Darkness was not merely the absence of light.It was a living thing—thick with dust, rust, and decay—that crawled into Lin Lao's lungs with every breath.
When Higo Ren opened his eyes, the first sensation that greeted him was pain. Not sharp, not fleeting, but deep and suffocating. His wrists burned as cold iron chains wrapped around them like coiling serpents. Each movement sent dull shocks through his bones, weak and brittle as if they had never known proper nourishment.
The soft bed of his former world, the quiet nights spent watching over Mei, the distant glow of neon lights—those memories felt impossibly far away, like scenes from a dream he had already forgotten. His mind still pulsed with the aftershock of the Black Page, as though something had branded itself into his soul.
The carriage jolted violently.
The rough, splintered wooden floor hurled his frail body upward before slamming him down again. Every impact echoed with a dry, cracking sound that made his teeth clench. This was no simple wagon—it was a moving cage. Iron bars lined the sides, and pale moonlight slipped through the narrow gaps, briefly illuminating the horror within.
Children.
Dozens of them.
Chained together, filthy, bruised, their thin bodies pressed close for warmth and fear alike. Some trembled silently. Others sobbed under their breath, as though afraid even their tears might earn punishment.
Ren's modern mind struggled to stabilize itself as fragmented memories flooded in—memories that did not belong to him.
Lin Lao.
A nameless orphan.
Kicked for scraps of moldy bread.
Sleeping in mud-soaked alleys.
Dragged away by laughing men with whips and cruel eyes.
A life defined by humiliation and helplessness.
The more Ren absorbed these memories, the more a heavy pressure settled in his chest. Rage—quiet, controlled, but burning—coiled deep within him.
"Lin Lao… Lin Lao, are you awake?"
The voice beside him trembled, thin and fragile.
Ren turned his head with great effort. Through tangled, dirt-caked hair, he saw a pair of terrified eyes staring back at him.
Qinan.
The name surfaced instantly, carrying with it faint warmth—two children huddled together on freezing nights, sharing what little heat they had. Qinan was Lin Lao's only friend. Perhaps the only reason this body had not already given up.
"I'm here," Ren said.
The voice that came out startled even him—hoarse, cracked, like rusted metal grinding together.
"Don't panic. Just breathe slowly."
Qinan's eyes widened in disbelief.
This wasn't the Lin Lao he knew.
Normally, Lin Lao would already be crying, whispering desperate pleas about not wanting to die. But the gaze that met Qinan now was unnervingly calm—deep and cold, like the bottom of a lightless sea. It felt as though something ancient had awakened inside that small body.
"They're taking us to the Demon Sect… aren't they?" Qinan whispered.
His fingers tightened around the chain as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.
"I heard the guards laughing. They said we're not slaves… they said we're materials. Ingredients for human pills. Lin Lao, I'm scared. I wish we'd never gone into that street…"
Ren closed his eyes.
The Black Page surfaced in his thoughts—the endless darkness, the unbearable pressure, the sensation of being torn apart and reforged.
It hadn't merely transported him.
It had left something behind.
As he focused inward, he felt it.
A spark.
Cold, sharp, and radiant, lodged beneath his ribs, near the center of his chest. It was not warmth—it was clarity. A presence far too pure, too alien to belong to an ordinary human body.
Spiritual energy.
So this world really is ruled by power, Ren thought grimly.
His fingers curled into fists beneath the chains.
If mercy doesn't exist here… then I won't rely on it.
At that moment, realization struck him with chilling clarity.
The men driving the carriage.
The guards wielding whips.
The ones laughing at the children's fear.
They were not ordinary slavers.
They were practitioners of the Demon Sect.
Their movements were too controlled. Their presence carried a faint but unmistakable pressure—corrupt, violent, and refined through cultivation. These weren't criminals scraping by in the underworld; they were part of a system built on blood and sacrifice.
A system where children like Lin Lao were nothing more than resources.
A sharp crack split the air.
CRACK!
A whip lashed across another carriage, followed by a child's scream. Rough laughter erupted immediately after.
"Save your breath, brat!" a guard sneered. "You won't need it once the refining starts!"
Ren listened silently.
While fear consumed the others, his mind worked.
He counted the rhythm of the carriage.
Measured the spacing of footsteps outside.
Noted the clink and tension of the chains.
A strategist's mind from a modern world, fused with the desperation of a doomed child.
"Qinan," Ren said quietly.
The boy flinched.
"If the door opens, you run. Don't think. Don't look back. Just follow me."
Qinan swallowed hard and nodded, gripping Ren's sleeve with shaking fingers.
For the first time since awakening in this world, Higo Ren felt certain of one thing.
This wouldn't end with him being devoured.
Ren tested the spark inside his chest.
The moment he tried to move it, agony exploded through his veins.
It felt as if thousands of needles were driving into his body at once, tearing through fragile meridians unprepared for even the slightest flow of energy. Lin Lao's malnourished body screamed in protest, muscles convulsing violently.
Ren bit down hard, refusing to make a sound.
Pain meant he was alive.
Pain meant the power was real.
Outside, chaos erupted.
The horses suddenly neighed in terror. The carriage lurched violently as metal clashed against metal. Shouts rang out—sharp, urgent, and panicked.
Then—
BOOM!
The wagon tipped sideways.
Wood shattered. The rear wheel snapped clean off, spinning away into the darkness. Children were thrown into one another, chains clanging violently. Ren immediately twisted his body, shielding Qinan beneath him as they hit the floor hard.
Arrows whistled through the night.
A wet, choking sound followed—someone dying.
The heavy lock on the cage door exploded outward.
Moonlight flooded in, carrying with it the stench of blood and cold night air.
A figure stood in the doorway.
Not a guard.
Not a slaver.
A man clad in dark robes, his face hidden behind a pitch-black mask. In his hand was a black sword, its edge gleaming faintly as fresh blood dripped onto the wooden floor.
A Demon Sect practitioner.
The pressure radiating from him was suffocating.
His gaze swept across the children without emotion—no hatred, no cruelty.
Only calculation.
Only death.
Ren forced the spark in his chest outward again.
Pain ripped through him, worse than before. His vision blurred. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
But the energy responded.
Just a thread.
Just enough.
The world slowed.
The masked man raised his sword.
And in that frozen heartbeat, Higo Ren made a silent vow.
I will not die here.
As the blade descended, Ren kicked off the ground, dragging Qinan with him.
Chains snapped taut.
Time resumed.
And fate, bound in iron, finally began to break.