The Heavens Do Not Weep
"To seek strength is to sever the ties of the weak. The heavens will not save you. The gods will not answer. Walk forward, or be trampled beneath."
---
The Iron Vein Sect stood like a fortress of obsidian, carved into the bones of the Blackstone Mountains. Towering spires rose from jagged cliffs, their peaks lost in a sea of storm clouds. Below, rivers of molten metal carved fiery veins through the valley, feeding the furnaces that forged weapons for the sect's warriors.
It was a place where only the strong survived.
Where disciples who failed to advance were discarded like broken swords.
Where blood was the price of progress.
Xian Ren stood at the gates, his red eyes unreadable. The Forsaken Blade rested on his back, its hunger momentarily silent. In his hands, the ancient scroll pulsed with an unseen power.
The knowledge within was forbidden—secrets buried by those who feared them.
He had spent the last three days unraveling its mysteries.
What he found within had changed everything.
Not just a technique.
But a truth.
One that no cultivator should ever learn.
And yet, he had.
The heavens did not grant power.
They only stole from those who reached too far.
Xian Ren stepped forward.
The gates of the Iron Vein Sect groaned open, and the path to war began.
---
The outer sect disciples gathered in the training yard, their eyes fixed on the newcomer.
Some sneered.
Others whispered.
A few simply watched, sensing something was different about him.
Xian Ren ignored them all.
He had no interest in the weak.
Only the strong mattered.
Only the strong would stand in his way.
And standing at the center of the courtyard was one such person.
A towering figure clad in black armor, his aura thick with the scent of blood. His presence alone crushed the air, suffocating the weak-willed disciples nearby.
Ba Jin.
The strongest outer sect disciple.
And the first obstacle in Xian Ren's path.
Ba Jin smirked, his jagged teeth gleaming in the afternoon sun.
"You," he said, his voice like grinding stone. "New blood. Name?"
Xian Ren met his gaze without fear.
"Xian Ren."
Ba Jin's smirk widened.
"And what do you want, Xian Ren?"
Silence.
Then, Xian Ren spoke.
"Everything."
A low murmur rippled through the disciples. Some laughed. Others whispered.
Ba Jin's expression darkened.
"Ambitious," he said. "But ambition without strength is just noise."
Xian Ren unsheathed the Forsaken Blade.
Ba Jin's eyes narrowed.
Then, he grinned.
"Good."
And then he attacked.
---
Ba Jin was fast.
Not just for an outer sect disciple.
But fast enough that even some inner sect members would have struggled to react.
His fist blurred, shattering the air as it rushed toward Xian Ren's skull. The sheer force behind it cracked the ground beneath them.
Xian Ren moved.
Not back.
Forward.
The Forsaken Blade met Ba Jin's strike, its edge humming with a hunger that sent shivers through the gathered crowd.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze.
Then—
Ba Jin's fist erupted with power, an explosion of force that sent shockwaves through the courtyard.
Dust and debris swallowed them both.
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
The dust settled.
And Ba Jin staggered back, his knuckles bleeding.
The Forsaken Blade remained steady in Xian Ren's grasp.
A thin line of blood dripped from its edge.
Ba Jin looked at his hand.
Then at Xian Ren.
Then, he laughed.
Low and deep at first. Then louder.
The kind of laughter that came from a man who had found something interesting for the first time in years.
The other disciples stared, wide-eyed.
Ba Jin was the strongest outer sect disciple.
And yet, his attack had been stopped.
Ba Jin's laughter faded. His grin remained.
"You," he said. "You're interesting."
Xian Ren said nothing.
Ba Jin rolled his shoulders, stepping forward.
"No more tests." His aura surged, the air growing heavier with killing intent.
"You want everything? Then fight for it."
The second round began.
---
Ba Jin's techniques were brutal.
No wasted movements. No hesitation.
Each strike carried the force of a collapsing mountain, his fists leaving aftershocks in their wake.
But Xian Ren was not the same boy who had fled from the sect that abandoned him.
Not the same boy who had cowered in the shadows, waiting for the world to be fair.
He had no need for fairness.
He had power.
And power demanded blood.
The Forsaken Blade moved like a living thing, slipping past Ba Jin's defenses, carving shallow wounds into his flesh.
Each cut bled.
And each drop of blood fed the blade.
Ba Jin gritted his teeth, his movements growing wilder.
But Xian Ren did not falter.
He did not move with desperation.
He did not waste energy on unnecessary strikes.
He simply advanced.
One step at a time.
Each cut weakening his opponent.
Each strike drawing him closer to the inevitable end.
Until—
Ba Jin misstepped.
His balance wavered.
And Xian Ren's blade was already there.
A single stroke.
Clean. Precise.
Ba Jin staggered, a deep wound carved across his chest.
Silence filled the courtyard.
Ba Jin looked down at the blood staining his robes.
Then, he exhaled.
And he knelt.
The Iron Vein Sect did not value morality.
It did not care for righteousness or virtue.
It only recognized one truth.
The strong ruled.
The weak served.
Ba Jin raised his head, meeting Xian Ren's gaze.
And he smiled.
"You win."
Then, he bowed his head.
"You are stronger."
Xian Ren did not look triumphant.
He did not celebrate.
He simply sheathed his blade.
Ba Jin's defeat was not his victory.
It was just the first step.
He turned, walking away from the courtyard, the gathered disciples parting before him like water.
Whispers followed him.
Speculation. Fear. Admiration.
But Xian Ren paid them no mind.
His goal was far beyond the recognition of mortals.
The Iron Vein Sect was merely a stepping stone.
The heavens had watched for too long.
It was time they learned fear.