The sky was gray that afternoon.
The wind carried the damp sll of the forest, mixed with the faint rotten odor of dead leaves piled on the ground.
Kyrian was sitting in front of a wooden house, motionless, watching the mist rise between the trees. He wasn’t cultivating, he wasn’t thinking about anything specific.
He was only breathing, waiting for sothing.
Five years ago, when Kyrian turned ten, he had broken through to the peak of the first realm with ease.
Wei Feng then gave him his cultivation technique. The sa one he used. But from that ti until now, Kyrian had been unable to cultivate.
His eyes, for so reason, had stopped absorbing Qi, as if they had reached their limit, as if an invisible barrier had closed inside them.
During this ti, his routine was always the sa, training and more training. Lessons from Wei Feng, reading books he had long since morized. Accidental hunts, and much, much silence.
But today sothing changed when he woke up. Today, he was turning fifteen. And at that mont, the barrier seed to vanish completely.
Kyrian felt the air grow lighter, finally able to truly breathe. For a mont before, he had even wondered what he would do if his eyes really could no longer absorb Qi. But after thinking a little, he tried not to worry and simply wait.
And now he could finally cultivate again. But before he could focus to begin.
A sound interrupted his thoughts.
The sound of glass breaking. The noise echoed from inside the wooden house.
Kyrian didn’t get up imdiately, already used to it. He just listened. But the silence that followed was heavy. He thought for a mont, then sighed.
He decided to get up and take a look.
When he entered the house, Wei Feng was lying on the floor.
The old man held a broken wine bottle, the shards scattered across the ground, and so stuck in his skin, bleeding.
The purple liquid mixed with the blood that dripped from his mouth. His white hair and beard were completely tangled. Dirty. His wrinkled skin seed far too thin, almost transparent.
His muscles had atrophied, his spine hunched once again.
Kyrian observed him for a long ti. There was no urgency in his steps. He walked slowly toward the body.
He leaned down with so ease. Lifted the old man, placing him in a wooden chair near the table.
The sll was unpleasant. Sour wine, blood, filth, and the weakness of old age.
Wei Feng gasped, each breath a painful effort. His single eye was cloudy, opaque, without any gleam.
It was hard to believe that just a few years ago, this man had been an imposing figure capable of annihilating the fifteen countries. Now, it seed nothing more than a shadow.
Wei Feng and Kyrian had traveled along the border of the fifteen countries during the ten years that had passed. Kyrian watched Wei Feng slowly lose his mind as he aged rapidly.
The exit from this place was never found, Wei Feng sank into despair hatred, and in the end, the strength and vitality he had regained ten years ago began to wither away. Until today.
Kyrian stood before him, arms crossed. His expression was neutral, as always. He only frowned slightly. The old man’s state sohow bothered him.
"Wei Feng." His voice was low, emotionless. Kyrian had never managed, nor ever would, to call him master.
Wei Feng laughed, a hoarse, broken laugh. It was soon interrupted by coughs that made more blood flow from his lips.
"You’ve... grown... brat..." Wei Feng said with so effort.
Kyrian didn’t respond. He only watched him, his mind, at that mont, was a little distant.
He saw two overlapping images, the man who had slaughtered the capital, killing all his companions without hesitation, without remorse. And the old man, now frail, is about to die alone in a forgotten cabin.
’I could kill him now and take my revenge.’
’Nothing would stop . He no longer has even the strength to move the drop of blood he placed inside .’ Kyrian thought.
But it didn’t matter. He didn’t feel there was reason or need to do it.
Wei Feng was already dead. Only the last breath remained.
The old man coughed again, bending forward. Blood stained his beard. For an instant, Kyrian thought he would pass without saying a word. But no. Wei Feng, with his last strength, looked at him and spoke one final sentence.
He lifted his eyes, staring at his disciple, the only person who might still rember him.
"If one day... you find the White Tower... destroy it... for ."
After those words, silence filled the air of the house for a while.
Kyrian didn’t ask why. He didn’t seek explanations about what the White Tower was. He only fixed his gaze on the old man as he lost his final breath of life.
And after a few seconds, Kyrian only gave a small nod.
But that was enough.
Wei Feng gave one last strange smile. Perhaps satisfied, perhaps relieved, trusting that Kyrian would truly do it.
Then his breathing grew weaker until it finally disappeared. His eyes remained closed.
The old man had finally died.
Kyrian stood still for several minutes, watching the motionless body.
There was no sadness in his chest. Even after spending ten years with Wei Feng, he had never forgotten what had brought them together. But neither was there joy.
It was a truly strange feeling. As if this was sothing that needed to happen. Wei Feng had lived a life marked by deaths and regrets. To die that way, alone, weak, and powerless, in a land far from ho, Kyrian thought it was fitting.
Wei Feng wouldn’t suffer by his hands, but he wouldn’t have a good life in the next place either. Kyrian imagined that.
It was then, suddenly, that Kyrian felt a sensation in his head. The drop of blood, whose presence he had grown accustod to, lost all its function.
Kyrian already knew what it was for. With a thought, the drop of blood gathered in his mouth, and then he spat it out.
It was a technique that, according to what he had read, was used to control or even kill those who accepted it. Kyrian had accepted becoming his disciple, so Wei Feng had placed it in his mind. But despite that, it had never been used for anything.
Kyrian always trained, seemingly unconcerned with the rest. Perhaps it could have been useful to Wei Feng later, but since they were trapped there, the day Wei Feng could use it never ca.
Kyrian then approached the old man’s body, from his wrinkled hand, he removed the only ring. Placing it on his own finger. Now, he already knew how it worked, how things suddenly appeared and vanished.
He then left the house and went to the yard. Made an improvised shovel and began to dig. The soil was hard, but it was child’s play to him now. Even without hurrying, in just a few minutes a grave was ready.
He then returned to the house, lifted Wei Feng’s body, and threw it into the grave.
Buried him without ceremony. There were no flowers, no farewell words. Only a stone placed over the earth marked the spot.
"I guess that’s enough." Kyrian murmured before turning and entering the house again.
The cold wind blew, raising dust and dry leaves over the makeshift grave.
Kyrian returned to his room, deciding to leave everything else for the next morning. That night, he chose only to sleep.
But the thoughts returned to his mind. Kyrian couldn’t help thinking about what had happened. Wei Feng was, without a doubt, a terrible man. He had killed Lina, crushing the hope of so many people without hesitation.
But at the sa ti, he had been the one to teach him how to cultivate, to show him the path he should follow. About the world and how to survive in it.
’I do not respect him as a person, as a father, or as a master.’
’But I respect him as soone strong.’
Wei Feng had shown Kyrian the raw, harsh reality. The world had no place for the weak. Only the strong survived. Only they had the right to dictate rules.
Kyrian now understood this. More than understood, he accepted it. Now, not only because of his mother’s wish. But also for himself. Kyrian decided he would not stop until he had absolute strength.
Then, finally, he fell asleep. Without grief in his heart. Only a silent lesson, like a cut engraved in flesh that would never disappear.
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