The Risen Ghost: Master of the Chaotic Origin

Chapter 3 (The interest on a Ten-year debt) Chen’s POV

The new capital of the Yan Empire breathed with golden light. Red lanterns hung on gates and streets, while the sound of drums and flutes filled the air.

The Great Martial Arena roared with celebration. Banners of the Yan Empire fluttered proudly in the wind — crimson and gold washed over the flagpoles.

Though the streets lay empty, the roar of celebration thundered from the Arena.

By the time I reached the gate, it was already sealed. Four guards stood watch outside, alert with piercing eyes.

"The spear is the soul of the Empire!" the Grand Herald shouted. "Whoever can shift it three inches shall be named a General of the First Rank!" His voice carried across the capital.

Even from outside the gate, I knew what was happening. It was the Great Martial Trial, a celebration to signify ten years under the reign of a new Emperor, but this time, it was meant to ridicule my clan.

I took one look at my reflection in the water pool near the gate — a plain charcoal cloak of low-grade fabric covered my tattered robe and worn-out shoes. Just one glance and I knew I would never be allowed inside.

I lifted the gate with my mind and stepped forward. The guards, already shocked at my ability, moved to block my way in an attempt to stop me.

I didn't stop. I didn't slow down. I didn't even look their way.

As I passed between them, my mind opened — just slightly.

The chaotic origin stirred in hunger and their momentum vanished.

Not shattered. They were devoured.

The force behind their steps, the strength in their cores, the intent in their muscles—everything flowing forward was swallowed into emptiness. Their bodies continued the motion for half a breath longer, then collapsed as if the ground had betrayed them.

Above the central arena, the sun beat down on a crowd of thousands, their cheers echoing against the high stone walls.

At the center of the crowd was a high plinth holding the dragon-slaying spear — A Long’s clan relics never meant to be touched by outsiders.

It was humming softly, as dragon runes spiraled along its length. Wei Jue sat upon the imperial dais, dressed in black and gold, one hand resting lazily on the armrest as he watched the “geniuses” of the era fail to lift the spear.

They strained.

They shouted.

They bled.

The spear did not move.

I arrived as the next challenger was thrown back, coughing blood.

The moment I stepped past the outer gate, the temperature dropped. It wasn't a sudden wind; it was a creeping, parasitic cold that seemed to suck the warmth out of the arena.

Slowly the noise dimmed — not silenced, but muffled and all heads turned to the gate.

From beneath my charcoal cloak, my dark eyes watched the Arena with quiet detachment. A place so unfamiliar.

"Halt!" Two palace guards stepped forward, their spears leveled. "This trial is for invited warriors only."

I didn't speak. I didn't even look at them.

I simply kept walking.

The guards lunged at me. As their weapons drew near, the air around me rippled as the hungry void opened. There was no impact, no sound of a struggle. Instead, the momentum of their thrusts simply... vanished.

The guards collapsed instantly, their faces turning sickly pale as if the very strength in their muscles had been drained into the earth.

“What just happened?”

“Did he attack?”

“I didn't see anything..”

Murmurs and gasps rose from the crowd.

As I stepped forward, the crowd parted instinctively. People stumbled back, clutching their robes, their skin prickling as I passed. Cultivators with sharp senses felt it most—the oppressive void brushing against their cores, reaching for their energy.

Mediocre men shivered. Some paled.

At the imperial dais, Wei Jue’s smile faded.

His fingers tightened on the armrest.

I stepped onto the stage, ignoring the gasps of the nobles and the narrowed eyes of Wei Jue.

I stopped before the Dragon-Slaying Spear. Inhaled its intent and reached out to it. My long fingers were steady, devoid of any trembling.

The moment they touched the spear, silver light erupted skyward, tearing through the clouds like a wound in the heavens. The arena fell into absolute silence.

I lifted the spear, and its lightning coiled around my arms like it had been waiting for my touch.

The silent crowd cheered, but Wei Jue stood abruptly, as if he had seen a ghost.

I lifted my head then— just enough for him to see my eyes beneath the hood.

Cold and bottomless.

“Who are you?” Wei Jue roared, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his own blade. “Identify yourself, or your soul will feed the crows.”

Beneath his hostile look, I could see the fear in his eyes.

A satisfying smile curled up my lips.

“I command you to identify yourself!” Wei Jue yelled again this time unsheathing his sword.

Slowly, I pulled back the hood revealing my long strands of black hair streaked with silver grey threads traced along my temples.

Wei Jue narrowed his eyes trying to get a clear image of who I was.

I was no longer the boy he knew. I was now a man ready to tear him down.

“I have come to collect what was stolen, Wei Jue,” I whispered with a smug smile before turning to leave.

As I walked past the crowd, with the spear in my hand and a dark, thick, aura revolving around me. No one stopped me.

Not Wei Jue.

Not the guards at the gate.

Not even the coalition of seven who had come to celebrate.

They all watched me leave in terror.

They all suspected who I was, and that scared them to the bones.

That fear was my first victory.