Sundawn City
The streets of Sundawn City thrumd with activity, alive with the clattering of horse-drawn carriages and the chatter of townsfolk.
Riven Ashvale strolled along the lively thoroughfare until he arrived at the inn where he had once stayed.
This inn served as an apartnt for him when he needed to spend ti calming his mind. The days he spent in the Ashvale manor demanded considerable patience.
Under the cover of darkness before dawn, he had stealthily departed from Peony Manor.
Over the past ten months, Riven had diligently consud a Primordial Pill each month in pursuit of mastery in fist arts.
Now, he had achieved the Postnatal Fetal Breathing Realm, successfully unblocking his Sun and Moon veins, which enabled him to draw vital energy from both heaven and earth.
Different dynasties and cultures referred to these energy pathways by various nas, such as Lifepath and Warpaths, but they fundantally represented the sa phenonon.
The Sun and Moon veins served as essential conduits for anyone seeking to elevate themselves from the postnatal stage to the prenatal or Innate rebirth Realm.
The act of opening these pathways was akin to having one foot poised at the threshold of the Innate Realm, signifying a significant accumulation of internal strength.
With dedication to a respectable martial art and committed practice over ti, anyone could reach this pivotal stage through inner cultivation, setting the foundation for even greater advancents in their martial journey.
However, the second half of the journey relies on personal opportunity, self-awareness, and, for lack of a better term, comprehension... which signifies an enhancent in one’s understanding.
No longer should one abuse their mortal coil for strength. They should observe themselves and the world.
Training oneself to reach the fetal breathing state, theoretically speaking, entails a return to the maternal womb. The one place where a child receives the purest form of energy.
From then on, they will ’break through’ and beco a true child of Heaven and Earth.
Once this stage is achieved, a cultivator may be regarded as a true descendant of heaven, no longer rely ’acquired’.
This state of existence is comparable to spiritual beings born of heaven, such as the Golden Crown Immortal Crane.
This realm is shaped by one’s unique comprehension of martial arts, followed by the pursuit of one’s individual path.
For instance, the sword intent of a swordsman or the fist intent of a practitioner of hand-to-hand combat.
Regardless of the martial art, having the support of such intent would multiply its power.
At this stage, secluding oneself for arduous practice was less beneficial than venturing out into the Martial world.
....
After ten months, the day that would end Riven’s seclusion from the secular world had finally arrived.
Today, there was a ticulously planned event taking place.
The city lord had invited Patriarch Lockwood to a lavish pleasure boat, indulging in wine and won.
Riven intended to serve him a final, unforgettable al. He also had sothing sinister in store for his first mother, Lady Ashvale.
That loudmouthed skank. The thought of torturing both mother and son filled him with a twisted sense of pleasure.
Riven shook his head to shake off the increasingly twisting dark insanity that was trying to swallow him whole as the ti for his vengeance was growing nearer and nearer.
With sharp eyes, Riven Ashvale stepped into the inn.
"Master..." The inn boy began to greet him, but as he glanced up, he jumped back in shock, exclaiming, "Ah! A-Ashvale, Master Ashvale?"
"What?" Riven Ashvale looked at him with a smile.
The boy’s complexion drained as he stuttered, "You... weren’t you ant to go to the capital and never return here?"
’Hmm...’ Riven looked at the boy. It seems that City Lord did the work he was asked to do.
"Well... I changed my mind and ca back. Did you throw away all my things?" Riven Ashvale asked.
At this mont, the innkeeper, hearing the commotion, ca out and was also surprised to see Riven Ashvale.
However, the innkeeper’s experience surpassed that of the young servant.
Bowing his hands together, he said, "Master Ashvale, we naturally wouldn’t dispose of a guest’s belongings."
"However, your items are no longer in the inn!"
"Hmm?"
The innkeeper explained, "Seven days ago, they were taken by your family."
"My family?"
Riven Ashvale raised an eyebrow and asked, "Did they leave a na?"
The innkeeper replied, "There was a man around forty years old who claid to be the steward of the Ashvale Family.
He was accompanied by a man bearing the symbol of the city lord and another bearing the symbol of the Lockwood family from the city. They vouched for him, so we allowed the steward to take your belongings."
Riven had left only a few books and several sets of clothes in the inn—nothing valuable.
His purpose in coming here was simply to fulfill his part of the story.
Riven Ashvale disappeared and ca back to get his things from the inn. Only to find out his enemies had started cleaning his belongings to remove all the clues – This would be ’intro’ to the storm this city’s about to face next.
After all, this was sort of his lodging.
"Lockwood...!!??"
His voice, infused with internal energy, echoed in the inn, drawing the attention of many. Especially martial artists.
They dropped whatever they were doing and turned to look at the spectacle.
The word "Lockwood" was enough for these people to gossip, as not many would dare to say that surna with contempt as he did.
With a loud ’humph’, he dispelled his inner energy and walked out of the inn.
The surrounding martial cultivators who were waiting shouted at the inn keeper to ask who that person was to release such potent inner energy.
This border city doesn’t see such martial artists often.
........
On the calm ripples of the lake, the pleasure boats drifted gently, echoing with songs and dances, soaked in decadence and indulgence.
"City Lord, thanks to your smooth handling of the situation, today this Patriarch has truly seen your loyalty. Let’s enjoy ourselves!"
Patriarch Lockwood laughed heartily, raising his wine cup as two won clung to him on either side.
"One year should be enough. Give it two more months. In ti, all this land will be ours... Haaaahahaha!"
His boisterous laughter rippled across the water as the won cooed and clung to him, pouring wine and feeding him grapes as if he were already a king.
"Brother Lockwood, you’re too kind," said the City Lord, lifting his own cup with a sly grin. "Our two families stand and fall together; such a minor matter is not worth ntioning."
After five rounds of wine, the two n, now comfortably drunk, began to speak with looser tongues, the mask of restraint slowly slipping away.
Seeming ’curious,’ the City Lord leaned in slightly and asked,
"Brother Lockwood, even if Riven Ashvale passed the imperial examination, he wouldn’t inherit the family estate anyway. Wouldn’t killing him stir suspicion?"
"Hey! City lord, be careful what you say!"
Patriarch Lockwood’s smile tightened slightly. He waved off the dancers and singing girls with a lazy flick of his hand, then leaned in close, whispering—
"To be honest, hiccup... my cousin, although married into the Ashvale family, she was never happy to begin with. She always hiccup ca crying to , saying how miserable she felt."
He chuckled, eyes bleary.
"So what could I do? As her older cousin, I hiccup... well, it’s too late now... Bahahaha!"
He downed another cup, laughing like he was proud of it.
"It seems Silas Ashvale has so suspicions."
(Silas Ashvale – father of Riven and current master of the Sundawn city’s Ashvale house.)
"Ah?"
The City Lord put on a ’shocked’ expression, frowning slightly.
"Silas Ashvale is, after all, part of the royal family. What you’re doing..."
In truth, he already knew. Patriarch Lockwood had admitted it to him once before in drunken haze—that the eldest son of the Ashvale family wasn’t really Ashvale blood.
"Hmph, what royal family? hiccup There are plenty of people nad Ashvale. Sa surna, different bloodlines—they’ve long been estranged."
Patriarch Lockwood smirked with drunken pride.
"Patriarch Lockwood certainly has great sches, huh?"
Suddenly, a voice echoed out of nowhere, interrupting the laughter.
Patriarch Lockwood’s face changed instantly. The warmth of the wine disappeared, replaced by icy dread.
On the drifting pleasure boat, both Patriarch Lockwood and the City Lord abruptly stood up.
"Who’s there?"
Patriarch Lockwood, who knew so martial arts, prepared to leap out and strike. But before he could move, a hand silently pressed down onto his shoulder.
The weight behind it was terrifying. His bones made faint crackling noises under the pressure.
Sweat as large as beans rolled down his forehead, his face twisting in pain.
He was shocked. Terrified. They had encountered a true expert.
He, sa as the City Lord, might have practiced martial arts, but it was shallow—just enough for defense and show. Against soone like this, they were helpless.
His acquired cultivation was boosted through resources.
Patriarch Lockwood scread, "Great hero, we bear no grudge against you! Na your request, and I, Lockwood, will surely fulfill it!"
"No grudge?" a cold, amused voice answered. "Why don’t you turn around... and see who I am?"
Patriarch Lockwood turned his head—and froze. Standing behind them was a young, handso man. A familiar face.
While the City Lord managed to stay composed, Patriarch Lockwood’s expression twisted in sheer terror. It was like he’d seen a ghost.
"You... you... is that you?"
He knew that face. Riveron Ashvale. The boy who was supposed to have drowned in the lake.
Had his spirit co back for revenge?
Patriarch Lockwood’s eyes widened, his body shaking uncontrollably. His throat seized up. He couldn’t even form words.
The Lockwood family had searched that part of the lake for three full days. No body. No sign of struggle. In the end, they simply called it a disappearance.
But now...
"Riveron Ashvale," he rasped, "are you real... or a ghost?"
Riven took a step forward, eyes cold.
"Whether I’m alive or a ghost... what does it fucking matter?" he said, voice sharp like a blade. "What matters is, you are now in my hands. So, start thinking about how you’re gonna save yourself."
Patriarch Lockwood narrowed his eyes, the fear montarily giving way to calculation.
Riveron Ashvale. A soft, obedient little scholar. Always filial, always indecisive. So what if he sohow didn’t die and picked up a few tricks? A coward stays a coward.
He sneered.
"What do you want?" he snapped.
"Riven Ashvale, don’t forget who we are. We are the Lockwood family. Your father is still dependent on our support. If you have a brain in your head, you’ll let us go. Because if my family hears about this... your father will be the first to fall."
Crack. RIIIIIPPP
No sooner than those words were spoken... a sickening, dry snap echoed through the boat.
Then ca the scream along with a squelching, ripping sound.
"KYAAAAARGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!—"
Raw. Bloody. Shattering.
Thud
Patriarch Lockwood hit the ground like a sack of at, writhing, howling. Blood gushed from his shattered shoulder, pooling beneath him.
Riven tossed the torn arm beside him like trash and said coldly, "You think that kind of bullshit works on ?"
Patriarch Lockwood could no longer even scream. His body convulsed, spasming violently as he choked on the sheer magnitude of pain coursing through him.
The City Lord gasped, his entire fra trembling. Cold sweat drenched his robes.
Without a second thought, he dropped to his knees, slamming his forehead against the wooden deck with such force it split the skin—blood streaking down his face.
"My lord! I did everything you asked! I swear it!"
Riven didn’t answer. He rely smirked. A smirk that dripped dark, cruel, and twisted satisfaction.
At those words, Lockwood’s eyes fluttered open for a mont. Even through the searing pain, confusion cut through him like a blade. He stared at the man who, just minutes ago, had been drinking with him.
A man he had called a friend for ten months. A man he had feasted and toasted with.
"You... you..." he croaked through sobs, snot bubbling from his nose, voice thick with disbelief.
Why?? How could he??
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