Lord of the void realm

Langrave felt colder that morning.

Merchants opened their stalls a little slower. Cultivators walked with heads low, sensing something in the air they couldn't name. Whispers moved faster than people did.

Raizen left the city at dawn.

No guards stopped him. No one dared.

He didn't say goodbye. He didn't leave a trace. He walked through the gates with nothing but the wind at his back and the void stirring quietly under his skin.

By midday, he was already deep into the southern woods—an overgrown region where beasts still ruled and abandoned sects rotted in silence.

Then came the sound.

A single footfall on dry leaves.

Raizen stopped walking.

A man dropped down from the trees ahead. Red robes. Bronze staff. A silver-eyed cultivator from the Sky Fang Sect.

"Hey," the man said, grinning. "Name's Kyrel. Just wanted to meet you before the others do."

Raizen said nothing.

Kyrel held up a hand. "Relax. I'm not here to rob you. I'm just curious. You made a mess in Langrave, and now everyone's talking."

Still nothing from Raizen.

Kyrel's grin faded. "Not a talker, huh? Fine. I'll ask straight—what are you?"

Raizen stared at him for a long moment.

Kyrel's eyes narrowed. "You're dangerous. Everyone says it."

Then his expression shifted.

"And you know what I think? I think you're not as strong as they believe. Just clever. Hiding behind tricks."

He moved.

Fast.

Raizen didn't.

Kyrel struck with full force, his staff glowing gold. The air around it cracked as it came down, meant to break Raizen's skull in one clean shot.

It stopped.

No sound. No impact.

Just stopped—mid-swing.

Kyrel's eyes widened. His arms trembled.

The staff bent.

Then shattered.

Raizen moved one step forward. His hand reached out.

Kyrel tried to dodge.

Too slow.

One sharp motion.

The man's throat opened—clean, bloodless at first. Then it sprayed red onto the leaves.

Kyrel dropped.

Raizen didn't watch him fall.

Didn't explain.

Didn't speak.

He just kept walking.

---

Far above, in a sky palace made of stone and silence, an ancient figure stirred.

"Too soon," he muttered. "He's already killing."

Another voice answered, "He has no teacher. No control."

The man with the black crown raised his hand. "Then let's teach him fear."

Behind him, five masked envoys knelt.

"Send the Sky Messenger. Don't speak to him. Don't warn him."

He turned.

"If he resists… erase him."