Chapter CIV: No future

It was over.

But his body didn't believe it.

Yanwei collapsed against the stone wall of his cave, head lolling back, eyes half-lidded. His breath hitched once, then again—before a cough tore from his throat, wet and sharp.

Blood dribbled from the corner of his lips.

"Tch… again," he muttered, wiping it with the back of his hand.

He didn't even flinch.

He'd already tasted his own blood so many times that the metallic tang barely registered anymore.

Thankfully, I was quite far earlier… he thought, breathing shallowly. If I was near… my injury would definitely be much more serious.

He let out a slow exhale, feeling every nerve in his body scream back at him.

His ribs throbbed with every breath. His skin felt like it was peeled from the inside. Muscles pulled tight across his frame, too bruised to rest, too damaged to move.

He looked down at himself.

His robes were torn and crusted with dried blood. Purple bruises bloomed across his arms. His abdomen was a web of blackened veins and internal backlash.

It seems like I need more than five years to recover…

A dry laugh escaped him.

It hurt to even do that.

But he laughed anyway.

"Well… it's better to just sleep. Hehe."

He let his eyes close, the weight of exhaustion pulling him down. Not just physical exhaustion—this was deeper. Bone-deep. Soul-deep.

And for the first time in days, Yanwei allowed himself to let go.

No fighting.

No plans.

No calculations.

Just the dark, quiet comfort of sleep.

Even if the world burned tomorrow, he would rest tonight.

…

The market was louder than usual. Not because of hawkers shouting or children playing, but because of one thing—news.

It had spread like wildfire, faster than smoke on dry wind. In every corner, whispers sharpened into voices, and voices into panicked cries. No one needed a town crier. The mouths of the people worked well enough.

"They say Jiang Yu's dead," someone muttered near the herbal stall.

"No way. He was the next sect leader!"

"I heard his body wasn't even recovered," said another, voice hushed like he feared the truth might bite him.

A vendor dropped a peach. "Not recovered?" she echoed, eyes wide. "Then what killed him?"

A silence fell for a heartbeat, heavy with unease.

"They say it was something inside the secret realm… something that shouldn't exist," a young man murmured. His eyes were hollow. "And it wasn't just Jiang Yu."

At that, an old woman leaned forward, her hands trembling as they clutched prayer beads. "What do you mean?"

"Over a hundred disciples never came out," he said, voice cracking. "One hundred. Gone. Just like that."

Gasps rippled across the marketplace.

"That can't be right—" the old woman stammered. "That's… that's almost half of them, isn't it?!"

A mother nearby held her daughter tighter, her voice shaking. "My niece was among those who entered… she—she didn't come back. No word. Nothing."

The child looked up, confused. "Mama, what does that mean?"

Her mother couldn't answer. She just buried her face into her daughter's hair, as if that would keep the horrors away.

"Some of those kids were only fifteen," someone muttered, eyes glued to the ground. "Barely more than children. And now they're… gone. Died in some cursed hole in the world. No names. No graves."

"The sects won't even say what happened in there," another vendor spat. "All they gave us was silence and a threat to stay quiet. Something's wrong. Something terrible."

"And to think…" a woman whispered, her voice rising in a tremor, "Jiang Yu—of all people! The golden boy of Cloudveil! The next leader!"

"He was untouchable," someone agreed.

"He was supposed to be the future of the sect."

"And now he's just… gone."

A silence settled again, but it wasn't peaceful. It was suffocating.

Then a scream cut through it.

A woman had collapsed near the incense shop, clutching her chest, breathing hard. "My son—he didn't make it out either," she cried. "He wasn't strong like Jiang Yu… if even Jiang Yu died, then what chance did he have?"

People ran to her aid, but no one could speak words that mattered. What comfort was there when a hundred corpses would never be found? When the future of a sect was torn from the world, leaving only bloodstains and broken silence behind?

The market had once been a place of laughter, gossip, and daily noise. But now? It was filled with grief and fear.

And worse—no one knew what was coming next.

But it didn't end with Jiang Yu.

"Wait, wait—you didn't hear?" a man in dusty robes hissed, his voice strained and eager, as if the horror made him feel more alive. "Zhang. From the Divine Sword Sect. Him too. Gone."

The crowd jolted, a new wave of disbelief washing over them.

"Zhang?! Are you serious?!"

"No way. That guy was a monster—he was rank one but fought like he was already at rank two!"

"I saw him fight once," someone whispered. "His sword didn't even make a sound when it killed."

A girl with a bowed head muttered bitterly, "He bullied half the disciples he came across. Thought the world owed him."

"I was one of them," a boy near the water vendor said, cracking a dry laugh. "He broke my arm last year over a sparring insult. Good riddance."

"Watch your mouth," an older man growled. "You think this is something to celebrate? Zhang was the future sect leader. His talent alone held the Divine Sword Sect's reputation together."

"Yeah," someone else added. "They say dozens joined that sect because of him. Without Zhang, what are they now? Just a name with no future."

Whispers became arguments. Arguments became shouts. People didn't know whether to mourn or curse.

And above it all lingered one truth: more than a hundred disciples had entered the secret realm.

Only a handful came back.

Some with broken bones. Some with broken minds.

Some not at all.

It was supposed to be a proving ground. A test of strength and glory. But it had turned into a graveyard.

No one said it, but everyone felt it: something went wrong in that place. Horribly, irreversibly wrong.

And if prodigies like Jiang Yu and Zhang could die inside… then no one was safe.