The sect had an old, unwritten rule , trash did the filthiest work.

And so, after his miraculous survival in the courtyard, Jiang Xuan was cast aside once more, this time into the depths of the ancient Scripture Pavilion , tasked with cleaning its forgotten halls , alone.

It was a place shrouded in dust and death.

A tomb of knowledge long abandoned, where silence reigned like a curse.

Legends whispered that disciples who wandered too deep never returned , swallowed whole by shadows no lantern could pierce.

Which suited Jiang Xuan just fine.

The air was thick with the heavy scent of mildew and decay.

Ancient scroll racks leaned at precarious angles, their wood brittle with age and neglect.

Spirit lamps flickered weakly along the stone walls, casting long, twisted shadows that danced like ghosts.

Perfect hiding places for things best left buried.

Broom in hand, Jiang Xuan moved with quiet purpose, his sharp gaze sweeping across the chamber.

Most of the scrolls were worthless relics , tattered manuals on basic body refinement techniques, decades-old ledgers, crumbling scraps of irrelevant trash.

But deep in a darkened corner, half-buried beneath a collapsed pile of debris, a faint red glow pulsed like a heartbeat in the gloom.

He crouched, brushing away layers of dust and rubble with careful precision.

There it was , a single, ancient scroll.

Its surface was cracked and caked with dried blood, as if it had been sealed away not for preservation, but to be forgotten .

The air around it felt heavier, denser , charged with something forbidden , something alive .

His pulse quickened.

Without hesitation, he reached out.

The moment his fingers brushed the parchment:

[System prompt: Forbidden Technique detected.]

[Assimilation compatible. Initiating Forced Resonance.]

A violent surge of heat erupted through his palm, racing up his arm like liquid fire searing flesh and bone alike.

Intricate symbols flared to life across his skin , jagged, ancient, savage markings that pulsed with a life of their own.

The scroll crumbled in an instant, reduced to swirling ash that vanished into the stale air.

His body convulsed as foreign knowledge flooded his mind , vivid diagrams, whispered incantations, and flashes of memories not his own: blood-soaked battlefields, severed heads, defiant roars echoing through ruined lands.

His knees buckled under the weight of it all.

Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision.

And then… it came.

The Beast.

A towering, monstrous spirit phantom erupted within the depths of his consciousness , no longer a fleeting shadow or distant growl, but fully formed.

Flickering darkness solidified into jagged fangs, razor-sharp claws, and twin orbs of burning crimson light.

It was clearer now , no longer a blur of smoke and rage, but a presence, a will .

It spoke.

“Soon.”

Its voice was a guttural rumble, ancient as stone and cold as the void between stars.

A pulse of raw power exploded outward from Jiang Xuan’s core, invisible yet devastating.

Bookshelves rattled violently, some toppling over with deafening cracks.

Ancient scrolls burst into the air like startled birds. 

Dust spiraled in thick clouds, swirling like a thousand gray wraiths summoned from the abyss.

Even the hidden formations buried deep within the nearby Mistveil Grove trembled in response.

Invisible ripples spread through the earth like the first tremors of an awakening quake.

Unseen by most, a lone figure lurking in the courtyard shadows narrowed his eyes.

Liu Tianyi.

His gaze remained locked on the trembling pavilion, his breath caught somewhere between fear and disbelief.

“What… the hell is this kid…?”

Jiang Xuan gritted his teeth, muscles straining as he forced his breathing back under control, one steady inhale at a time.

[Bloodline Progression: 65%.]

His body ached , every muscle trembling under the weight of something far greater than flesh.

His blood seethed , boiling with raw, untamed power.

His bones felt too small, too fragile, as if they were being crushed from within by the monstrous force straining against them.

Yet he smiled.

The forbidden art had not just merged with him , it had burrowed deeper , rooting itself into his very soul.

His spirit veins had expanded, pulsing with dark energy like rivers swollen after a storm.

His senses sharpened to an unnatural edge , the world no longer moved around him; it paused , waiting for his command.

Time slowed.

He could hear the faintest flutter of ancient pages shifting in the windless air.

The scrape of rats scurrying beneath rotted floorboards.

Even the distant hum of the sect’s protective barrier, high above, resonated in his ears like a whisper of fate.

He was changing.

Rising.

And the world, blind and complacent, had no idea what was coming.

With careful precision, he gathered the remaining scrolls, restoring order to the chaos as if nothing had happened.

As the first light of dawn bled weakly across the horizon, Jiang Xuan stepped out of the pavilion, the cold stone threshold behind him forever left in shadow.

The sun felt warmer on his skin.

The air clearer, richer , filled with possibility.

And for the first time since the day he was born, he didn’t feel like a mistake.

He felt alive .

“Soon,” he murmured, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his lips.

“Your world will burn.”

The cripple had died in silence.

And what rose in his place…

would devour the heavens .