The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the rice paddies of Jinwu Village. The golden light shimmered over the water, reflecting the tired expressions of farmers returning from the fields. Among them walked a young man in his late teens—tall, lean, with sharp yet unremarkable features, his dark hair tied back in a low knot. He wore patched clothes and carried a wooden rake slung across his shoulder. His name was Yun Jian, a quiet boy who rarely spoke unless spoken to, and who worked twice as hard as anyone in the village.
To the villagers, Yun Jian was an orphan, raised by the kindly old farmer Ma Dazhong. He was known to be odd—distant, prone to staring at the mountains as though listening to a voice no one else could hear. But he never complained, never caused trouble. Most had grown used to his presence. Some pitied him. Others feared the unknown that clung to him like a cold mist.
As Yun Jian reached the village square, the distant sound of hooves cracked against the calm evening air. A cart approached—no, not a cart, but a procession. Dozens of armored men with red-plumed helmets entered the village, their leader bearing the crest of Lord Bai, the cruel noble who governed the region.
Ma Dazhong, holding a water bucket, froze beside Yun Jian. "Not again…"
The soldiers dismounted. Their leader, a corpulent man with small eyes and a permanent sneer, stepped forward. "By order of Lord Bai," he announced, "each household shall surrender one able-bodied youth to serve in the border wars. Those who resist shall be punished."
Gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd. Mothers clutched their sons. Men stepped protectively in front of their families.
"We gave men last month!" cried an elder.
The captain drew his sword. "And now you'll give more, old man. Or do you wish your fields to be salted?"
Yun Jian watched, unmoving. Something stirred in him, like a whisper—ancient and cold—fluttering at the edges of his mind. He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling a strange pulse behind his ribs.
Ma Dazhong stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Please… allow us one more week. We will gather offerings, rice, silver—"
"I asked for men, not rice," the captain sneered. His gaze landed on Yun Jian. "You. You look fit enough."
Yun Jian opened his mouth, but Ma Dazhong stepped in front of him. "No, please! He's just a boy—he's not—"
The blade struck without warning. Ma Dazhong gasped, falling to his knees as blood spilled from his chest. Cries erupted from the villagers. Yun Jian knelt beside him, eyes wide.
"Da… Zhong…?" he whispered.
The old man's eyes met his, filled not with pain, but with something deeper. Regret. Acceptance. And then they dulled.
A silence louder than any scream filled Yun Jian's ears. The captain turned to leave. "Burn the hut. Let it be a lesson."
As soldiers advanced, Yun Jian stood. The sun had vanished behind the hills. Shadows lengthened and danced beneath his feet.
"No," he said.
The soldiers paused.
"No?" the captain laughed. "And what will you do, farm rat?"
The whisper returned—louder, more insistent. It wasn't a voice. It was a presence. A power.
Release me…
Yun Jian's vision blurred. The world around him slowed. The shadows—his own, the villagers', the soldiers'—twisted unnaturally. From deep within his chest, something ancient stirred.
Do you seek vengeance, child?
He didn't speak. But in his heart, he screamed: Yes.
Then accept the burden… and become my vessel.
The mark on his back—long forgotten and sealed since infancy—burst open like molten fire. Black energy surged through his limbs. The wind howled. The ground cracked beneath his feet.
The soldiers drew their swords. Too late.
Yun Jian vanished from sight—only to reappear behind the captain, his eyes glowing with a dull violet hue. His arm moved in a blur, and the captain's shadow rose like a blade, slicing upward.
The man's scream was brief before he fell, lifeless.
Chaos erupted. Soldiers attacked, but their blades never reached him. He moved like smoke, like shadow—impossible to track. Each step left darkness in his wake. From his palms, tendrils of shadow lashed out, dragging men screaming into the ground.
The villagers watched in horrified awe as the boy they once pitied became a demon in human form.
One soldier, terrified, begged for mercy. "Please… I have children…"
Yun Jian stood over him. The power inside him pulsed again.
Kill him. Feed the darkness.
But Yun Jian paused. He looked down at his hands—coated in shadow, dripping with corruption. Was this what he wanted? Revenge? Or justice?
He turned his back. "Leave. And never return."
The soldier fled.
The remaining troops, leaderless and terrified, abandoned their weapons and ran. Only silence remained.
The villagers stared at Yun Jian in shock. He turned to them, expression unreadable.
"I'm leaving," he said.
"Yun Jian—" someone called.
But he didn't respond. He knelt beside Ma Dazhong's body and gently closed the old man's eyes.
"I will not let your death be meaningless."
As the moon rose, Yun Jian stood at the edge of the village. His body ached. His mind burned with questions. But one thing was clear: his power was real. The seal was broken. And something deep within him had awakened.
From the forest path ahead, a figure stepped out—a man in dark robes, with glowing red eyes.
"You've awakened," the man said. "The Shadow Arts live again."
Yun Jian tensed.
"Who are you?"
"A messenger. From the Forbidden Realms." The man bowed mockingly. "Your journey begins now… Shadow Sovereign."