A young man lay with his eyes closed, mumbling softly.
"Mhmm." Though his eyes were shut, tears still streamed down his face.
No—he wasn't crying.
He was simply exhausted, the kind of tiredness that seeps deep into one's bones.
He sighed before cursing at the sun for waking him up.
"Can't even sleep properly, and now the sunlight's in my eyes! Damn it!" His voice was both angry and trembling—frustration mixed with weariness.
He groaned, rubbed his eyes, and muttered, "Damn it, I was sleeping so well. When did the sun even rise?"
When his vision finally cleared, he realized he was lying beneath a tree on a hilltop.
He blinked in confusion before stammering, "W-Where am I? What is this place? I'm sure I was in my room last night!"
Panic filled his voice as he clenched his fists.
He swallowed to ease the dryness in his throat, but no amount of swallowing could wash away the confusion.
Even as he tried to calm himself, he couldn't stop muttering curses into the air.
"Did I… reincarnate? Or something else? I don't feel like I've taken someone's body—this crappy body's definitely mine!"
He was right. The boy had no name, no family, and no one who truly cared for him.
People always seemed uneasy around him—as if his very existence disturbed them.
Even his parents, whoever they were, must have abandoned him for that reason.
He'd grown up in an orphanage, constantly shunned and bullied. Life had forced him to harden himself early.
Eventually, he decided to leave everything behind and study foreign languages—hoping to find a place where people wouldn't be disgusted by him.
Strangely, he was gifted in that field. He learned languages faster than most.
But he hadn't done it out of passion—it was out of necessity.
Despite his talent, every host family that took him in eventually found him unsettling.
He was forced to move again and again, drifting between countries and homes.
Over time, he gained a deep understanding of languages—but not of people.
He would often stare at his reflection, trying to understand why people reacted the way they did.
He wasn't ugly—in fact, his face could have belonged to a celebrity.
But no matter where he went, people would flinch, avoid him, or worse—look at him with disgust.
He tried harder and harder to understand them, only for their revulsion to grow.
That was when his madness began to surface.
He started suppressing his empathy, dulling his mind in hopes of silencing whatever it was that made him see too much.
But the more he hid his understanding, the more people despised him.
He eventually gave up, retreating into his "cave"—his lonely room.
He cursed the world, cursed life itself, and even cursed his own existence.
Yet, no matter how much he wished for death, he couldn't bring himself to do it.
Despite his despair, some faint instinct kept him alive.
One night, he looked into the mirror.
For the first time, he clearly saw his reflection in the pitch-black room.
One of his eyes shone with faint hope, while the other looked like it was waiting for death.
He gave the reflection a final glance before lying down.
The reflection, however, didn't fade.
Its hair turned white. Its facial features blurred. And then—
Crack.
The mirror split in half.
That was the night he never woke up again.
The night he left behind a painful world… and entered another.
...
When he opened his eyes, the young man pinched himself. It didn't feel like a dream.
He was still in his own body, but his surroundings were completely different.
He tried to think, but his mind was blank.
Finally, he exhaled deeply, letting the fresh air fill his lungs.
"Hahh… so my wish to go to another world came true earlier than expected.
At least I wish I'd deleted my browser history first!
A little warning would've been nice!" he shouted before hurling a few curses into the empty sky.
After venting, he finally calmed down.
"I don't know what world this is, so I'll need a nickname instead of a name," he muttered.
After a moment of thinking, he said aloud, "The Wandering Devil! Yes, that'll be my name!"
He grinned maniacally, pleased with himself—only to freeze a second later.
"No… that name's too embarrassing! Just imagining people calling me that gives me chills!"
He spun around on the hill, losing his mind for a while, before laughing bitterly.
"Who am I kidding? No one's going to talk to me anyway. They'll just avoid me again."
He smiled—not out of sadness, but relief.
With nothing else to do, he sat down quietly.
Then, his stomach growled so loudly it echoed through the hills.
"Ugh! Damn it, I'm starving!" he cried, clutching his belly and rolling on the ground.
Still half-blind from sleep, he started crawling aimlessly until he found himself rolling downhill.
"Agh! Ugh! Ahhh—stop!"
When he finally stopped, he groaned, "Damn it, I should've paid attention! My back's killing me…"
Rubbing his sore muscles, he finally looked around.
Behind him was the hill he'd fallen from, and before him stretched a wide, circular plain.
Beyond it—an endless forest.
His stomach growled again, and with no other option, he walked toward the forest.
After about half an hour, he reached its edge and took a deep breath before entering.
It was eerily quiet.
He searched for food, finding only mushrooms, moss, and animal droppings.
Just when he was about to give up, he spotted a fruit tree bathed in sunlight.
Without hesitation, he stuffed his pockets with fruit and began eating greedily.
He wasn't completely stupid—he'd waited long enough to see birds eating from the same tree. That was proof it wasn't poisonous.
After eating his fill, he leaned against the trunk, feeling strangely alert.
A chill ran down his spine.
Something was wrong.
He turned and ran back to the hill, instincts screaming.
By the time he reached the top, the sun was setting.
His body, though rested, felt strangely heavy—unnaturally so.
He decided to train, to shake off the stiffness.
He began practicing the martial methods he had once developed in his old world—simple breathing and movement exercises that focused intent into the body.
He breathed in deeply, held it, and struck.
The moment before his fist reached full extension, he released the breath, channeling all force forward.
When he added killing intent to the technique, his power multiplied.
He chuckled. "Not that I actually want to kill anyone… it's just the intent that matters."
But when night fell, and the moon rose, something stirred in the darkness below.
He woke from a brief nap, eyes alert.
Figures were moving in the shadows—stiff, staggering shapes climbing toward him.
"Jiangshi," he muttered coldly. "And a lot of them."
He recognized them instantly—corpse puppets.
But these were different. They weren't bound by magic; they had naturally turned into Jiangshi.
They were like zombies—but faster, stronger, and much more terrifying.
As one lunged toward him, he inhaled deeply, infused his strikes with killing intent, and smashed its head.
The skull crumbled like soft clay, yet the creature didn't stop moving.
Dodging its clawed hand, he countered with another flurry of blows—each one more focused than the last.
Piece by piece, the creature was torn apart.
But more were coming.
Holding his breath, he dashed forward, his body moving faster than it ever had before. His lungs burned, his muscles screamed—but he didn't stop.
He controlled his breathing rhythmically, letting his endurance drain slowly rather than all at once.
By the end, his body trembled.
But with every deep, controlled breath, his lungs expanded, strengthened.
He was evolving, right there—amidst death and moonlight.
And as the last Jiangshi fell, the young man exhaled slowly, muttering to himself—
"Finally… I feel alive."
...
To be continued...
How long had it been?
Another Jiangshi's body was torn apart, and the sound of breathing echoed.
Breathing is a habit.
Especially controlling an instinctive habit—it shows power beyond human limits.
He began attacking the Jiangshi who were desperately climbing toward the peak, one by one.
The young man dashed forward with incredible speed, facing two of them head-on.
He no longer needed to be on the defensive.
A cold killing intent radiated from him as he held his breath.
His strike reached the Jiangshi, shattering them into pieces.
Gripping his arm, the young man smiled and began to speak.
"Now I'm certain! I thought my body had only grown stronger…
but it seems it's also capable of healing rapidly!"
He grinned wickedly as he spoke.
For some reason, his grasp of habitual instincts was becoming stronger in this place.
Especially his sleeping habit—it had grown absurdly powerful, though he couldn't quite figure out why.
"Could it be magic? If mana is the cause, it makes sense.
In my previous world, power like mana or Qi was so scarce that no one could awaken those asleep.
But here… everything feels different!"
Shouting those words, his excitement surged as he dove back into battle.
Soon, he noticed that the number of Jiangshi was decreasing.
Wanting to push himself even further, another intent began to flow alongside his killing intent— the battle intent, something only true lovers of combat could emit.
He felt his whole being tremble with thrill and took the initiative to attack the remaining Jiangshi.
His fists tore through the air, leaving holes in their chests.
His breathing had changed now more rhythmic, more controlled.
A faint mix of killing and battle intent spread from his body.
As the two merged, his expression grew indifferent.
When all the Jiangshi were finally defeated, a strange phenomenon occurred.
Their motionlesscorpses gathered in one place, forming a massive Jiangshi.
The young man cursed. How much longer would this go on?
He stopped thinking and relaxed his clenched fists.
He threw his hands forward—not punches, but rapid strikes that reached the giant Jiangshi in an instant.
Each impact left ripples of empty space behind.
He didn't stop—his flurry of hand strikes carried inhuman speed.
He sacrificed raw strength for speed, increasing his tempo even more.
Within seconds, hundreds of blows landed, but his endurance began to fade.
The giant Jiangshi shrank in size, yet he realized it was healing by sacrificing its own mass.
Determined to finish it, he aimed for a fatal wound.
His right fist smashed into its abdomen with tremendous force.
He transferred that power to his left fist, which struck with even greater momentum.
The right hand's power had passed to the left—and his speed only grew faster!
When his strike connected, it created a devastating shockwave.
His fist must have reached the Jiangshi's core, for the massive creature froze and collapsed.
Panting, cold sweat covering his face, he muttered:
"So that's it!
All the Jiangshi I fought were just fragments of a single one.
When they merged, the core coordinating them must have overloaded and shattered!"
Everything fit together perfectly—it had to be as he thought!
But his endurance was gone. His body gave in, and he collapsed, gasping for air.
That last attack had taken everything he had.
His tired eyes slowly closed, and he drifted into sleep where he fell.
...
When the young man awoke again, the sun was already rising over the mountain's peak.
He had fought Jiangshi the entire night—he deserved some rest.
He checked the vitality within his body, aware of how much he had strained it.
Yet strangely, he didn't feel strained at all.
Smiling, he laughed aloud.
"I don't know the source of this recovery, but it's damn effective! Hahaha!"
As he laughed again, he felt his hunger return.
He didn't crave fruit anymore; now that he was stronger, he could venture deep into the forest for real food.
Standing at the border between the mountain and the plain, he sprinted toward the forest's entrance.
---
Inside, a deep silence greeted him.
He stepped on a dry branch without care, breaking the quiet—but nothing unusual happened.
Deeper and deeper he went, exploring the vast forest.
"…"
The forest was huge. He could sense danger from afar and even spotted several wild beasts, though they were too fast to follow with the naked eye.
"This world really is different… maybe even another universe," he muttered as he walked, lost in thought.
For a while, silence reigned again—
until his stomach growled.
He remembered his hunger and hurried forward.
He rarely ate meat—he could feel the pain of creatures dying in agony.
At first, he could eat anything, but as his understanding deepened, he unintentionally gained this sensitivity.
Until he became strong enough to kill without causing pain, he decided to avoid meat.
So, before hunting for food, he searched for water. But there seemed to be no source nearby.
He had quenched his thirst with fruit before, but now, even without thirst, he felt the need for real water.
To get a better view, he climbed one of the tallest trees—his strong body made it easy.
...
From the top, he noticed his vision had expanded—he could see farther than before.
Pleased by this, he scanned the horizon for a river.
It didn't take long to realize the nearest one was about two days away on foot.
He sighed, about to give up, when he noticed something—
a ripple, like a spell dissolving.
He stared wide-eyed as the ripple vanished, revealing something unbelievable:
A waterfall—right there, much closer than before!
Why hadn't he seen it earlier? And the lake below… it glowed faintly!
A shining waterfall—how could he have missed that?
He tried to reason it out, but no explanation came to mind.
So, he decided to head straight for the lake.
Perhaps a closer look would tell him something.
---
Meanwhile, near that very lake, a cultivator named Zhenhua was teaching her disciple.
Her aura was serene, her beauty almost divine Before beginning, she sat in the lotus position and gestured for her student to do the same.
Then she spoke.
"The Breathing Technique of the Natural Cycle allows you to synchronize the Qi of heaven and earth with your body.
It requires understanding of nature and harmony, and through this principle of cycles, it enables spellcasting with the five elements."
W.N: The five elements commonly known among cultivators are Earth, Water, Wind, Nature, and Fire.
Zhenhua continued:
"Mastering this technique means grasping the foundations of the Core Formation Realm.
It grants insight into elemental resonance and cyclical body regeneration."
Just as she finished speaking, a rustling sound broke the calm.
Soon, a mortal boy appeared.
Startled, both Zhenhua and her bear-like disciple, Xinyue, took defensive stances.
"I can't sense his cultivation level... he looks like a mortal,"
Zhenhua thought. "That makes him even more dangerous—
no mere mortal could survive my spells!"
She shouted, "Who are you? Who sent you!?"
But the young man didn't understand her words.
Losing interest, he simply ran to the lake and began to drink.
Before long, they realized he truly was a mortal.
Zhenhua stopped her spell formation, and Xinyue halted her chant.
They tried to sense his intent—but strangely, they failed.
Deciding he was harmless, they resumed their lesson.
Meanwhile, the young man sighed, watching them from the water's edge.
"I can't understand their language," he said softly, "but I can feel their emotions and intent."
He glanced at the two women.
"Anyone else would be driven mad by their beauty and attack them on impulse.
Luckily, their killing intent sobered me up."
He watched them closely, trying to grasp what they were doing—
and then his eyes widened.
Their intent gathered in their dantian, forming a strange phenomenon.
It was the first time he had seen such a thing. Excitement coursed through him.
"Yes! This must be cultivation! There's no doubt this is another world!"
Even though he didn't know the name "Core Formation Realm," he understood it intuitively.
They were channeling energy into their dantian through intent.
So, he did the same.
His own intent waves surged outward, strengthening his body.
As he merged them, his entire body began transforming into a single dantian.
Zhenhua and Xinyue felt the shift in Qi flow.
They could recognize some of the intents:
-> Killing intent, thick with bloodlust.
->Sorrow, powerful enough to make anyone cry.
->Battle spirit, reminiscent of a sword master's aura.
But there were others they couldn't comprehend.
The boy was surrounded by nine intents.
Among them were Killing, Sorrow, Longing, Pain, Battle Spirit, Combat Hunger, Battle Passion and finally, Death Intent.
This last one was hidden deep, born from erasing his own emotions and personality.
The intent wrapped his whole body, turning it into a vast dantian.
He felt pain, but ignored it. Compared to the suffering of his life, this was nothing.
When the Qi absorption stopped, he felt something in his heart a dead energy pulsing there.
He didn't realize it was Death Qi, but he knew it was different.
His "Dead Heart" was something only those who despised themselves could possess—
a heart born from endless sorrow, pain, and longing.
This "Dead Heart" could eventually give rise to Death Magic.
But he didn't know that yet.
When the phenomenon ended, he slowly descended.
Xinyue asked her master,
"What just happened, Master?"
Zhenhua's expression darkened.
"I don't know… I've never seen anything like this before.
The only thing I can say is—he's stepped onto the path of cultivation."
She recalled her own journey as a prodigy.
Even she, a genius praised across her sect, had never caused such a phenomenon.
"If I was called a genius… then what is he? A genius among geniuses?"
She clenched her teeth and approached the boy, Xinyue following behind.
...
Within two days, the boy spoke their language fluently.
Zhenhua was struck speechless.
"Who are you?" she asked. "Two days ago what was that phenomenon? How did you do it?"
He thought for a moment before answering.
"I watched how you drew Qi into your dantian and observed the intents behind it.
Soon, I understood how to use intent and absorb Qi.
But… I'm certain what I did isn't true cultivation."
Zhenhua frowned.
"Don't be ridiculous! What you practiced is cultivation! Who do you take me for?"
He sighed.
"You're not entirely wrong. But I didn't copy your method exactly. I adapted it to myself."
Zhenhua's eyes widened.
"You… you created your own cultivation method?!"
He nodded calmly.
Her knees almost gave out. Xinyue rushed to support her.
Xinyue bit her lower lip and stared at the ground.
The helplessness of being unable to follow the wordplay between her master and this stranger weighed on her heart like a heavy stone.
She could only settle for listening in silence.
"What if you hit a bottleneck someday?" she asked weakly.
"Then I'll deal with it when it happens," he replied, shrugging.
Zhenhua sighed heavily.
Channeling Qi into a ring on her finger, she summoned a tent-like house.
"I need to rest," she murmured. "I've witnessed the birth of a monster."
If they didn't want the entire continent to chase him, they'd have to keep this secret.
Xinyue helped her master inside. Before resting, Zhenhua whispered:
"He's a monster. Even the elites of legend can't compare.
Stop comparing yourself to him.
Instead, cultivate—and perhaps you'll share in the miracles he brings."
Xinyue couldn't hold back her tears.
Despite her talent, her confidence had crumbled in just two days.
...
Later, she stepped outside, her eyes swollen.
The young man truly felt her sorrow through intent.
He approached and sat beside her, gazing at the sky.
"I don't have a name," he said quietly.
Xinyue wiped her tears, confused.
"W-What do you mean?"
Still staring upward, he smiled faintly.
"I never had a family to give me one.
Most called me a b*stard.
The kindest among them called me the nameless child."
He chuckled.
"I guess even my parents feared my talent and abandoned me."
When he woke up in this world, he thought a name didn't matter.
But now, he realized the suppression of his own power had numbed that part of him.
Even the fact that others didn't reject him felt strange.
until he understood that his ability was affecting them.
During the past two days, he and Xinyue had talked often, unintentionally growing closer.
Through her, he practiced the language and learned new terms.
Xinyue often praised his face, mistaking his beautyfor femininity.
With his smooth, hairless skin—thanks to the technology of his previous world—she had even convinced herself he was a girl.
...
"So even if you ask my name," he said softly, "I truly don't have one."
They sat in silence for a while, gazing at the sky.
Then, Xinyue spoke gently.
"Would you like to have one?"
He thought for a moment.
"And how would you do that?"
She took a strange stone from her spatial ring and handed it to him.
"Here, take this… It's called a Name Token. It displays the name written in one's destiny.
Usually… noble families use this when naming their children."
His eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"If you don't mind, may I use it?"
She nodded and gave it to him.
Infusing it with Qi, he saw a name form in his mind.
He whispered it aloud—
"Lian Feng."
But the names didn't stop there. He had many within him.
For now, he'd use the first.
The second 'Kael' he'd reserve for times when he needed to hide.
Xinyue smiled softly through her swollen eyes.
"Lian Feng… it suits you perfectly."
...
To be continued...
Zhenhua's expression hardened as he read the message glowing on the communication ring around his finger.
Xinyue, noticing the sudden change on her master's face, approached with concern.
"Master? Is something wrong?"
Zhenhua slowly lifted his gaze — first to Xinyue, then to Lian Feng
"We've been summoned by the sect. A place and time have been set… and we don't have much of either."
A heavy silence fell. Lian Feng appeared to watch the waterfall with detached calm, yet he understood the urgency in Zhenhua's tone.
Still gazing at the flowing water, Lian Feng spoke evenly.
"Then we should go."
Zhenhua's reply came sharp and firm.
"This has nothing to do with you. It concerns our sect.
But it does bear consequences for you — we can no longer protect you."
Xinyue cast a sorrowful look toward Lian Feng.
The two days of shared words and that strange, silent connection had forged between them an unexpected bond of friendship.
Worry deepened in her eyes.
"But… what will he do alone? He barely understands where he is!"
Zhenhua sighed and turned back to Lian Feng.
"Xinyue is right. Your… 'nature' has not prepared you for the dangers of this world.
If you catch the eyes of the immortals, they'll see you as a threat — or worse, a subject for their experiments.
They would want to uncover the source of your power."
At last, Lian Feng turned his head, and a faint light — perhaps defiance — glimmered in his eyes.
"Don't worry about me.
Solitude is hardly unfamiliar to me."
A faint, bitter smile tugged at Zhenhua's lips.
"I believe you. But I still possess what's left of a conscience.
Anyone who could absorb our language and cultivation foundations in just two days… shouldn't be wasted in this world."
He drew from his sleeve a faintly glowing stone etched with swirling wind-like patterns.
"Take this token. Travel west.
It won't grant you noble status, but it will open the gates of the Windborne Empire."
Lian Feng took the token and examined it with quiet curiosity.
"What kind of place is the Windborne Empire?"
Zhenhua raised a thumb and replied,
"A refuge scorned and ignored by the immortals — a realm of martial artists, mortals who still seek their own path."
Xinyue eagerly interjected,
"That's good for you! You'll be safe there. No one will bother you. And… you can live in seclusion!"
She had witnessed firsthand Lian Feng's natural gift for observation and comprehension — and learned much from it herself.
...
to be continued...