Snow led Kai through the thinning trees, the scent of iron and smoke thickening in the air with every step. Then, the forest gave way to a clearing—or what should have been a clearing.

  Instead, they found a slaughterhouse.

  The remains of yurts lay in smoldering ruins, their colorful fabrics torn and blackened. Bodies—men, women, even children—were strewn across the blood-soaked earth like discarded dolls. Some still clutched weapons, their faces frozen in snarls of defiance. Others had fallen mid-flight, cut down from behind. The ground was churned with hoofprints and boot marks.

  Kai’s breath caught in his throat.

  The Windriders.

  Their vibrant robes and intricate beadwork left no doubt—this had been a nomadic camp of the Windrider clan. The same people who had welcomed Kai with open arms when he first wandered into Zan, offering him food, shelter, and stories under the stars.

  A wave of nausea rolled through him. As a cultivator, death was no stranger, but this—this was butchery. Not a battle. Not a skirmish. A systematic extermination. And his connection to the Windrider Clan made this especially repulsive.

  "Why?" The word tore from Kai’s lips, raw and unsteady.

  Memories flashed behind his eyes—another tribe of the Windrider clan had shared their fire, their food, their laughter. To them, a stranger was just a friend they hadn’t met yet.

  Chen Gong’s lessons echoed in his mind: "The Windriders are the oldest people in Zan. They trace their lineage back to the first tribes who roamed these lands. They don’t wage war. They don’t raid. To them, the sword exists only to put food on the table and protect their families."

  That was why settlements across Zan welcomed them. Their arrival meant trade, news from distant regions, and sometimes even healing. They were a peaceful people.

  And now they were corpses.

  Snow let out a low whine, nosing at the body of a young boy—no older than Lu Bu—whose throat had been slit ear to ear. The wolf’s ears flattened, his tail tucked between his legs. Even the other spirit beasts seemed to recoil, sensing the wrongness of this place.

  Kai forced himself to move, stepping carefully through the carnage. His fists clenched so tight his nails drew blood from his palms.

  Who would do this?

  Kai’s gaze swept over the other bodies scattered among the fallen Windriders. These corpses wore mismatched armor, their weapons crude and bloodied—clearly not the finely crafted blades and bows of the nomads.

  "Bandits," Kai spat, the word bitter on his tongue.

  This was no beast’s work. No animal would slaughter with such precision—only humans could be this cruel. Banditry had been growing bolder in Zan, but this level of brutality was beyond mere theft. This was extermination.

  His stomach churned, but he forced the anger down. Rage wouldn’t bring them back.

  With a heavy sigh, he pulled a shovel from his spatial ring and drove it into the earth. "The least I can do is bury you," he muttered, the words swallowed by the wind.

  Snow, who had been sniffing around the perimeter, suddenly stiffened. His ears pricked forward, and before Kai could call out, the wolf bolted into the trees.

  Kai barely had time to wonder what had caught his attention when—

  "Someone help me!"

  A young voice, shrill with panic.

  Kai froze.

  That cry—it reminded him of Lu Bu when they’d first met. A child, alone and desperate.

  He turned just in time to see Snow trotting back, his jaws clamped gently on the collar of a struggling boy. The wolf deposited the child in front of Kai with a proud yip, tail wagging as if expecting praise.

  Kai blinked.

  The boy—no older than ten—was clad in the vibrant blues and golds of the Windriders, his face streaked with dirt and tears.

  "A survivor!"

  The moment the boy’s feet touched the ground, he scrambled back, eyes wide with terror. "P-please, clansman! Help me! Save me from these beasts of Northrend!"

  "Clansman?" Kai frowned before glancing down at his own attire—the same Windrider-style robes he’d been given by Taimyr.

  He opened his mouth to explain, but before he could speak, the boy’s face crumpled.

  "WAAAAH!" The child burst into loud, hiccupping sobs, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

  Kai stiffened, utterly unprepared for the sudden outburst. "Uh—"

  Then he heard it—a rustling in the underbrush.

  Igni, the massive spirit tiger, had emerged from the trees, his golden eyes curious. The moment the boy saw him, he began his wailing, and Igni froze.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The great cat’s ears drooped. His whiskers twitched. Then, with a heartbroken whimper, Igni spun and bolted back into the forest, his tail tucked between his legs.

  Kai sighed. "Oh, Igni..." he mumbled, feeling bad for the giant tiger.

  For all his fearsome appearance—muscled frame, gleaming fangs, claws that could rend steel—the tiger was, at heart, an overgrown kitten who loved belly rubs and napping in the sun. But lately, every time he tried to approach humans, they either screamed, fainted, or burst into tears.

  It was devastating Igni’s self-esteem.

  With another sigh, Kai resumed digging. He’d let the boy cry it out.

  ?????

  Time crawled by in the wake of Igni’s unfortunate scare. Kai had managed to dig two graves in the earth, his muscles burning with the effort, but the work was far from done. The Windrider boy had finally stopped crying, though his wide, glassy eyes darted between the massive spirit beasts lingering at the edge of the clearing. Kai had ordered them to keep their distance, but their presence alone was enough to make the child tremble—their towering forms, their predator’s eyes, the way the very air seemed to hum with their latent power.

  With a grunt, Kai drove his shovel into the ground one last time before wiping the sweat from his brow. He approached the boy slowly, lowering himself to one knee to meet the child at eye level. He kept his posture loose, his hands visible—a practiced gesture to avoid spooking someone already teetering on the edge of terror.

  "Hello there," he said, his voice softer than usual. "I'm Kai. A wandering… cultivator." Kai felt no point hiding it now, not when the boy had seen the beastkin obey his every word. "Are you hurt?"

  The boy shook his head mutely, his fingers twisting in the fabric of his torn robes.

  "Good." Kai exhaled. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

  The boy’s breath hitched. "B-Bandits," he whispered, the word brittle. "They came some days ago. Killed… everyone." His voice cracked, his small frame trembling as if reliving the horror.

  Kai’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone steady. "Hey. Look at me." He waited until the boy’s tear-filled eyes flicked up. "I’m not going to hurt you. Understand?"

  Another shaky nod, though the fear didn’t leave the boy’s face.

  "Did you see where the bandits went?"

  "S-South," the boy stammered. "They took our horses and supplies… then left."

  South. The opposite direction from their own path. A bitter twist of fate—if they’d arrived sooner, or if the bandits had lingered, Kai might have been able to exact justice. But now, the killers were gone, vanishing into Zan’s vastness like cowards in the night.

  "Is there anyone else alive? Anyone hiding?"

  The boy shook his head violently, fresh tears welling. "No. Just me. They—they got everyone else."

  Kai’s chest ached. Another child left alone in the world, another life shattered by human cruelty. This was why he preferred beasts—they killed for survival, for territory, never for sport or greed.

  The boy couldn’t have been older than ten—Lu Bu’s age. History repeating itself, another soul orphaned by the world’s indifference.

  A memory surfaced—the last words spoken to him by Taimyr, the Windrider chieftain who had once helped.

  "You can repay this kindness by paying it forward."

  Kai didn’t need the debt to act. This boy’s plight would have moved him regardless. But the echo of Taimyr’s voice steeled his resolve.

  "What’s your name?" he asked gently.

  The boy swallowed hard. "…Zhang Liao."

  The moment the name left the boy's lips, Kai felt it—that familiar, unsettling prickle at the back of his neck. The same sensation he'd had when he first heard Lu Bu. The same foreboding that had coiled in his gut when Chen Gong introduced himself.

  It was as if the universe itself was whispering in his ear, "Here’s another one for you." And then laughed at him.

  Because of course another absurdly significant child had just fallen into his lap. Of course the sole survivor of this massacre carried a name that made the air hum with unseen weight.

  Kai exhaled slowly, forcing his expression to remain neutral even as his mind screamed.

  "Zhang Liao," he repeated, more hesitantly this time. "You're safe now. And you're not alone."

  The boy—Zhang Liao—stared up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. There was fear there, yes, but something else too—a fragile spark of hope, like the last ember of a dying fire.

  Kai could already see how this would unfold. He'd been through it twice before. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to run, to leave before destiny wrapped its claws around him any tighter. But another part—the part that remembered Taimyr's kindness, the part that had taken in Lu Bu without hesitation—refused to let him abandon a child in the ashes of his people.

  So he surrendered to the absurdity.

  "You can come with me," he said, his voice steady despite the storm in his head. "There are others nearby—my companions. We'll keep you safe."

  Kai took a deep breath. He knew how this would end. He might as well get it over with.

  "And," he added, bracing himself, "if you're interested—and only if you want to, no pressure—would you like me to... take you as my disciple?"

  The words tasted strange on his tongue. He hadn't planned to say them. Hadn't wanted to say them. But the pattern was undeniable. It was going to end this way eventually anyways.

  Lu Bu—a martial prodigy.

  Chen Gong—a tactical genius.

  And now Zhang Liao—another person whose talent will reveal itself soon.

  The boy blinked, his tears momentarily forgotten. "D-disciple?" he stammered. "You mean... teach me? Like... like in the stories?"

  Kai grimaced internally. Yes, exactly like the stories. The ones where wandering masters plucked orphans from tragedy and molded them into legends. Something that should have been only fiction that was now playing out in real life.

  "Yes," he said aloud. "I can teach you how to defend yourself. How to survive. But only if you want to."

  Zhang Liao's breath hitched. For a long moment, he just stared at Kai, his young mind clearly wrestling with the enormity of the offer—and the loss that had led him here.

  Then, slowly, he nodded.

  "Okay," he whispered.

  And just like that, Kai's fate was sealed.

  Three.

  Three disciples now, each with names and talents that make the heavens take notice.

  Snow, ever perceptive, let out a quiet whuff beside them, his blue eyes gleaming with something suspiciously like amusement.

  Kai shot the wolf a glare.

  This isn't funny.

  Snow's tail wagged.

  News alert!