The gates of Greenwind City groaned open, ancient wood and iron sighing into the breeze. Gu Yue Fangtian entered alongside Yue Lian, the City Lord's daughter, his calm gaze absorbing the bustling life around him. Market stalls spilled over with spices and silks, blacksmiths hammered steel into glowing forms, and scholars debated beneath shaded courtyards. Yet Fangtian moved through it all like a ghost—untouched, unaffected.
At the city lord's manor, a grand estate of jade and white marble, guards bowed low and servants whispered behind cupped hands. At the top of the stairs stood Yue Zhonghai, tall and imposing, his silence heavier than words.
"Young man," Zhonghai said, descending a step. "I am Yue Zhonghai, Lord of Greenwind City. You saved my daughter. For that, I owe you more than gratitude."
Fangtian inclined his head. "It was nothing, my lord."
Zhonghai's gaze sharpened, measuring him. "And who are you, Gu Yue Fangtian? From which clan do you hail? What brings you here?"
"I belong to no clan," Fangtian answered evenly. "I seek no refuge. I walk my own path."
Zhonghai studied him a moment longer, then gave a slow nod. "Very well. You are welcome in my city. If ever you need anything, speak my daughter's name. The gates will open."
As they moved deeper into the manor, a low voice slid from the shadows.
"You trust a swordless stranger?" Councilor Lin stepped forward, his narrow gaze sharp enough to draw blood. "What do you know of his loyalties?"
Zhonghai's face betrayed nothing. Only his eyes flickered toward Fangtian.
"I know enough," he said. "There are debts of honor to consider. I take responsibility."
Fangtian said nothing, feeling Councilor Lin's suspicion cling to him like a second skin.
Later, in the heart of Greenwind's ancient library, Fangtian wandered among rows of scrolls and manuscripts. The air was thick with parchment, dust, and the whisper of old ink. His fingers grazed the spines until a subtle gleam caught his eye.
"Moonlight Sword Technique."
He read the title aloud, his voice barely a murmur. It was a sword art of elegance and precision, mimicking the silent, deadly sweep of the moon.
But as he opened the scroll, frustration burned cold inside him. He had no sword.
Just then, Yue Lian approached, carrying the soft glow of a lantern in her hands.
"I require a sword," Fangtian said, voice polite but edged.
Startled, she blinked—then smiled, shyly.
"I have one," she said. "An extra practice blade. I can lend it to you."
He bowed his head slightly. "Thank you."
Their fingers brushed as she handed it over, a fleeting contact that said more than words. He accepted the blade with quiet grace and disappeared into the training grounds.
The moon hung high, casting silver fire across the empty grounds.
Fangtian stood alone, the practice blade in hand, the scroll's secrets etched into his mind.
"Being weak is a sin."
He struck, movements flowing like water. Graceful. Deadly.
"In this world, the weak are forgotten. Only the strong survive."
Sweat slicked his brow. Muscles burned. His face remained carved from stone, eyes locked on a future only he could see.
"To live in this world is to suffer. That... is life."
His mind drifted— —to the legends his mother once whispered beneath starlit skies.
The story of Yemsarun, first man of darkness. Mikhema, first woman of flame.
When the world was barren, dust and silence alone, the Twin Forces of Genesis—Rana Life and Rana Creator—challenged them:
"Make this world worth living. Prove it deserves life."
Through jagged mountains and endless deserts, illusions of paradise and voices of despair, Yemsarun and Mikhema endured.
When they reached the Peak of the First Dawn, bleeding and broken, Rana Life and Rana Creator spoke:
"Because you endured, life shall endure."
And so forests grew, rivers flowed, beasts breathed, and humanity rose.
Fangtian lowered his sword, breath ragged, heart burning.
"They suffered to bring life," he whispered. "Then I will suffer... to rule it."
A voice broke the night.
"You remember the story well, Fangtian. But unlike them, you do not seek to create. You seek to conquer."
Rerum's voice carried the weight of centuries, cold and inexorable.
Fangtian gripped the blade tighter, eyes narrowing.
"Those above me," he said, low and lethal, "one day, I will bring them all to their knees. I will destroy."
He looked to the moon, voice a vow etched in steel:
"Truth is not given. It is taken."
In the shadows of Greenwind, Councilor Lin watched. Silent. Calculating.
The seeds of discontent already began to sprout.
Later, in the moonlit garden, Yue Lian found Fangtian among swaying orchids. She stood quietly, gathering courage.
"Why do you say only the strong survive?" she asked, her voice steady beneath its softness.
Fangtian turned, his eyes cold stone.
"Because I saw what happens to the weak."
Her gaze did not waver. "Then maybe... we can change that. Not just survive. Make something better."
He said nothing. Her words hung in the air, lingering long after she left.
As he stood beneath the ruthless gaze of the moon, Rerum's voice coiled around him like smoke:
"You are far from the man you once were... and farther still from the man you could become."
Fangtian's grip tightened until the blade trembled with his will.
He would endure.
He would conquer.
He would rise — and he would tear the world apart, piece by piece, until nothing remained beyond his reach.
his.