Chapter 2
For what felt like an eternity, Ling Xu could only stare at the Star of Humanity pulsing faintly in the air—like the youngest eye of the universe gazing at him with quiet curiosity.
He crawled forward, his elbows scraping against the damp stone, blood dripping behind him into a crimson trail like petals that withered before ever blooming.
"I hate this," he hissed through chattering teeth, "but I hate it even more if I die as a loser."
With great effort, he reached out, his blood-soaked fingers barely able to grasp—yet the moment the star touched his palm, he felt something strange: neither heat nor cold, but a gentle whisper.
"You may hate me. But do not let your hatred blind your steps."
Ling Xu clenched it tightly, then whispered into the darkness of the cave, "I will not let anyone dictate my path again. I will become the greatest cultivator—and I will find who was behind my mother's violation."
And miraculously, within a span of time not even long enough for morning dew to dry, Ling Xu's body changed.
The star dissolved into his chest like a drop of ink falling into clear water—spreading, rooting itself, then erupting into a thousand veins of light that coursed through his bones and flesh.
He heard something crack, then reconnect.
"What—?" he uttered in half-shock, as the wounds on his elbows and ankles closed on their own, leaving behind marks like thin golden veins beneath his skin.
He stood—truly stood, without pain, without wavering.
Within his mind, a vague understanding emerged.
First-Level Lower Star.
He did not fully understand what it meant, as no one had ever taught him about cultivation hierarchies.
"Fine," he muttered, clenching his fist, feeling an unfamiliar yet intimate Qi flowing through his veins, "at least I'm no longer crawling."
Outside the cave, the light of dusk greeted him like an old friend he had never known.
He stood at the cave's entrance, inhaling air that now felt different—lighter, sharper, as if every molecule whispered small secrets of the universe to him.
Xuelan Camp.
The name surfaced from nowhere, perhaps from a memory left behind by the Star itself, perhaps from the instinct of a goddess learning to become a cultivator.
"A place to stay," he murmured softly, "I need a foothold before I can go any further."
Without hesitation—or perhaps with hesitation he forcibly killed—Ling Xu gathered Qi at the soles of his feet.
For the first time in his life, he flew.
Not like a bird, not like a god, but like an arrow released from the bow of anger.
Fast, straight, and slightly chaotic.
"Ah—!" he cried, nearly losing balance midair before stabilizing himself.
His white, multicolored-streaked hair fluttered wildly behind him, and below, forests turned into valleys, valleys into rivers, until finally, in the distance, it appeared.
Xuelan Camp, with its foundation resembling a vast encampment, massive tents made from interdimensional beast hides, and bonfires burning like red eyes in the dusk.
Fhuuh!
In the region once known as the Palace of a Thousand Horns—now transformed into the Red Jurisdiction Territory under humanity's rule—the air felt like heated iron endlessly forged.
A 24-year-old man, Huan Zheng, darted through the ruins of an ancient eclipse, his once sky-blue robe now tattered and soaked in greenish-black blood.
Behind him, thousands of cultivators from the Supreme Court of Humanity pursued like tireless wolves, their weapons pulsing with Qi and their eyes hungry for confession.
"The Leg of Humanity!" someone shouted from afar.
"Don't let him escape—he's already been sentenced to death by the Supreme Judge!"
Huan Zheng gritted his teeth, feeling billions of poisons within his body—the verdict of that Supreme Judge—moving like tiny worms gnawing at the foundation of his cultivation from within.
Every counterattack he unleashed was devastating, capable of tearing the sky and splitting the earth, but thousands remained thousands.
"You think I'll surrender?" he hissed while deflecting three spirit swords at once.
"My Leg of Humanity has not wavered—not for you, not for this damned poison!"
Yet slowly, that sea of humans began to show its meaning.
Not through one or two powerful strikes, but through exhaustion piling up like sand in the hourglass of death.
Huan Zheng was indeed untouched by their direct attacks—the strongest among them only reached the Leg and Abdomen levels of Humanity, while he himself stood at the same tier but with a far sturdier foundation—but their numbers were overwhelming, and the poison in his veins grew increasingly vicious.
Every time he gathered Qi for a major attack, pain like a thousand burning needles pierced his meridians.
"He's slowing down!" shouted a woman from the front line.
"Surround him from the left! Don't give him any room to breathe!"
Huan Zheng tried to fly higher, but his legs felt bound by invisible stones.
He fell, rolled across the dry ground, then was flung back after a combined strike slammed into his chest.
Blood burst from his mouth—not red, but blackened, a sign that the poison had already ravaged his internal organs.
"Ah—!" he groaned, his body forced to lie flat upon jagged rocks as the sky above spun like a mad windmill.
Lying there, with wounds pouring blood from dozens of points—arms, thighs, waist, even his left eyelid—Huan Zheng could still see the blurred silhouettes of his pursuers forming a circle around him.
They stood like a wall of flesh and iron, and from within that crowd, a man in blazing red robes stepped forward.
His face was cold, his lips thin, and in his hand he held a badge shaped like golden scales—the symbol of the Supreme Court of Humanity.
"Huan Zheng," the man spoke, his voice calm yet piercing like a slowly driven blade, "it is time you confess your crimes. The Supreme Judge has delivered the verdict—and you know, no one can defy it."
Huan Zheng chuckled, though it quickly turned into a cough of blood.
"Crimes? My only crime is... that I am still alive after you disturbed my family."
The red-robed man shook his head slowly.
"If you refuse, I cannot guarantee your safety. Feel for yourself the billions of poisons consuming you—this is only the beginning."
Huan Zheng laughed.
Not the laughter of defeat, nor of despair—but the laughter born from the depths of a soul that had witnessed too much death to fear one more.
His laughter grew louder, filling the gray sky above the Red Jurisdiction Territory, echoing among the ruins of the shattered Palace of a Thousand Horns, lasting for a full twelve seconds—long enough to make the enforcers of the Supreme Court exchange uneasy glances they could not conceal.
"You'd do well to look at yourselves first," Huan Zheng finally said, his once ragged voice now turning into a bone-chilling cold, "before judging the right and wrong of others. Especially when the one you interrogate is one of the three Wheels of Cultivation—beings at the very peak of cultivation."
He smiled, blood still flowing from the corner of his lips, but his eyes burned like two embers refusing to fade.
"As long as it isn't the number one challenging me, then all of you—no matter your level, even from the Head of Humanity realm—will become corpses in my hands."
To be continued…