The God-Slayer's Trash Manual

Chapter 2

Renvar stared at the charred remains of his bedroom floor, then back at Yuexia Linruo’s grieving face. The silence between them was thick, heavy with the smell of ozone and the weight of a ticking clock.

"Three years," Renvar repeated, popping the 'p' with a hollow sound. "So, I’m basically a smartphone with a defective battery. One day I’m at ten percent, the next I’m a spicy brick. Great. Fantastic. Do I at least get a loyalty discount at the local cemetery?"

Yuexia didn't laugh. She didn't even flinch. "This isn't a joke, Renvar. Do you even know where that manual came from? It wasn't found in a library. It was pulled from the scorched hands of the Third Elder’s son fifty years ago. He was a genius, twice as talented as I am. They found him in his meditation chamber. There was no body. Just a outline of soot on the wall and the sound of screaming still echoing in the air."

"Sounds like he went out with a bang," Renvar muttered, leaning back against a semi-burnt pillar. "Look, Linruo—can I call you Linruo? 'Lady Yuexia' feels like I’m talking to a statue—I didn't exactly pick this up at a book fair. It chose me. Or, well, it’s stuck to me like superglue."

"It’s a death sentence," she whispered, stepping closer. The light of the setting sun caught the silver ribbon in her hair. "The Heaven-Burning Ash technique doesn't use the world's Qi to build power. It uses the practitioner as fuel. You’re not cultivating; you’re incinerating your own existence to produce a temporary flame. Why would you touch it? Were you that desperate to prove yourself?"

Renvar looked at his hands. They were still trembling. "Maybe. Or maybe I just didn't read the fine print. Most things in life have a 'skip' button, you know? This one didn't."

"You have to stop. Right now," she commanded, her voice regaining its icy edge. "If you never circulate that energy again, you might stretch those three years into five. I can talk to the Sect Leader. We can find a way to seal your meridians."

[Ding! Warning! Host’s soul is currently sustained by the Ash Core. If the Host stops cultivating, the 'furnace' will go cold, leading to immediate rigor mortis and a very embarrassing funeral. Recommendation: Keep burning or start digging.]

Shut up, Renvar thought at the voice in his head. Then he looked at Yuexia and forced a lopsided grin. "Can’t do that. If I stop, the engine stalls. And trust me, I don't have roadside assistance in this world."

"You’re being stubborn," she said, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and pity. "You’ve always been a fool, Renvar, but I never thought you were suicidal."

"I prefer the term 'chronologically challenged,'" Renvar said. He stood up, brushing ash off his silk pants. "Anyway, since I’m on a deadline, I shouldn't waste time sitting in a burnt room. I think I need some air. And maybe a snack. Does this sect have a cafeteria, or do we just eat morning dew and moonlight?"

Yuexia sighed, a long, weary sound. "The dining hall is in the East Wing. But I wouldn't go there if I were you. Word has already spread that you’ve finally lost your mind. They’re calling you the 'Smoke-Cloud Failure.'"

"Catchy," Renvar said, heading for the door. "But hey, if I’m going to go out in a blaze of glory, I might as well get a decent meal first."

As he stepped out into the hallway, the System’s voice chimed again, louder this time.

[New Quest Detected: 'Aggressive Networking.']

[Objective: To stabilize your flickering soul-embers, you need a jolt of external spiritual friction. Slap a high-ranking disciple across the face. Specifically, someone with a punchable personality.]

[Reward: 5% Soul Stability. Penalty for failure: Spontaneous combustion of your left leg.]

Are you serious? Renvar shouted internally. You want me to slap someone? I’m a dead man walking, and you want me to pick a fight?

[The Ash Path thrives on conflict, Host. Also, it’ll be funny. Look, there’s one now.]

Renvar looked up. Walking down the ornate stone path of the courtyard was a man who looked like he had been designed by a committee focused on 'arrogance.' He wore gold-trimmed robes, carried a sword that looked far too expensive to actually use, and was surrounded by a small entourage of sycophants.

"Is that Zhaoren Tianlong?" Renvar asked, the name bubbling up from his borrowed memories.

"Yes," Yuexia said, walking behind him. "And he’s been looking for an excuse to challenge you for the engagement contract. Don't look at him. Just keep walking."

"Hey! Renvar!" Zhaoren’s voice boomed across the courtyard. "I heard you had a little accident in your room. Did you finally try to cook your own dinner and burn the house down? Or did your 'profound talent' finally reach its boiling point?"

The cronies behind him barked with laughter. Renvar stopped. He felt a strange heat rising in his chest—not the painful kind from before, but something sharper.

"Actually, Zhaoren," Renvar said, his voice echoing clearly. "I was just practicing a new technique. It’s called 'The Hand of Eternal Karma.' Want a demonstration?"

Zhaoren stopped, his smirk faltering for a second before growing wider. "A technique? You? The man who couldn't even light a candle with his Qi last month? Please, show me. I could use a good laugh."

Yuexia grabbed Renvar’s arm. "Renvar, don't. He’s at the fourth stage of the Foundation Realm. He’ll break you."

"Relax, Linruo," Renvar said, gently prying her hand off. "I’ve got a three-year warranty. I’m pretty sure I’m indestructible for at least twenty-four hours."

Renvar walked toward Zhaoren. The crowd of disciples began to gather, whispering and pointing. Zhaoren stood his ground, arms crossed, looking down his nose.

"Well?" Zhaoren sneered. "Show me this 'Hand of—'"

SLAP.

The sound was like a whip cracking in a canyon. Renvar hadn't just slapped him; he had channeled a tiny, focused burst of that grey, ashen heat into his palm. Zhaoren’s head snapped to the side, his expensive hair-piece flying off into a nearby decorative pond.

The silence that followed was absolute.

"You..." Zhaoren whispered, his hand going to his reddened, smoking cheek. "You... you trash! You actually touched me!"

"It was more of a high-five for your face," Renvar said, waving his hand to cool it down. "Gotta say, your skin is surprisingly oily. Do you use a special moisturizer, or is that just pure ego?"

"I’ll kill you!" Zhaoren roared. His aura exploded, a golden light radiating from his body as he drew his sword. The air around him began to hum with power. "I don't care if the Elders protect you! I’ll tear your soul out!"

Zhaoren lunged. His sword moved like a streak of lightning, aiming straight for Renvar’s shoulder. It was a move designed to maim, not kill—a humiliating strike.

Renvar didn't move. He couldn't. His brain was screaming, but his body felt... heavy.

[Warning: Incoming kinetic energy. Activating 'Dust to Dust' defensive maneuver. Don't worry, Host. This is going to look really cool.]

As the sword tip touched Renvar’s chest, it didn't pierce his skin. Instead, where the blade met his robe, the fabric turned to grey ash. The energy of the sword strike wasn't blocked; it was absorbed, swallowed by the void of Renvar’s 'Heaven-Burning' core.

Renvar felt a surge of heat. He coughed, and a puff of grey smoke escaped his lips.

"My turn," Renvar said.

He didn't use a fist. He didn't use a sword. He simply blew a breath of air toward Zhaoren’s face.

It should have been a joke. It was a 'garbage' move—a literal puff of breath. But the air that left Renvar’s lungs was laden with the microscopic grey soot of his technique. As the dust touched Zhaoren’s golden aura, the aura didn't shatter; it withered. The golden light turned grey, then crumbled like burnt paper.

Zhaoren gasped, his eyes bulging as he was thrown backward by an invisible force, tumbling across the stone tiles until he crashed into a stone lantern.

"What... what was that?" someone in the crowd whispered. "He didn't even hit him!"

Renvar stood there, feeling like his insides were being scrubbed with sandpaper. He looked at his hands, which were now stained with a fine layer of soot.

"I call that one 'The Heavy Smoker’s Greeting,'" Renvar panted. "It’s a work in progress."

Yuexia rushed to his side, her face pale. "Renvar! Your eyes..."

"What about them?" Renvar asked, his vision blurring.

"They’re grey," she whispered. "Completely grey. Like coal that’s been burnt through."

[Ding! Quest Complete. Reward: 5% Soul Stability. Current Stability: 5.4%.]

[Note: You just used a technique that aged your internal organs by approximately two months. Hope the slap was worth it.]

Worth it? Renvar thought, watching Zhaoren scramble to his feet, looking more terrified than angry. It was priceless.

Suddenly, the world tilted. Renvar’s knees hit the cold stone. A sharp, piercing pain erupted in his skull, and the sky—the beautiful, orange-hued twilight sky—began to change.

The clouds didn't move; they tore.

In the rift above the sect, Renvar saw it. It wasn't a bird, and it wasn't a cloud. It was a massive, skeletal eye, surrounded by wings made of falling ash, staring down at the world with a hunger that made his very soul shiver.

[Warning: Death Gauge has increased by 1%.]

[The first seal of the 'Great Incinerator' has been glimpsed. Congratulations, Host. You’ve officially caught the attention of things that shouldn't exist.]

"Renvar? Renvar, look at me!" Yuexia’s voice sounded like it was coming from underwater.

Renvar looked up at the sky one last time before his vision went dark. The eye was still there, blinking slowly.

"Three years," Renvar whispered to the darkness. "I think I'm going to need a bigger fire."