Fifty thousand years ago, the world was not peaceful.
It was torn apart by war.
Giants strode across continents like living mountains, their fists able to split peaks and shatter rivers. Demons rose from the darkest abysses, their flames black as night and their hatred older than time. Humanity, fragile in body but fierce in spirit, stood between them and refused to kneel. For a thousand years, the three great races fought without cease, each seeking dominion over heaven and earth.
The mountains collapsed. Oceans boiled. The stars themselves seemed to dim under the violence.
No one remembered how the war began. Some said a divine treasure had fallen from the heavens. Others whispered that a secret hidden at the very core of existence had driven the three races into madness. A few believed the conflict had not been born of greed at all, but of destiny—of forces beyond mortal understanding.
Whatever the truth, it was lost to time.
Only the ending remained.
When that thousand-year slaughter finally reached its conclusion, the giants were buried, the demons were extinguished, and even the strongest humans, those who had once touched the highest realms of cultivation, vanished like smoke in the wind. The old world collapsed beneath its own bloodshed.
Then came the Great Bang.
No one knew whether it was the cry of heaven, the collapse of the laws, or the birth of something entirely new. They only knew that the heavens burst open in a blinding explosion of light, and when the radiance faded, the old path of cultivation had been broken forever.
The world entered a new age.
Two thousand years passed.
From the ruins of that shattered era, new legends emerged. A sage once found a pool of blood-red liquid hidden beyond the reach of mortal men. He bathed in it, endured agony enough to kill an ordinary soul, and rose transformed. His power surpassed anything seen before. He called it the Cosmic Pool.
Some said the pool was the remaining blood of the heavens. Others said it was the essence of dead gods. No one could prove anything. Yet from that mystery, a new truth was born.
People began to awaken Cosmic Souls.
These souls were not the same as the old cultivation roots of ancient times. They were unique spiritual manifestations bound to the body, the mind, and fate itself. Some awakened beasts, some weapons, some elements, and some stranger things still—runes, shadows, flames, moons, storms. Every soul was a reflection of the heavens' will.
But only a chosen few succeeded.
The rest lived and died as ordinary mortals, never crossing the threshold into power.
In this world, strength decides everything.
Weakness invited humiliation. Weakness invited death.
And so the children gathered beneath the ancient tree listened with shining eyes, their young hearts already burdened by the dream of awakening.
An old man sat in its shade, his back bent slightly, his beard white, his expression kind. Around him, a dozen children listened in rapt silence as he told the tale of ages long past.
One boy raised his hand.
"Grandpa," he asked, "what were they fighting for?"
The old man's eyes narrowed faintly, though his smile remained. "No one knows for certain. Some say treasure. Some say a secret. Some say a single truth that could overturn heaven itself."
Another child frowned. "Then did it really happen? Or is it just a story?"
The old man let out a soft chuckle. "What do you believe?"
The boy hesitated. He was young, no more than five, with bright eyes and a stubborn mouth. At last he said, "I want to believe it happened. My parents said when I turn six, I'll awaken my soul. If that's true, then the old stories must be true too."
The old man laughed, pleased.
"Good," he said. "Very good."
The children slowly dispersed, their excitement bubbling as they ran toward their families. The old man remained beneath the tree for a moment longer, one wrinkled hand resting on its bark. The wind passed through the leaves in a quiet rustle.
Then he murmured to himself, almost lovingly, "So many ask who was strongest... but this child asked why it ended."
A faint smile touched his lips.
Anyone looking back at that moment would have seen something impossible.
The frail old man was gone.
In his place stood a handsome middle-aged cultivator, elegant and otherworldly, his body already fading into mist as though he had never truly belonged to the mortal world at all.
Three years later, the Feng Family Estate was in an uproar.
Today was the day of the Cosmic Soul Awakening Ceremony.
The ancestral courtyard had been swept clean, the marble ground washed until it gleamed beneath the morning sun. Red banners fluttered from the halls. Elders and attendants stood in orderly rows. Children, each no older than six, waited with nervous faces and racing hearts.
For the Feng family, this ceremony was one of the most important days of the year.
The Fengs were famed Rune Masters, a noble clan that specialised in spiritual formations and artifact forging. Their works were coveted by sects, merchants, and nobles alike. A single well-made rune plate could fetch a fortune. A single spiritual artifact could alter a family's future.
For their children, awakening a soul meant more than power.
It meant wealth. Status. A road out of mediocrity.
Among the children stood Chu Feng.
His eyes shone with anticipation, but unlike the others, he was not dreaming of being a hero or a saviour. His thoughts were much simpler, much more honest.
Gold.
Mountains of it.
Treasuries overflowing with spirit stones, luxurious clothes, fine wine, delicious food, and a life where no one ever looked down on him again.
If he awakened, he would become rich.
That was enough.
The ceremony master stepped forward.
He wore robes embroidered with silver runes that seemed to move when the light struck them. With a calm breath, he lifted his hands. Spiritual energy gathered around him in a visible wave, and behind his back, a phantom sigil bloomed into existence like a shining halo of script and geometry.
"Do not fear," he said, his voice steady and warm. "Close your eyes. Empty your thoughts. Let your soul respond."
The children obeyed.
One by one, they placed their small hands on the crystal sphere at the centre of the courtyard.
The first glimmer of light rose.
Then another.
Soon, brilliance filled the courtyard as soul grades appeared one after another. Some were weak, others promising. Gasps and cheers rose when the clan head's twin children both awakened seventh-grade souls. Pride shone in the elders' eyes. Their future was bright.
Chu Feng stood among them, waiting.
Then the sky changed.
Far above the estate, where the clouds thinned and the wind screamed across the heavens, two cultivators were locked in a deadly battle.
Their bodies flashed through the sky like streaks of lightning. One wielded a sword surrounded by water so pure it glowed like moonlight. The other was pale with fury, his aura monstrous and wild.
"Old Man Xi!" one of them roared. "You took the Holy Sword of Water last time and claimed fate favoured you! Now fate favours me!"
Xi, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth, only smiled.
"Better jade shattered than humiliated," he answered.
Their collision lit the sky white.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then both figures vanished.
The Holy Sword of Water shattered in midair.
A single silver droplet, glowing with divine power, fell from the heavens.
It passed through the clouds, through the roof beams, through the open air of the courtyard, and struck Chu Feng directly between the brows.
Everything changed in an instant.
Chu Feng's body jolted violently.
The crystal sphere beneath his hands exploded into shards of light.
A rune—strange, incomplete, and filled with sharp, cold power—flared behind him for half a breath before flickering unstable and dim.
Pain detonated in his skull.
He screamed.
Blood streamed from the wound between his brows, hot and bright against his pale skin.
The courtyard erupted in chaos.
"Chu Feng!"
His father, Chu Kang, lunged forward, but several elders caught him before he could reach the boy.
The ceremony master stumbled back, his face drained of colour. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.
"Sword energy...? That's impossible."
Chu Kang struggled against the hands restraining him. "What's happening to my son?!"
The officiant swallowed hard, his own fear barely concealed. "Pray his will holds. If his soul breaks, he dies."
Chu Feng could barely hear them.
The world was turning black around the edges. His body felt as though it were being torn apart from the inside. Every breath was agony. Every heartbeat was a hammer striking his skull.
He wanted to scream again, but even that seemed impossible.
Then, through the pain, he heard his father's voice.
"Son!"
The cry was raw, desperate, and filled with a father's helpless terror.
Chu Kang's voice broke as he shouted, "You promised you'd make big money! Fight! You have to live if you want to become rich!"
For a moment, the words made no sense.
Then they struck Chu Feng's mind with the force of revelation.
Big money.
Riches.
Gold.
Treasure.
Golden mountains rose in his imagination, one after another, endless and dazzling. Vaults filled with spirit stones. Silk robes. Fine meals. Houses of carved jade. A life of comfort, freedom, and luxury beyond counting.
He had no idea whether that future could truly exist.
But he wanted it.
That desire blazed brighter than fear.
Brighter than pain.
Brighter than death.
Chu Feng clenched his tiny fists so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. His body shook. Blood dripped onto the shattered crystal, but the pain no longer felt empty. It became a furnace. The greed in his heart surged, violent and stubborn, forcing him to stay conscious, forcing him to endure.
The wound on his brow began to close, then he fainted.