Daren Kuro moved through the ruins of Redspire Fortress with the grace of a predator. Every shadow, every piece of rubble, every flicker of movement caught in his crimson gaze. Mina followed silently, still trembling, but learning the rhythm of survival by watching him. Her steps were careful, measured—not yet instinctive, but learning.
"This place reeks of cowardice and ambition," Daren muttered under his breath, scanning the courtyard. "One dies to fire, another to blade, and the rest… to their own mistakes." His dagger twitched in his hand, almost as if it recognized the blood it would soon taste.
He paused by a shattered archway, examining the bodies littered around a collapsed tower. Mercenaries, civilians, a rogue cultivator or two—none of them had survived the first assault. He crouched, touching a dead man's chest, feeling the heat leaving the corpse.
*"Life fades fast… but the lesson lingers."*
Mina swallowed hard. She wanted to speak but knew better. Daren did not talk to the timid; he taught through observation, action, and the occasional sharp word that cut deeper than any blade.
"Look at them," he said finally, voice low but deadly. "All of them thought themselves clever. Strong. Important. None survived. Why? Because strength is not measured in ambition alone." He tapped his dagger against the stone floor. "Strength is measured in ruthlessness, in knowing when to act—and when to discard mercy like a corpse in the mud."
The wind carried whispers of movement from the north tower. Daren's eyes narrowed. Footsteps—light, calculated, silent. Someone else was here. Someone strong enough to survive this massacre.
"Stay close," he whispered to Mina. "Watch. Learn. Fear is fine… but it must be disciplined. Never paralyze you."
From the shadows stepped a figure—tall, cloaked, a mask concealing his face. Twin blades gleamed faintly in the moonlight. His presence radiated skill, patience, and danger. Daren's crimson eyes glinted.
"You've survived the first wave," the figure said, voice calm but carrying lethal weight. "But this fortress is mine now. Leave, or die where you stand."
Daren smiled faintly, a predator's curve. "You mistake courtesy for weakness. Step forward, and I'll show you why survivors like me are called predators."
The figure lunged. Steel met steel in a flash of sparks. Daren's movements were fluid, precise. Every strike, every block, every feint spoke of training far beyond mere survival instinct. The cloaked man was skilled—but Daren was faster, colder, and far more calculated. A dagger slipped beneath the man's guard. He gasped as crimson blossomed across his chest.
"Step wrong," Daren whispered, pressing the point deeper, "and shadows finish you before I even notice."
The man collapsed. Daren withdrew the blade effortlessly, crimson staining his hand. Mina's eyes widened. She had seen the dance of death before, but never with such calm precision. Daren wiped the dagger on the corpse's tunic, his expression neutral. No pride, no joy—only calculation.
*"Every death teaches,"* he murmured. *"Every life spent or taken is currency."*
---
As dawn approached, the wind carried a strange scent—something sharp, intoxicating, and foreign. Daren sniffed the air subtly, instincts alert. Mina noticed his pause.
"What… is it?" she whispered.
"Power," Daren replied simply. "Someone's practicing. Close. Strong. Controlled. And they aren't human… at least, not entirely." His crimson eyes flickered with interest. "Stay here. Learn. And don't breathe wrong."
He moved through the fortress, silent, shadowlike. The source of the scent was revealed in a ruined hall: a man and a woman entwined in a cultivation ritual. Their bodies glowed faintly, energy swirling between them. Dual cultivation—the practice of sharing and exchanging energy to grow stronger—was rare, dangerous, and frowned upon outside of elite circles.
Daren's lips curled. This was **power manifest**, and he loved power.
The man noticed him. "Who are you?" he demanded, voice sharp.
"I am the lesson you weren't ready for," Daren said softly, crimson eyes narrowing. "And I don't need names. Only obedience—or absence."
The ritual shattered under Daren's cold strike. The man's energy leaked violently, the woman barely surviving, her aura flickering. Daren's dagger whispered through the air, precise, clean, lethal.
*"Mercy is a luxury I do not afford."*
He turned to Mina. "Observe carefully. Energy flows only to those who claim it, not those who beg for it."
Mina nodded silently. She was learning, slowly, but learning nonetheless. Every strike, every kill, every ruthless decision was teaching her how to survive in this unforgiving world.
---
By nightfall, Daren had claimed Redspire Fortress. He walked through the halls, touching walls, feeling the energy residue of the battle. This place was more than ruins—it was **a seed of power**. And he intended to cultivate it fully, for himself.
Mina approached hesitantly. "What now?" she asked.
Daren's crimson gaze swept the horizon. "Now… we prepare. The world is larger than this valley. Larger than Redspire. And I intend to bend it—or break it."
*"Step aside if you are weak. Follow if you are clever. And remember… fear is the first ingredient in mastery."*
He crouched, pressing his hand to the floor. Ruin Blood stirred in his veins, warmth spreading, awakening. The taste of power was addictive, intoxicating. The dual cultivation he had witnessed had potential—but it was crude, uncontrolled. He could refine it. Perfect it. Make it **a weapon of supremacy**.
*"Those who learn too slowly die. Those who hesitate are eaten. And those who challenge me… disappear."*
Mina shivered, but stayed close. Survival was optional, obedience mandatory.
Outside, the wind carried distant screams and the clatter of steel. Daren smiled faintly. The world was awakening to his presence. Soon, whispers of the **Black Dragon** would travel far.
"Learn this," he whispered to Mina, voice soft but lethal: "I do not forgive. I do not forget. I do not hesitate. And the world will bow—or burn."
The fortress fell silent under moonlight. Only the crimson reflections of the battlefield lingered. Daren Kuro, the Black Dragon, had begun the first step of a path paved in blood, power, and ruthless calculation.
And from the shadows, eyes watched—interested, curious, fearful. The predator had awakened.
*This was only the beginning.*