A bitter laugh scraped its way up Shen Wu's throat, but he swallowed it down.
He was getting ahead of himself.
This whole thing—this regression, this supposed ability—it could be a fluke. A one-time twist of fate.
For all he knew, he might die the next time and stay dead.
And honestly… that thought terrified him more than he wanted to admit.
Even if this truly was his golden finger…
No matter what had brought him back, Shen Wu had no plans to test it again.
He didn't want to die. Not again.
Once was enough.
His heart was willing to live differently this time—to fight smarter, survive longer, and rise stronger.
But the world?
The world didn't care.
It would crush him just the same, again and again, unless something changed.
Unless he changed everything.
Shen Wu took another breath and let it out slowly.
His talents were weak.
But now he had something else—five years of memory. Of mistakes. Of hard-earned experience. Of every path he shouldn't take and every person he should never trust.
Maybe, just maybe… this time, he could change his fate.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.
Because in this world, power was the currency of survival. One needed strength to earn more strength.
If Shen Wu wanted the right to grow—he had to be strong enough to survive the start.
That was the cruel loop.
Still… a small ember lit in his chest.
He could recover to his previous peak faster than before.
He already knew the steps. The methods. The traps. He knew which techniques were a waste of time and which ones gave results.
What had taken him five long years to grind through last time… maybe now, he could do in two.
Or one.
Maybe even less.
All he had to do was survive.
And from this moment forward—he'd make sure he did.
No matter what.
Shen Wu's eyes shifted toward the flap of the carriage again, listening to the muffled conversations outside.
He recognized the tone—low, tense. Fear barely held in check.
These weren't the voices of bandits or guards. They were survivors.
Villagers. Like him.
Victims.
Taken by force.
The Black Serpent Sect.
Even the name left a bitter taste in his mouth.
They weren't the strongest in this region, but they weren't nobodies either.
In most places, a King Rank martial artist was considered the peak of power—almost untouchable. And that was exactly what their leader was.
A man capable of flight.
In this world, that alone made him a monster.
They didn't recruit willingly, of course. No one in their right minds would ever choose to join an evil sect.
So they took.
Villages like his were razed, their young carted away, their elders left in ash.
Then came the real horror—the Bloodsucking Gu, a parasitic creature planted in the body to ensure obedience.
A single thought of rebellion, and the thing would kill you from the inside out.
That was how the Black Serpent Sect survived. Not by loyalty, not by pride—but by fear.
A sect like that wasn't a good place to be.
But strangely, Shen Wu didn't feel dread this time.
Because unlike before—he had no intention of running.
Last time, he'd wasted months trying to find a way out. Looking for help from righteous sects. Searching for salvation.
But five years had taught him one thing: righteousness was an image. A mask.
Behind closed doors, some of the so-called "righteous sects" did worse than the Black Serpent Sect ever could.
The only difference was who they hurt—and how well they covered it up.
At least the Black Serpent Sect didn't lie about what they were.
No fake kindness. Just strength.
Brutal, honest strength.
And that, Shen Wu could work with.
Currently, the captives were being taken to sect territory. Once there, they'd be forced into a trial.
That trial was his current focus.
Shen Wu pulled aside the flap and stepped out of the carriage.
The night air was cold and thin, tinged with the scent of woodsmoke and dried blood.
Before him lay a temporary camp—makeshift but organized.
Dozens of carriages or crates, similar to the one he had just exited, were circled loosely around a few hastily built fires.
Children. Dozens of them. Huddled near the flames or seated against crates.
Some were whispering quietly, others weeping. There were also some that sat in dazed silence, still shocked to process what had happened.
But it wasn't the captives that held his gaze—it was the men in black robes who loomed near the edges of the camp.
Each one wore the same crimson serpent emblem over their hearts.
The Black Serpent Sect.
Their presence spread like poison through the air. Each of them looked particularly powerful.
Of course, on the surface that is.
But Shen Wu knew better than to be careless.
The sect's structure was built on ruthless efficiency and clear hierarchies.
These men? They were the lowest tier—the henchmen.
Most of them barely qualified as third rate martial artists.
Thugs with just enough strength to bully villagers but not enough to matter in a real fight. Still, they were dangerous in numbers, and they answered without question to the sect.
Above them were the outer members. Only three stood in the camp, positioned near the command tents like silent shadows.
Unlike the henchmen, they held real strength—second rate martial artists.
Shen Wu's eyes lingered on one of them—a tall man with a heavy blade strapped to his back. He had a black mask on his face. It was the same for the other two.
Deeper within the sect's structure were the deacons—true first rate martial artists.
They were often in charge of training and managing the next generation. They weren't here tonight.
Deacons didn't bother with recruitment. Though they were still tagged outer members, they had a bit of a higher status.
Then came the inner members—core sect personnel, each a first rate martial artist or stronger. Regardless of age, they were referred to as elders, a mark of their value to the sect's future.
And among them were the Managers, the ones who stood at the edge of mortal limits—peak rate martial artists, nearly unrivaled except by the monsters further up the chain.
The Guardians came next. Each was a Martial Master, capable of challenging a ten thousand strong army.
And above them all—the Sect Leader.
A Martial King.
A man who could fly across mountains, command the winds, and turn entire towns to ash if he wished.
That was the man at the peak of the Black Serpent Sect. The one whose strength had kept them alive despite the best efforts of the Martial Alliance and the so-called "righteous" factions.
In his past life, before death pulled him back in time, he had only managed to become a second rate martial artist.
This time, he had five years to recover his previous strength—and with the advantage of future knowledge, it wouldn't take nearly as long.