Lin Chen dragged his broken body step by step out of the fog of the Forbidden Land.
Half a year of seclusion and the pain of his severed arm had robbed his steps of their former lightness, yet lent them a newfound steadiness and cold resolve. Sunlight fell on him, chasing away the lingering chill of the lake—but his heart remained icy.
Beyond the Forbidden Land stretched endless wild woods. Unlike the deathly stillness inside, faint cries of birds and beasts drifted through the air, hinting at life.
Instead of leaving immediately, he found a hidden rock to sit on, circulating his true essence to quietly recover. The dull ache in his severed shoulder lingered, and his internal injuries were far from healed. He needed time.
As he closed his eyes to rest, a shrill scream suddenly echoed from deep within the woods.
The voice was filled with despair and agony—not the roar of a beast, but the wail of a human.
Lin Chen's brow furrowed. He opened his eyes, a cold glint flashing within.
Since Heavenly Fate Sect's fall, this region had become lawless, overrun by rogue cultivators, bandits, and beasts. He had long expected the outside world to be cruel, yet he never imagined encountering violence the moment he stepped out.
Instead of rushing in recklessly, he suppressed his aura and moved like a ghost toward the sound. Activating Blood Shadow Art, he slipped silently through the trees.
The closer he drew, the louder the screams became, mixed with crude curses and wild laughter.
"Fuck you, you stubborn bastard! Daring to hide things from us?"
"Kill him! Hand over the goods, or we'll make you wish you were dead!"
"Hehe, this little lady's pretty cute—why not…"
Filthy words, accompanied by the dull thuds of fists striking flesh, reached Lin Chen's ears.
He hid behind a giant tree and peered out. The scene before him froze his already cold eyes into frost.
In the clearing, three black‑robed cultivators with murderous expressions were brutally beating a fallen father and daughter.
The father was covered in blood, his clothes tattered, one leg twisted at an unnatural angle—clearly broken. He shielded his daughter with his body even as he was beaten to the brink of death, begging over and over: "Please… spare my daughter… I'll give you everything…"
But his pleas only brought more savage blows.
One black‑robed cultivator kicked him in the chest. A dull crack echoed. The man coughed up a mouthful of blood and collapsed limply, his eyes quickly dimming—obviously dead.
"Father!!"
The girl was no more than sixteen, her clothes thin, her face streaked with tears and terror. Watching her father die, she let out a heart‑wrenching scream. She tried to lunge forward, but another black‑robed cultivator held her tightly, pinning her in place.
"Hehe, pretty thing, stop crying. Your dad's dead. Follow us from now on, and you'll live like a queen!" The cultivator leered, his rough hand caressing her face, his tone disgustingly lewd.
The other two rummaged through the man's corpse, grumbling: "Fuck, this poor bastard only has a few spirit stones. Not even enough to fill our teeth!"
"Killing him was too kind. Should've crippled his cultivation first and tortured him slowly!"
Their faces showed no mercy—only greed and cruelty after plunder, as if taking a life was no more significant than crushing an ant.
The girl screamed and struggled in despair, her eyes filled with helplessness and terror—the deepest despair at the evil of humanity.
Lin Chen stood behind the tree, watching. The air around him seemed to solidify.
He had seen the carnage of his sect's destruction, the bloodshed of beast battles—but the sight of his own kind preying on each other, treating lives like trash, still sent a bone‑chilling cold through him.
Was this the world beyond the Forbidden Land?
The weak were devoured, no bottom line existed.
Those with little power were stripped of even the most basic right to survive—wives and daughters humiliated, lives worth less than grass.
An indescribable malice slowly rose in his chest.
He thought of the fallen Heavenly Fate Sect, of his fellow disciples slaughtered by the super‑powerful clan.
These black‑robed cultivators were no different from the murderers who had destroyed his sect.
All of them trampled the weak and abandoned their humanity, relying only on strength.
"Fuck…"
Lin Chen muttered under his breath, his right arm slowly clenching until his knuckles turned white.
He had planned to lie low, heal his wounds, and steadily grow stronger.
But seeing the girl's desperate eyes, the man's cooling corpse, and the black‑robed cultivators' hideous faces—something inside him snapped.
Seclusion was not cowardice.
Restraint was not turning a blind eye to evil.
He had lost an arm, become broken—but his Dao heart, his bottom line, would not let him ignore this.
The three black‑robed cultivators were only at the peak of Body Tempering, not even True Martial.
Against Lin Chen, now Late True Martial, they were nothing but dogs.
He slowly stepped out from behind the tree, his steps calm yet carrying a suffocating pressure.
"You're looking for death."
His cold voice, like it came from the depths of hell, instantly silenced the clearing.
The three black‑robed cultivators snapped their heads around. When they saw his empty left shoulder, they froze for a moment, then broke into disdainful sneers.
"Where'd this cripple come from, daring to meddle in our business?"
"Hehe, just a one‑armed loser. Looks like he's a poor wretch too—let's kill him together!"
They paid him no mind, assuming he was just another down‑and‑out rogue cultivator.
Lin Chen said nothing. Only icy killing intent burned in his eyes.
Some evils must be washed away with blood.