MIDNIGHT_RAVEN

In a world where power is stolen, not earned—Jian Long, the most shameless man alive, will troll his way to godhood."

After dying a laughably pathetic death on Earth, Jian Long awakens in the Velvet Sword Pavilion, a prestigious sect famed for its sword arts—and its stunning female disciples. But beneath its righteous facade, the sect hides a darker truth: it guards one of the Nine Forbidden Dual Dao Manuals, a cultivation path that thrives on the fusion of spiritual and physical resonance.

Armed with the [Heavenly Dual Dao Protocol], a system that rewards manipulation over morality, Jian Long embraces his role as the ultimate savage underdog. With a tongue sharper than any blade and a face thicker than the heavens.

Supreme Dual Dao: Rise of the Shameless

Night fell like a silk shroud over the Velvet Fang Pavilion, muffling sound and sight, but not tension. The dueling arena still reeked of frost and blood—Bai Yu's defeat had shaken the sect's delicate hierarchy like a sword through rotten fruit.

Jian Long sat cross-legged on the tiled roof of the southern bell tower, where a cracked gong hung like a drunk uncle at a wedding. A warm breeze tickled his exposed collarbone, drying the blood on his shoulder. His rusted sword lay across his lap like a loyal dog with a bite problem.

Below, the courtyard pulsed with crimson light. The Pavilion's monthly Inner Selection Ceremony was beginning.

[System Notification: Sect morale is in disarray. You are 67% more infamous than yesterday. Congratulations?]

"Do I get a sticker?" Jian Long muttered.

[You get a target painted on your ass. Figuratively. For now.]

A bell chimed below—three sharp notes, formal and unforgiving. Disciples in red assembled with military precision. Among them stood Su Ling, arms folded, jaw set. No longer glaring, but no closer to smiling.

Elder Qin stepped onto the platform. His voice boomed:

"Today, one cultivator will be elevated. The others may… retire."

Retire, of course, meaning exiled. Or dead.

Jian Long stood and stretched, back cracking like dry bamboo. "Time to play nice with my fellow inmates."

He leapt from the rooftop, landing in the center of the square with the sound of a falling peach pit.

The silence from the crowd was louder than a war drum.

Jian Long. Su Ling. A newcomer: Yan Xue, the silver-eyed girl with a perpetual smirk and rumors of poisoned kisses.

The test? One hour in the Crimson Curtain—a realm of illusions drawn from one's worst memories, amplified by suppressed guilt.

Jian Long tilted his head. "So… therapy. But violent?"

[System Confirmation: Mental hellscape incoming. Emotional damage not covered by warranty.]

Inside the Crimson Curtain, the world twisted.

Jian Long stood in a broken street from his previous life. Sirens wailed. Drones flew overhead. A woman's voice screamed from an alley. Smoke choked the sky. A child cried his name.

But as a corpse, blinking, mouth sewn shut with red thread.

Then she whispered: "You always walk away."

[System Suppression Warning: Emotional overload. Memories leaking into combat reflex.]

Then a second version of him appeared—older, crueler, wearing a cultivator's robe soaked in blood.

"Is this what you want to become?" the shadow asked.

"No," he said, voice steady. "It's what I refuse to become."

He slashed his rusted sword through the illusion's throat. The entire dream twisted and shattered into burning lotus petals.

Su Ling followed, her face pale, eyes raw. She didn't speak—but she looked at him differently.

But something inside him had cracked wider.

Chapter 21: The Crimson Curtain Draws