Age: 7 Years Old.Location: The Canyon of Whispers.
The rain didn't stop. It only got heavier, turning the dirt road of the canyon into a river of sludge.
The Canyon of Whispers. It was a geological scar on the map. Steep cliffs rose on both sides, pressing in on the road like the jaws of a beast. It was dark, wet, and smelled of ambush.
Inside the carriage, the silence was heavy. Since the incident at the gate three days ago, my father had changed. He spoke less. He meditated more. The soft, grandfatherly aura was gone, replaced by the sharpening steel of a warrior waking up from a long nap.
"Halt." Arthur opened his eyes. The blue irises were sharp, like ice. "Something is wrong."
I was already awake. I was chewing on the last piece of dried viper jerky, savoring the salty, gamey flavor. I extended my Sense Perception.
‘Thirty heartbeats,’ I analyzed instantly. ‘Hiding in the rocks above. Breathing patterns are rough and unsynchronized. Adrenaline levels are high.’
I peeked through the window slit. I saw them. Men in leather armor and rusted chainmail scaling down the cliffs on ropes. Mercenaries.
‘Let’s assess the threat level,’ I thought, triggering my internal database.
In this world, strength is categorized by Ranks. In the Murim, we used terms like "Third Rate" or "First Rate." Here, they use Titles.
- Rank 1 (Squire): Cannon fodder. Stronger than a farmer. They can swing a sword without cutting their own leg off.
- Rank 2 (Foot Soldier): Athletic. Can fight 3-4 thugs at once. Most town guards are at this level.
- Rank 3 (Official Knight): This is where it gets dangerous. They possess "Iron Skin." They can coat their bodies in Mana (or Qi) to deflect arrows and light blows.
- Rank 4 (Veteran Knight): They can use "Weapon Aura." Their swords glow. They can cut through steel armor like butter.
- Rank 5 (Elite Knight): They can use "Projection." Flying slashes. Fireballs.
I scanned the cliffs. ‘Twenty-five Rank 1s (Trash).’‘Four Rank 2s (Annoying Trash).’‘One Leader... Rank 3 (Official Knight level).’
A Rank 3 Mercenary Commander against a sick Baron and a carriage full of women. Normally, this would be a slaughter. But they didn't know who was sitting across from me.
My father, Baron Arthur, was considered a physical cripple due to his Mana Clog. But in terms of pure Insight, he was a Rank 7 (Grandmaster / Transcendent). Arthur couldn't use Mana, so physically he wasn't a Rank 7. But his mind was. And thanks to my "lesson" at the gate, his mind was no longer hesitating.
CRASH!
A massive boulder slammed into the road ten meters ahead. Mud exploded into the air. The horses screamed and reared up, their hooves thrashing. The carriage lurched to a violent halt.
"Ambush!" The driver screamed. Thwip. Thwip. Two arrows struck the driver in the chest. He fell from the seat, dead before he hit the mud.
"Sarah, shield Elena! Stay down!" Arthur kicked the door open.
Count Draven
He stepped out into the rain. He didn't draw his sword immediately. He stood calmly, the water dripping off his noble coat, staring at the thirty men encircling the carriage.
"Kill them!" A voice roared from the cliffs. "Count Draven wants their heads! Bonus gold for the little girl!"
The mercenaries slid down the ropes, landing in the mud with heavy thuds. The Mercenary Leader a brute wielding a massive greataxe stepped forward. He grinned, revealing yellow teeth. "Well, well. The Crippled Baron. Hand over the girl, and I might make your death quick."
Arthur looked at the Leader. He didn't look afraid. He looked... bored.
"You possess Iron Skin," Arthur said, his voice cutting through the noise of the rain. "Rank 3. Impressive for a bandit."
"I am a Mercenary Commander!" The Leader roared, his pride wounded. "Die!"
He charged. The Greataxe swung down. It hummed with Mana, a blow that could split a boulder in half.
Arthur didn't move. Not until the axe was an inch from his nose.
Shift.
Arthur didn't dodge. He simply... existed in a different place. He took one step forward, entering the axe's inner circle the dead zone. He drew his sword.
Flash.
It wasn't a fancy move. It was a simple draw-cut. But it was imbued with Sword Intent. Intent ignores durability. Intent cuts the concept of the target.
Shhhink.
The Leader’s "Iron Skin" which should have deflected a normal sword parted like wet paper. The Leader froze. A thin red line appeared on his neck.
"H-How...?" The Leader gurgled, blood bubbling from his lips. "My skin..."
"Skin is useless," Arthur whispered, "if your soul is slow."
The Leader’s head slid off his shoulders. Thud.
The other twenty-nine mercenaries froze. Their boss, a Rank 3 powerhouse, had just been one-shot by a "Cripple."
"Next," Arthur said, flicking the blood off his blade.
"G-Get him! He's just one man!"
The mob charged. It was a mistake. Arthur moved like a ghost. He didn't waste energy blocking. He deflected. He redirected. A spear thrust came at him; he tapped the shaft, sending the spear tip into the throat of the attacker's friend. A sword swung at his legs; he stepped on the blade and pierced the user's eye.
It was a massacre. In thirty seconds, ten men were dead.
‘Beautiful,’ I thought, watching from the window slit. ‘He is fighting like a Murim Elder. Minimum effort. Maximum lethality. He truly understood the lesson.’
But then... I saw it. Arthur’s face turned purple. He grasped his chest.
Gah!
The Mana Clog. Using "Sword Intent" requires intense focus and energy flow. His clogged heart couldn't handle the pressure of Grandmaster-level exertion. It seized.
Arthur collapsed to one knee, vomiting blood. His sword dug into the mud to support his weight.
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"Father!" Elena screamed.
The remaining mercenaries saw it. "He's down! The old man is dying! Get him!"
They swarmed. Arthur swung desperately, keeping them at bay, but his movements were slowing. He was losing vision. He was done.
Meanwhile, four mercenaries broke off from the main group. They headed for the carriage. "Forget the old man! Get the women!"
‘Checkmate,’ I thought.
I looked at the tactical situation.
- Father: Incapacitated. Will die in 60 seconds without support.
- Mother & Elena: Defenseless.
- Enemy: 15 active combatants.
I could fight.
I could use my Rank 3 (High) physical strength to kill these four. But then the others would see. The word would get out. "The Valerius boy is a monster." King would hear of it. The Holy Church would hear of it. I would be drafted, studied, and enslaved as a weapon before I turned ten.
‘I need a distraction,’ I calculated coldly. ‘A massive one. One that splits the enemy force.’
And then, a thought crossed my mind. I had been looking for a place to train properly. The mansion was too safe. Too restrictive. I had to hide my cultivation every second of the day to avoid exposing myself to the maids or my father. It was inefficient. To regain my Rank 9 power, I didn't need a soft bed. I needed a hellscape. I needed constant, life-threatening danger to temper this body back to its former glory.
I glanced at the cliff edge through the rain. Below lay the Foggy Swamp. A Death Zone filled with monsters and poison. To a normal human, it was a grave. To the Heavenly Demon, it was a Private Gym.
‘Two birds with one stone,’ I smirked internally. ‘I save the family by drawing the aggro, and I fake my death to escape the King's eyes. Then, I get five years of uninterrupted solo leveling in the swamp. It's perfect.’
I looked at the seat next to me. Father’s coat was there. Pinned to it was the Baron’s Family Crest. It was solid gold, encrusted with rubies. An heirloom worth a fortune. To a dirty mercenary, it looked like a retirement plan.
I grabbed the crest. I looked at Elena. She was terrified, hugging Mother. "Close your eyes," I said softly.
I kicked the carriage door open.
"Get away! GET AWAY!" I screamed. It wasn't my usual flat voice. It was a high-pitched, terrified shriek. I channeled my inner "Spoiled Brat."
The mercenaries turned. "Oh? The little brother?"
I stood on the carriage step, shivering in the rain. I held the Golden Crest high above my head. It glittered in the lightning.
"You want money?!" I yelled, tears (fake) streaming down my face. "This is the Valerius Family Treasure! It's worth Ten Thousand Gold! Take it! Just don't kill me!"
The mercenaries stopped. Ten thousand gold? Greed is a powerful drug. It overrides logic. It overrides orders. Why kill a dying old man or kidnap a troublesome girl when you can grab a piece of gold and live like a king in the tropics?
"The Crest!" one shouted. "Forget the girl! Get the brat!"
"It's mine!" another roared.
It worked. Fifteen men turned their bloodlust toward me. I threw a rock at the nearest one. Bonk. Right on the nose. "Catch me if you can, you ugly pigs!"
I jumped into the mud. But I didn't run toward the cliff. I ran toward the Dense Forest that lined the canyon road. The trees were thick, the shadows were deep, and the undergrowth was high. Perfect for a hunt.
"He's heading into the woods! After him!" "Don't let the gold escape!"
Fifteen mercenaries chased me into the darkness. Behind me, I felt Father’s despairing gaze. He thought I was running to my death. He was wrong. I wasn't running away. I was leading the sheep into the slaughterhouse.
Inside the Forest.
I sprinted for two minutes, using Shadowless Step to leave footprints but staying just out of sight. The sounds of the mercenaries crashing through the bushes grew louder. They were clumsy. Loud.
‘Distance check,’ I thought. ‘500 meters from the road. The rain covers the screams. This is far enough.’
I stopped. I stood in a small clearing surrounded by towering ancient trees. The rain dripped from the leaves. Drip. Drip.
The mercenaries burst into the clearing. They were panting, mud covering their boots. "Found you... you little rat," the leader of the chase group wheezed. "Nowhere left to run."
They surrounded me. Fifteen armed men against one seven-year-old boy. They grinned. They saw a shivering child clutching a piece of gold.
I lowered the crest. I stopped shivering. My back straightened. The fear vanished from my face, replaced by a cold, absolute indifference.
"Run?" I asked softly. My voice was no longer a child's whine. It was deep, calm, and echoed with a strange resonance.
"Why would the butcher run from the cattle?"
The mercenaries paused. The atmosphere shifted. The air in the clearing suddenly grew heavy. The temperature dropped. The birds stopped singing.
"What did you say?" a mercenary stepped forward, raising his sword. "You crazy brat, hand over the"
I looked at him. My eyes flashed Crimson. Killing Intent.
It wasn't a spell. It was the sheer weight of a soul that had slaughtered millions in a past life. The mercenary froze. His instinct screamed PREDATOR.
"In the Great Dao," I spoke, my voice drifting through the rain like a ghost. "There is no good or evil. There is only the strong and the weak. The eater and the eaten."
I took a step forward. "Man struggles for wealth like birds die for food. But you forgot one thing."
I vanished. Form 1: Shadowless Step.
To them, I simply disappeared. To me, the world slowed down.
I appeared behind the first mercenary. I didn't have a sword. I used my hand. Form 3: Heart-Crushing Claw. My fingers, hardened by bone forging, pierced his leather armor and sank into his throat.
Rip.
"You didn't see the mantis behind you."
Blood sprayed. The mercenary collapsed, clutching his torn throat, gurgling.
"What?!" "Where is he?!" "The kid he's a monster!"
Panic erupted. I didn't give them time to think. I was a shadow in the rain. A blur of black and red.
Crack. A knee shattered. Snap. A neck twisted 180 degrees. Thud. A man fell with his heart stopped by a precise strike to the chest.
I didn't just kill them. I Harvested them. As each man died, I inhaled deeply. Form 7: Blood-Drinking Vortex (Internal).
The fear, the dying energy, the raw soul power it swirled out of their corpses as grey mist and entered my nostrils. ‘Delicious,’ I thought. ‘Rank 1 souls are trash, but quantity makes up for quality.’
"Demon!" one mercenary screamed, dropping his weapon and trying to run. "He's a Demon!"
"Correct," I whispered in his ear. I grabbed the back of his head. I slammed his face into a tree trunk. Crunch. His skull caved in.
Silence fell over the clearing. Fifteen men. Dead in sixty seconds. The rain washed the blood into the soil.
I stood in the center of the corpses. I looked at my hands. They were stained red. I felt my Dantian humming. The energy from fifteen souls was settling in, strengthening my foundation.
I dropped the Golden Crest onto the chest of the last dead mercenary. I didn't need the gold. I needed the freedom.
"Thanks for the meal," I said to the corpses.
I turned my back on the carnage. I didn't return to the road. I walked deeper into the forest, heading toward the Foggy Swamp. My training had just begun.
The Aftermath.
An hour later. The rain stopped. The clouds parted, and the sun began to shine, casting shafts of light through the trees.
Baron Arthur Valerius stumbled into the forest. He had recovered enough to stand. He had killed the stragglers at the carriage, but his heart was still aching. He followed the muddy footprints. "Cain!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. "Cain!"
He feared finding his son's small body. He feared finding the boy hacked to pieces by the bandits.
He pushed through a thicket of bushes and entered the clearing. He froze.
Arthur had been a soldier. He had seen war. He had seen battlefields. But he had never seen this.
Fifteen mercenaries lay dead. But they weren't just killed. They were... dismantled. Throats torn out by bare hands. Chests caved in by precise, heavy impacts. Necks snapped with surgical precision. Their faces were frozen in masks of pure, primal terror.
"By the Gods..." Arthur whispered.
He walked to the center. He saw the Golden Family Crest. It was resting neatly on a corpse, wiped clean of mud. But there was no Cain.
Arthur knelt down to inspect a body. He looked at the wound on the man's throat. It wasn't a sword cut. It was claw marks. Small fingers. Human fingers.
Arthur’s breath hitched. He looked around the clearing. He saw the footwork patterns in the mud. He recognized the efficiency. The brutality. It was the same "Insight" Cain had shown him at the gate, magnified a hundred times.
‘A monster...’ Arthur thought, a shiver running down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. ‘A monster did this. And that monster is my son.’
He looked deeper into the forest. The tracks continued, leading toward the dangerous swamp. He wanted to follow. But his chest seized again. Thump. He looked back toward the road, where his wife and daughter were waiting, terrified and defenseless.
He realized the truth. Cain didn't die. Cain didn't run away out of fear. Cain had cleaned up the trash, left the gold, and walked away into the wild because the house was too small for him.
Arthur stood up. He pocketed the Golden Crest. He didn't call out for Cain again. He knew Cain wouldn't answer.
"Survive," Arthur whispered to the shadows of the forest. "Survive, my son. And when you return... God help us all."
Arthur turned around and walked back to the carriage. When he emerged, Elena cried out. "Father! Where is Nii-ni? Did you find him?"
Arthur looked at his daughter. He wiped the blood from his face. "He is gone, Elena."
"Dead?" Sarah gasped, covering her mouth.
"No," Arthur said firmly. His eyes were hard as steel. "Not dead. Missing. But he will return." ‘When he is done eating the world,’ he added silently.
The carriage began to move again, rolling toward the Capital. Behind them, deep in the forest, a pair of crimson eyes watched them leave, before turning and disappearing into the mist.