Reborn in the Abyss: The Warrior's Vengeance

The sun rose blood-red over the eastern horizon, casting long shadows across the marshlands surrounding Jade Serpent Province. The air hung heavy with mist, damp and cloying, as though the land itself sought to choke the breath from those who dared enter it. Murong Chen stood atop a ridge overlooking the province's outer settlements—once villages teeming with life, now reduced to hushed tombs under Zhao Wei's reign.

Here, the tyrant's hand was strongest. Here, Chen would begin to tear it apart.

Lu Fan crouched beside him, scanning the distant towers of Heiyun Fortress, the outermost stronghold guarding the approach to the heart of the province.

"We strike tonight," Lu Fan said, his voice low, cold. "The garrison is weak. Most of their forces are concentrated at Jade Court. We won't get a better chance."

Chen's eyes remained locked on the fortress. "I want the commander alive."

Lu Fan glanced at him. "Interrogation?"

Chen nodded. "There are secrets behind these walls—truths Zhao Wei has buried. I intend to dig them up."

A rustle behind them broke the silence. From the treeline emerged a figure cloaked in grey, face partially obscured by a scarf. It was Meng Yao, a scout loyal to the remnants of Chen's fallen clan.

She knelt before him, fist to chest. "Lord Chen. The patrol routes are confirmed. Minimal resistance. There's… something else."

Chen turned to her, noting the unease in her eyes.

"They're using villagers as labor in the mines beneath Heiyun Fortress. Forced work in toxic conditions. Men, women… even children."

Chen's fists clenched, the Ashen Blade at his side responding with a pulse of heat.

Lu Fan swore under his breath. "Zhao Wei's cruelty knows no bounds."

Chen's voice was ice. "We end it. Tonight."

**

As dusk fell, shadows crept across the land, cloaking the world in silence. The assault on Heiyun Fortress began not with a roar, but a whisper.

Chen led the vanguard—himself, Lu Fan, and Meng Yao—slipping through the outer defenses like phantoms. Years of war had honed Chen's instincts to a razor's edge. Every step was measured, every breath deliberate.

At the fortress wall, Meng Yao produced a slender blade, slicing through the bindings on a bundle of rope and hooks. She tossed the rope upward, the hook catching with a muted clink. In seconds, they ascended, scaling the stone with practiced ease.

On the battlements, two guards patrolled, oblivious.

Chen moved first.

The Ashen Blade whispered through the air, and in an instant, both men fell—one scorched to ash, the other silenced by Meng Yao's dagger. The group moved swiftly, dispatching guards with ruthless efficiency.

They reached the central keep within minutes, navigating through narrow halls lit by flickering lanterns. Below them, muffled cries echoed through the stone—the miners, imprisoned and toiling.

Chen's jaw tightened. "We free them after we have the commander."

They entered the war room—ornate, cold, and empty save for a single figure seated at a map-laden table.

Commander Huo Liang—broad-shouldered, clad in blackened steel, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

"I was wondering when the Ghost Blade would arrive," Huo Liang said, rising slowly. "You've made quite the mess."

Chen stepped forward, blade drawn. "Your master's time is up."

Huo Liang chuckled. "Then come claim his secrets… if you can survive."

He struck without warning, drawing a massive axe wreathed in dark qi. The room exploded into motion—steel clashing, fire roaring.

Chen met the blow with the Ashen Blade, sparks and flame lighting the chamber. Huo Liang was powerful, his strikes like thunder, but Chen was faster, precise. Each movement was honed through pain and fire.

Lu Fan joined the fray, sabers flashing, while Meng Yao darted through the shadows, striking at weak points.

Minutes passed like hours. Blood stained the floor, the air thick with smoke. At last, Chen found his opening—a feint, a pivot, then the Ashen Blade plunged through Huo Liang's chest, searing flesh, burning soul.

The commander collapsed, gasping.

Chen knelt beside him. "Tell me… what is Zhao Wei hiding beneath Jade Court?"

Huo Liang laughed, blood bubbling from his lips. "You think you know vengeance? You know nothing. The Court… is built upon lies. Secrets buried deep… even you… were a pawn."

Chen's eyes darkened. "Explain."

But Huo Liang's eyes rolled back, his last breath escaping in a shudder.

Dead.

Chen rose, silent.

Lu Fan placed a hand on his shoulder. "What did he mean?"

Chen stared at the corpse. "We find out."

They descended into the fortress's lower levels, fighting through remnants of soldiers, freeing the imprisoned villagers one by one. Tears, gratitude, and disbelief followed Chen's every step.

To them, he was a legend returned.

To Zhao Wei, a storm rising.

**

Two days later, at a hidden refuge deep within the Verdant Hills, Chen sat before a fire, staring into the flames.

Meng Yao approached, bowing.

"Lord Chen. From Huo Liang's quarters. Letters, maps, reports. One stood out."

She handed him a scroll, sealed with the emblem of the Crimson Sect—Chen's own clan.

His heart thundered.

He broke the seal, reading the contents. As the words unfolded, his hands trembled.

It was a letter—years old.

From Zhao Wei. Addressed to Chen's own father, the former patriarch.

It spoke of an alliance. Of a pact for power. Of sacrificing Murong Chen as a scapegoat to quell rebellion and secure dominance.

His father had agreed.

Chen's world shattered.

Lu Fan read over his shoulder, stunned. "Your father… betrayed you?"

Chen's eyes burned—not with rage, but devastation. Everything… everything had been orchestrated. His exile, the slaughter, the rise of Zhao Wei—it had all been born from his family's betrayal.

He stood, the Ashen Blade in hand, firelight dancing along its length.

"No more lies. No more chains."

His voice was cold, resolute.

"Zhao Wei… my father… the Crimson Sect—they all burn."