while icy wind tore through the courtyard. “Then why haven’t you killed me yet?” he asked.

The entire courtyard fell silent. Several disciples stared at him in shock. No outer disciple dared speak to an elder that way.

Morvane’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Because even trash has uses.” A few disciples laughed nervously after hearing that answer, but Kael remained silent, watching and studying.

John noticed it immediately.

Kael Drake no longer looked amused. He looked curious. For some reason, that unsettled John far more than the insults ever had.

Morvane turned away dismissively. “The assessment is over. Remove him from my sight.”

The disciples shoved John backward without hesitation. One kicked him behind the knee hard enough to force him down into the snow again. Another spat near his feet. “Pathetic.”

John rose slowly despite the pain tearing through his body The wind howled across the courtyard while disciples began leaving in groups None of them looked at him like a human being Only an embarrassment A living reminder of weakness.

Kael remained standing beside the Spirit Measuring Pillar while snow gathered across his shoulders. As John limped past him, Kael suddenly spoke. “You should’ve died years ago.”

John stopped walking. For a brief moment, neither of them moved.

Then John answered quietly, “I tried.”

Kael’s eyes narrowed immediately. That response clearly was not what he had expected.

John continued walking without looking back. Behind him, mountain bells echoed faintly through the snowstorm. The sound resembled funeral bells ringing for the dead. By the time John reached the outer district, dusk had already swallowed most of the mountain. From a distance, the Sky Burial Sect looked magnificent. Massive temples carved directly into black cliffs.

Floating bridges suspended above endless ravines, ancient spirit lanterns glowing softly beneath falling snow, but that beauty vanished near the outer disciple quarters.

Broken buildings leaned crookedly against icy hillsides while smoke drifted weakly from cracked rooftops. The weakest disciples lived there like forgotten animals abandoned by the sect.

John’s shack stood farther away than the others. Deliberately isolated, even trash needed separation. He pushed open the crooked wooden door and stepped inside. Cold air greeted him immediately. The room was painfully small.

A broken table rested against one wall beside a straw bed that looked barely usable. Cracked wooden walls had been patched repeatedly with old cloth, while dark rainwater stains spread across the ceiling like mold.

John slowly removed his torn outer robe, revealing deep bruises covering his chest and shoulders. His reflection stared back at him from a bucket of cloudy water nearby. Thin frame, sunken eyes, a body that looked exhausted even while standing still. He barely resembled a cultivator anymore.

John lowered himself beside the bed and pressed trembling fingers against his ribs.

Pain surged through him instantly. “Still alive,” he muttered bitterly.

The silence inside the shack felt unusually heavy tonight, perhaps because the crowd’s laughter still echoed inside his skull, or perhaps because he was finally growing tired in a way sleep could never fix, not physically, spiritually.

Years ago, his mother used to tell him stories about immortals soaring beyond the heavens. She always smiled while saying his father belonged among them.

John almost laughed at the memory. Now, Immortals? His father vanished before John could even remember his face. His mother died coughing blood inside this very shack three winters ago.

And John…

John could barely survive a monthly assessment without kneeling helplessly in the snow. His gaze drifted toward a dusty wooden chest beneath the bed. His mother’s belongings. He rarely opened it anymore because memories often hurt worse than beatings, but tonight felt different.

Slowly, he pulled the chest toward himself and opened it.

Old robes lay folded inside beside a faded hairpin and several moisture-damaged scroll fragments.

Then John paused. Near the bottom of the chest rested something wrapped carefully in old cloth. He had never seen it before. Frowning slightly, he unfolded the cloth. A cracked jade pendant rested inside. The pendant was dark silver-green and shaped like a half-moon, with strange ancient symbols carved across its surface. Symbols he did not recognize

The instant his fingers touched it, an icy sensation spread violently up his arm.

John stiffened. For a brief moment, the entire room felt colder. He slowly turned the pendant over in his hand.

There was writing carved faintly onto the back, almost erased by time itself.

“…survive…”

John frowned deeper.

“Survive?”

A violent headache slammed into his skull without warning. Images exploded through his mind. Fire is consuming the night sky. People are screaming, blood covering black snow. A woman is crying desperately. Golden chains are descending from the heavens.

John gasped sharply and nearly dropped the pendant. The headache vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. His breathing became uneven.

“What… was that?” The pendant suddenly grew warm in his palm. Then, hotter, the ancient symbols carved across its surface began glowing faintly beneath the darkness.

John froze completely.

The room became unnaturally silent. Even the wind outside disappeared. Then a voice whispered directly inside his mind. Ancient Cold Inhuman.

“You survived longer than the others.”

John’s blood turned to ice.

The jade pendant cracked open.