"I am the final challenge of this Tower," Yan Shou said, his tone formal now. "And before we fight, there are things you need to understand. Things about what this Tower truly is, and why it exists."
He gestured around the chamber with his black blade.
"Do you know where this Tower ca from? How it was created?"
Long Chen shook his head. "No one knows. The Towers appeared two hundred years ago across the world. That’s all anyone can say for certain."
Yan Shou nodded slowly. "Then I will tell you the truth."
He lowered his blade slightly, his expression becoming more serious.
"The Tower was created by a supre being from the Upper World. Not this realm—the cultivation world you know is rely the Lower World, a stepping stone. Above it exists the Upper World, where true cultivation begins. Where immortals walk, where laws are bent, where power beyond your current comprehension exists."
Long Chen’s chest tightened.
The Upper World.
Aiden had written about it. Spent weeks researching it for his fourth attempt at a hit series, the one he thought would finally break through. He’d crafted elaborate hierarchies, power systems, political structures. The protagonist’s ultimate goal had been ascending there.
But he’d ended the story right as the ascension happened—cutting it off at the climactic mont because he couldn’t figure out how to make the Upper World interesting enough. The manuscript had died at 50,000 words, abandoned like all the others.
And now he was hearing about it from soone who seed to have actually lived there.
’I wrote about a place I knew nothing about,’ Aiden thought, a chill running down his spine. ’And now I’m standing in front of soone who knows I was wrong about everything.’
"This Tower," Yan Shou said, his voice carrying weight, "was created by taking a natural inheritance—the kind that forms spontaneously when spiritual energy accumulates over millennia—and transforming it. The supre being imposed structure onto chaos. Added floors, guardians, rewards. And most importantly—"
He paused, his eyes boring into Long Chen.
"—he imprinted his Dao into the Tower itself. His understanding of reality. His path of cultivation. His will. Every floor, every trial, every challenge reflects aspects of his Dao. And the Tower judges challengers based on compatibility with that Dao."
Yan Shou tilted his head slightly, studying Long Chen’s face. "You know what a Dao is, don’t you?"
Long Chen hesitated.
Aiden knew. Of course he knew. In that sa fourth attempt—the one he’d called "Ascension of the Sword Emperor" before deleting it in frustration—he’d spent three weeks researching Taoism just to write a cool power system. Downloaded PDFs about Eastern philosophy, watched YouTube videos about cultivation concepts, read forum posts from people who actually understood the source material.
He’d thought he was being thorough. Professional, even.
But hearing the word "Dao" from a man who radiated actual death, who embodied violence so completely that his re presence could stop hearts—it made Aiden’s "research" feel like a joke. Like a child playing with concepts he didn’t understand.
"I know the concept," Long Chen said carefully. "A cultivator’s path. Their understanding of reality and the laws that govern it."
Yan Shou’s expression shifted slightly—surprise, maybe, or approval. "Good. Then I don’t need to explain the basics."
He began pacing slowly around the chamber.
"The supre being who created this Tower follows the Weapon Path. Specifically, he is a weapon cultivator—soone who has reached the pinnacle of understanding how weapons and combat interact with the fundantal laws of existence."
"And he created this Tower because..." Long Chen prompted.
"Because he’s looking for a successor."
The words hung in the air like a pronouncent of fate.
Yan Shou continued, his tone darkening. "The Weapon Path has many lines—different specializations within the overall path. The Sword Line. The Spear Line. The Blade Line. And the Slaughter Line."
His voice grew colder with each word.
"The Slaughter Line of the Weapon Path was once one of the most prominent cultivation lines in the Upper World, with countless practitioners and powerful masters. But it was sched against by rival lines and paths. Betrayed. Sabotaged from within and attacked from without."
Sothing cold settled in Aiden’s stomach.
Sched against. Betrayed. Sabotaged.
Those words were familiar. Too familiar.
His mind flashed back to a different manuscript—one he’d written two years ago. A villain backstory he’d spent maybe an afternoon developing. The antagonist had been a "fallen master" from so declining cultivation line, bitter and twisted by betrayal, using forbidden techniques for revenge.
What had he called it?
The Slaughter Path. No—the Slaughter Line.
He’d written it as disposable background lore. A tragic origin story to make the villain sympathetic before the protagonist killed him. Aiden had even included details about the line being "sched against by rivals" and "betrayed from within" because it sounded dramatic and gave the villain motivation.
Then he’d deleted the entire draft a week later when the story wasn’t working.
’No,’ Aiden thought, his hands beginning to shake. ’No, that can’t be—’
Yan Shou’s eyes began to change.
Red light bled into them, starting from the pupils and spreading outward like blood diffusing through water. The whites of his eyes disappeared completely, replaced by crimson that glowed with inner fire.
And with the color change ca an aura.
It erupted from Yan Shou’s body like a tidal wave—red and baleful, thick with the stench of death and violence. The spiritual pressure wasn’t just powerful. It was malevolent, oppressive, suffocating. It carried the weight of countless lives extinguished, oceans of blood spilled, mountains of corpses piled high.
This was the aura of soone who had killed millions.
The pressure crashed down on Long Chen like a physical force. His knees buckled. His vision blurred. His heart seized in his chest, forgetting to beat for several terrifying seconds.
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.
But through the panic, through the overwhelming pressure, one thought cut through Aiden’s mind with horrible clarity:
’I wrote this. I wrote the Slaughter Line’s downfall. I created this tragedy as throwaway backstory for a villain I killed off in Chapter fifteen. These people—their suffering, their destruction, their betrayal—I made it happen because I thought it sounded dramatic.’
Long Chen! Azazel’s voice cut through the panic. Don’t try to resist it! That’s soone who has transcended normal cultivation! Just endure it!
Long Chen’s mouth worked soundlessly. He wanted to respond but couldn’t form words.
The red aura intensified further. The air itself seed to turn crimson, tinted by the bloody energy radiating from Yan Shou. The chamber walls groaned under the pressure. Cracks ford in the stone floor beneath the guardian’s feet.
Yan Shou stood there, eyes blazing red, radiating death itself.
"Those who walked the Slaughter Line were hunted," he said, his voice layered with sothing inhuman now, multiple tones speaking simultaneously. "Their techniques stolen. Their legacies destroyed. Their disciples slaughtered before they could mature. Over centuries, the line fell into decline until only a handful of true masters remained."
Every word was a knife twisting in Aiden’s gut.
Because he rembered writing it. Almost word for word. He’d been sitting in his moldy flat, drinking an energy drink, typing out this exact tragedy because he needed to make his villain’s motivation "compelling."
The disciples slaughtered before they could mature—he’d written that. A single line in the backstory: "The rival sects killed our young before they could threaten us."
The techniques stolen—he’d written that too. Made it part of the villain’s rant: "They took our sacred arts and claid them as their own!"
All of it. He’d created all of this suffering, and then he’d deleted it. Thrown it away like it ant nothing.
The killing intent grew so thick Long Chen could taste copper in his mouth.
"They sched against the Slaughter Line," Yan Shou continued, his voice dripping with centuries of rage. "They destroyed our legacy. They killed our young. They stole our techniques and claid them as their own. They thought they could erase us from history."
’I erased you,’ Aiden thought, the realization crushing him. ’I literally deleted your entire existence because the story wasn’t getting enough views.’
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