Raizen sat cross-legged inside a hollowed mountain cavern, the void pulsing gently beneath his skin.
He had stolen from seven sects. Not just any sects—some were considered sacred, some ancient, and others outright untouchable. He hadn't just taken techniques. He'd ripped out core inheritance scrolls, soul contracts, domain artifacts, and cultivation methods layered with divine runes. And all without leaving a trace.
Now, those legacies were sealed in the Void Archive within him, waiting.
But he didn't smile.
The silence wasn't peace.
It was heavy.
And it pressed on his chest.
Around him, the world had begun to stir. Rumors spread of a shadow that moved across sect borders. Of an unknown force targeting inheritances. Of an unseen thief who walked past immortal arrays like they were nothing.
And everywhere he went, more eyes turned toward him.
Some filled with curiosity.
Others, with greed.
Too many, with killing intent.
Raizen opened his palm. Several fragments of techniques hovered above it—script etched in divine tongues, symbols flickering like starlight. With a thought, he dismissed them.
"This world…" he muttered, "...I haven't even settled in, and it already wants to consume me."
He leaned back, letting the void cradle his body, eyes half-closed.
The weight of it all hit at once.
They didn't hate him because he'd done anything.
They feared what he might become.
It wasn't about crimes. It was about his root.
Void-rooted cultivators had always been hunted. If they didn't kneel, they were erased. That wasn't history—it was a pattern. He was just the next spark they wanted to snuff out.
Was this what the Supreme One meant when he said "prove yourself?"
Raizen's fists tightened.
He remembered the first time he tried to prove something. His heart full of fire, his mind filled with pride, thinking he could force his path open.
That day, he was nearly shocked to death.
Not because the heavens denied him… but because he had walked forward without understanding.
"Ignorance nearly killed me."
Now… he knew better.
If he truly wanted to stand at the peak, if he wanted to carry the void and not be swallowed by it, then knowledge was power. Not just strength. Not just artifacts. Understanding.
There was too much he didn't know.
Too many layers of history buried under lies.
Too many secrets written in languages forgotten by time.
Too many void inheritances left behind by those who were erased simply for being like him.
And if the world feared void cultivators…
Then it meant they once shaped it.
A slow grin touched his lips—not of arrogance, but clarity.
"I won't run. I'll learn."
The void around him thickened. Not chaotic this time—ordered. Obedient. Ready.
He would read every fragment, dismantle every technique, learn the origin of every rune.
He would uncover what this world tried to bury.
And next time they came for him, gods or not…
They
wouldn't be facing a thief.
They'd be facing the last truth they ever saw.