The sky wept crimson.

Mount Hua's pristine peaks, once crowned with delicate cherry blossoms and blessed by golden sunlight, now drowned in death's own hue. The sacred grounds where generations of disciples had cultivated their arts lay desecrated, choked with the acrid smoke of burning pavilions and the metallic tang of spilled blood.

Through the haze of destruction, a lone figure wavered like a candle in the wind.

Rudra.

A mere servant. A shadow that had spent years drifting through Mount Hua's halls, nameless and unremarkable. Now, he stood amid the carnage, clutching a dead disciple's broken sword, its edge dulled by the blood of fallen demonic cultivators.

His body was a tapestry of wounds. Deep gashes carved across his arms wept freely, while the burning in his chest spoke of shattered ribs. Each breath felt like swallowing fire. The coarse hemp of his servant's robes, now stained dark with blood, clung to his skin like a funeral shroud.

Before him lay the pride of Mount Hua—masters whose names were whispered in reverence throughout the martial world, disciples whose potential had blazed like newborn stars. Now they were nothing but cooling flesh, their techniques rendered meaningless, their dao broken.

The night had begun like any other. The outer disciples had been practicing their sword forms in the courtyard, their movements traced in moonlight. Elder Liu had been lecturing on the principles of qi circulation in the Great Hall, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of wisdom. Even the kitchen disciples had been preparing the next day's meals, their laughter echoing through the evening air.

Then the wards fell.

The ancient formations that had protected Mount Hua for generations shattered like glass. The night itself seemed to bleed darkness as the Demonic Sect descended upon them.

And then... there was him.

The figure stood atop a mountain of corpses, his dark robes rippling in the night air like shadows given form. Blood rolled off the silk like water from a lotus leaf, refusing to stain his immaculate presence. His eyes gleamed crimson, twin lanterns of cruel amusement as he watched the last embers of resistance sputter and die.

The Heavenly Demon.

The Heavenly Demon's lips curved into a cruel smile as he faced Mount Hua's Sect Leader. "Shall we dance, righteous one? Show me this dao of the sword you've spent a lifetime perfecting."

Han Qing's response was a technique that split the very air. The legendary Plum Blossom Blade hummed with generations of accumulated power as he executed "Autumn Leaves Seeking Heaven" - a move that had once cleaved a mountain peak. The sword qi manifested as thousands of crystalline petals, each capable of shearing through steel.

But the Heavenly Demon didn't move. He simply raised one hand, dark qi coalescing around his fingers like living shadow. The deadly petals dissolved before they could touch him, turning to ash that drifted away on blood-scented winds.

"Is that all?" he asked, disappointment thick in his voice.

Han Qing's eyes narrowed. His next movement was almost too fast to follow - the famous "Nine Springs Piercing Shadow," a technique that attacked from nine different angles simultaneously. The air screamed as his blade created afterimages, each strike targeting a vital point.

This time, the Heavenly Demon moved. But his movements were languid, almost lazy. He weaved between the strikes as if participating in a casual dance, his dark robes flowing like liquid night. "Better. But still so... predictable."

Sweat beaded on Han Qing's brow. He had yet to land a single blow, while his opponent hadn't even drawn his weapon. "Monster," he spat, gathering his qi for an even greater technique.

The air grew heavy with power as Han Qing initiated the movement all of Mount Hua had feared to attempt in the last century - "Heaven's Execution." His qi exploded outward, forming the image of an enormous plum tree in full bloom. Each petal was an incarnation of Mount Hua's martial dao, carrying the weight of centuries of cultivation.

The Heavenly Demon's eyes finally showed a flicker of interest. "Ah... now this might be worth watching."

The technique crashed down like divine judgment. The very foundations of Mount Hua trembled. Lesser cultivators nearby fell to their knees, blood streaming from their eyes at the mere proximity to such power.

For a moment, it seemed as if even the Heavenly Demon would have to take it seriously.

Instead, he laughed.

The sound cut through the roar of power like a blade through silk. His hand shot out, fingers curved like talons, and caught the technique. Caught it like one might catch a falling leaf.

"Do you want to know something amusing?" he asked, crushing the manifestation of Mount Hua's ultimate technique in his grip. "I've been using less than a tenth of my power. Playing with you, like a cat with a mouse."

Horror dawned in Han Qing's eyes as the truth was clear from the beginning All his decades of cultivation, all the secret techniques and accumulated wisdom of Mount Hua - they meant nothing before this monster.

"You see," the Heavenly Demon continued, suddenly appearing behind Han Qing with frightening speed, "your entire sect's existence has been nothing but an entertaining diversion. Your righteousness, your dao..." His hand caught Han Qing's throat. "All merely jest for beings like me."

"Our dao will never die," Han Qing managed to gasp. "Others will rise-"

"Others?" The demon's grip tightened. "Let me show you the truth of your dao."

With his free hand, he caught the legendary Plum Blossom Blade. The weapon that had been Mount Hua's pride for a thousand years shattered in his grip like cheap glass. The fragments fell among the bodies of disciples who had died believing in its power.

"Your dao is nothing but a child's dream of strength and I am like a reality to those dreams ." The Heavenly Demon's voice carried across the battlefield like a cold wind. "Let me show you true power."

CRACK

The sound echoed across the battlefield like thunder. The Heavenly Demon had snapped Han Qing's neck with the casual ease of a child breaking a twig.

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

Then, with elegant disdain, the Heavenly Demon cast aside the corpse of Mount Hua's greatest master. It tumbled down the mountain of dead, coming to rest among broken swords and shattered dreams.

Around them, the massacre continued. Young disciples fled in terror, only to be cut down by laughing demonic cultivators. The sect's healers, who had sworn never to harm a living being, died protecting their patients in the medical pavilion. Even the mortal servants, who had nothing to do with cultivation, were slaughtered without mercy.

Senior Sister Liu, beloved by all for her gentle heart and unmatched talent with the sword, made her final stand at the steps of the ancestral hall. Her jade-white robes turned crimson as she fell, her last breath spent not in cursing her killers, but in warning the junior disciples to run.

In the library pavilion, Elder Chen died protecting the sect's ancient manuscripts. His final technique turned his blood into fire, taking a dozen demonic cultivators with him as the precious scrolls burned to ash.

"Kill them all," he commanded, his voice a as cold as his eyes "Let not even an ant survive this night."

His warriors surged forward like a tide of darkness. The remaining elders, those who still clung to life, raised their swords one final time. Their blades, forged in righteousness and tempered by decades of cultivation, shattered like glass against the overwhelming tide of demonic qi.

In the distance, the lesser peaks of Mount Hua burned. The female disciples' quarters had become a tomb of ice, frozen by a desperate technique from Mistress Snow. The training fields were littered with broken bodies, some still clutching practice swords. The meditation caves, where generations had sought enlightenment, became execution grounds.

And Rudra...

His knees finally buckled. The stolen sword slipped from nerveless fingers, striking stone with a hollow ring. His vision blurred, the world reducing to smears of red and black. This was the end.

Footsteps approached.

A presence descended upon him like a mountain of darkness, crushing the very air from his lungs.

Rough fingers seized his hair, yanking his head back. Rudra found himself staring into eyes that held all the warmth of the void between stars.

"Ah... even a lowly insect like you survived this long?" The Heavenly Demon's lips curved into something approximating a smile. "How fascinating."

The demon's free hand rose, fingers splayed like talons. They pressed against Rudra's throat, and—

With horrifying deliberation, they began to pull rudras head from his body

Little by little Muscle tore a scream came from Rudra's throat even when the heavenly demon was holding his throat it was like the heavenly demon was enjoying the scene unfolding infront of him as he was pulling it slowly and slowly Bone cracked. Blood fountained 

The last thing Rudra saw was his own body, growing distant as his head was torn away like a flower plucked from its stem.

Then darkness started to fold infront of him as a night was still bright ,but the sparks of his life were getting darker 

Suddenly a sparkling ignited screen appered infront of him as a sun in the darkness , as a life in dead body  

[You have died.]

[Quest Completed: Die at the hands of one far stronger]

[Reward: 1 Additional Life]

[Lives Remaining: 1]

It was the last thing he had sawn that night 

Rudra's eyes snapped open.

Huf ..huf ...huf 

Rudras breathing was unusual heavy 

He bolted upright, chest heaving, body drenched in cold sweat. His hands reached to his throat, expecting to find torn flesh and gushing arteries—

But there was only smooth, unbroken skin.

The scent of blood and smoke was gone, replaced by the familiar mustiness of the servants' quarters. Instead of the screams of the dying, he heard the distant sounds of morning practice, of disciples calling greetings across the courtyard.

Through his small window, he could see them now—all the ghosts of his future past. Senior Sister liu practicing her sword forms with ethereal grace, unaware that her dedication would end in tragedy. Elder Chen hobbling across the courtyard with an armful of scrolls, his weathered face peaceful in the morning light. Young disciples sweeping the paths, their laughter carrying on the wind, their futures measured in mere years.

Even Master Han Qing himself stood atop the main peak, overseeing the morning exercises, his presence a pillar of strength that would one day crumble.

His mind reeled as recognition struck him like a thunderbolt.

He had gone back.

Fifteen years before the massacre.

As his racing heart slowly steadied, a translucent window materialized before his eyes the same as before 

[Status Window]

Name: Rudra

Strength: Low

Agility: Low

Senses: Low

Regeneration: low 

Skills: None

Remaining Lives: 1

Experience Points: 5

What is this this , am i helicuating or what 

He didn't give much thoughts to think about the screen 

His fingers clenched in the rough blanket. 

This isn't merely a second chance—it was something far stranger. Something that whispered of powers beyond heaven and earth themselves.

But the war was still coming. The massacre was inevitable.

But this time...

This time I would not be the helpless servant, watching my world burn. I would seize every scrap of power, every fragment of knowledge. I would crawl through the mud of Mount Hua's secrets, gather strength by any means necessary even if it ment to kill someone 

Even if it meant dying again and again.

Even if it meant walking a path that would make the righteous sect shudder.

The Heavenly Demon and his cultists thought they had crushed every ant that night.

They were wrong.

One ant had crawled back from the abyss.

"And this time… will the cycle of deaths repeat, or will it change?"