Chapter 1: The First Kindling of the

Netherflame

Lingyuan Realm, Jinshi Town.

The setting sun bathed the desolate border town in a crimson glow, casting long shadows over its crumbling walls and dilapidated houses. The streets were lined with ruins, dust swirling in the wind, accompanied by the distant caws of crows. Though small, the town exuded an eerie, deathly silence. This was one of the most remote corners of the Lingyuan Realm, a place so forsaken that even Spiritflame cultivators seldom set foot here.

Squatting near a heap of trash on the eastern side of town, Lin Jin sifted through the rubble with a rusted iron rod. At sixteen, he was thin and ragged, his tattered clothes covered in dust. Yet, within his grimy face shone a pair of bright eyes—eyes that carried an unyielding fire. His fingers probed the debris, occasionally picking up a dull fragment of a spirit stone and tucking it into the worn cloth pouch at his waist.

"A worthless Flamewaste, scavenging trash again?"

A mocking voice rang out. A group of local thugs leaned against a nearby wall, each holding a wooden club, sneering at Lin Jin. Leading them was Zhang Hu, a burly youth with the strength of the Initial Flame Third Stage, a figure notorious for his unchecked arrogance in Jinshi Town.

Lin Jin didn't look up, acting as if he hadn't heard them, and continued his search. His silence only fueled Zhang Hu's amusement. With a smirk, he sauntered forward and kicked over the pile of rubble beside Lin Jin, sending dust into the air.

"Hey, trash, I'm talking to you! Are you deaf?" Zhang Hu grinned, revealing his yellowed teeth.

Lin Jin finally paused. He stood up slowly, dusting off his hands before meeting Zhang Hu's gaze. His eyes were calm, yet carried a chilling depth that made one uneasy.

"What do you want?" His voice was low, like the wind whispering through dead branches.

"What do I want?" Zhang Hu scoffed, twirling his wooden club. "Can't I just have some fun? I heard your Lin family used to be something around here. But now, you're just a piece of trash, picking through garbage. I'm in a bad mood today, so I figured I'd take it out on you. How about that?"

The other thugs laughed, jeering. "Yeah, Tiger Bro, teach him a lesson! Show him who runs Jinshi Town!"

Lin Jin clenched the iron rod in his hand, his knuckles whitening. He said nothing, but memories of three years ago surged in his mind—flames devouring the Lin family estate, black-robed figures wielding long blades, his parents slain before his eyes. That night, he had hidden in a water vat, barely escaping with his life. Since then, the once-proud Lin family had become the town's laughingstock, and he, the most despised "Flamewaste."

"What? Not gonna fight back?" Zhang Hu, mistaking Lin Jin's silence for fear, stepped closer and grabbed his collar. "Trash is trash. You can't even ignite a Spiritflame, yet you dare glare at me?"

At that moment, a faint glow flickered from the tattered pouch at Lin Jin's waist. A seemingly insignificant black crystal pulsed with an eerie light, spreading a strange warmth through his body. His entire frame shuddered as a deep, ancient voice echoed in his mind:

"Boy, the Netherflame within you… is no ordinary fire."

"Who's there?!" Lin Jin's voice was sharp with alarm, but he soon realized the words existed only within his mind.

Zhang Hu, unaware of Lin Jin's internal turmoil, sneered and raised his hand for a slap. "Still pretending? You're asking for it!"

Before the slap could land, Lin Jin moved. He didn't know where the strength came from, but his iron rod swung out fiercely, smashing into Zhang Hu's arm.

Crack!

Zhang Hu let out a wretched scream, stumbling back as his arm hung limply—clearly broken.

"You… you dare hit me?!" Zhang Hu clutched his arm, cold sweat dripping from his forehead. The other thugs froze in shock, unable to comprehend how this so-called Flamewaste had dared to fight back.

Lin Jin himself was stunned. He looked down at the iron rod in his grasp, then at his own trembling hands. He could feel it—a newfound warmth coursing through his veins, filling his body with an unfamiliar yet exhilarating power.

"Quit staring, boy." The old voice chuckled. "I am Yan Hun, the Flame Soul Ancestor. I've slumbered within this Netherflame for a thousand years. That crystal was your fortune—it awakened me, and in doing so, ignited the power within you. What happens next is up to you."

"Yan Hun… Ancestor?" Lin Jin's heart pounded. But before he could process everything, Zhang Hu, red-eyed with fury, lunged at him. "Trash! I'll kill you!"

Despite his broken arm, Zhang Hu clenched his other hand, summoning a flickering crimson flame.

"Focus your spirit, guide the flame, and release it!" Yan Hun's voice boomed in his mind like thunder.

Instinctively, Lin Jin shut his eyes, channeling the warmth within him. In an instant, a flickering purple-black flame burst forth from his palm, exuding a bone-chilling aura. The moment the two flames clashed, Zhang Hu's crimson fire was instantly devoured.

Boom!

A powerful shockwave sent Zhang Hu flying. He crashed into the ground, coughing up blood before passing out. The surrounding thugs paled, stepping back in terror.

"A… a Spiritflame?!" One of them stammered. "Wasn't he a Flamewaste?"

Lin Jin opened his eyes, staring at the Netherflame dancing in his palm. Disbelief flickered in his gaze. He had actually ignited a Spiritflame? Three years of failure, of humiliation, and now, this miraculous fire had reignited his hope.

"Not bad. Your talent isn't completely hopeless." Yan Hun's voice carried a note of approval. "This Netherflame is one of the rarest forces in the Lingyuan Realm. Back in my time, I ruled with its power. If you wish to become strong, you'll have to listen to me."

Lin Jin took a deep breath, suppressing the surge of emotions in his heart. He turned to Zhang Hu's unconscious form and then to the frightened thugs. His voice was cold:

"Get lost."

The thugs scrambled away, dragging Zhang Hu with them.

Lin Jin stood alone in the dying sunlight, his shadow stretching long across the ground. He clenched his fists, his mind replaying the faces of those black-robed assassins. Gritting his teeth, he whispered:

"Tianyan Pavilion… I, Lin Jin, will see you burn."

"Good ambition." Yan Hun laughed. "But boy, you're not even at the first stage of the Initial Flame Realm yet. Revenge? You have a long way to go. For now, learn to wield your Netherflame properly. Don't waste this gift."

Lin Jin nodded, his eyes burning with resolve.

He knew—this flame was his first step toward defying fate.