Reborn in the Abyss: The Warrior's Vengeance

The night sky over Blackthorn Fortress was ablaze—not with fire, but with fear. Whispers of Murong Chen's return slithered through every corner of the land like vipers in the dark. Soldiers who once bore Zhao Ren's banners with pride now trembled in their barracks, casting wary glances over their shoulders.

In the shadows beyond the fortress walls, rebellion stirred.

Murong Chen stood atop a cliff overlooking the valley below, the cold wind tugging at his cloak. His eyes, sharper than any blade, scanned the terrain. Behind him, a dozen figures gathered—survivors, outcasts, warriors disillusioned with the empire's corruption. They had followed the rumors, chasing whispers of a warrior returned from the abyss.

Now they stood before him—the seeds of an uprising.

Among them was Lu Fan, a former commander stripped of his title after refusing to slaughter civilians under Zhao Ren's orders. His armor was battered, but his resolve burned bright.

Beside him stood Qing Lan, a master archer from the eastern tribes, whose people had been decimated by imperial expansion. Her gaze was sharp, distrustful—but within it flickered hope.

"You really are him," Lu Fan murmured, eyes wide with disbelief. "Murong Chen, the Crimson Sentinel... risen from the grave."

Chen nodded once. "I am."

Qing Lan stepped forward. "We didn't come for ghosts. We came for vengeance."

"You'll have it," Chen said, voice low, unwavering. "But not through reckless bloodshed. We strike at the heart."

He unfurled a weathered map, placing it upon a stone slab. Torchlight flickered over the parchment, revealing the vast empire—its cities, fortresses, and supply lines. At its center loomed Jinlong Citadel, seat of Zhao Ren's rule.

"That's suicide," Lu Fan muttered. "The capital is impenetrable."

Chen pointed to a series of marks on the map.

"Not if we bleed them dry first. We sever the arteries—their supply chains, their coin, their allies. By the time we reach Jinlong... they'll already be on their knees."

The gathered warriors exchanged glances. Some uncertain, others determined. Qing Lan's lips curled into a smirk.

"You have a plan."

"I've had years to think of nothing else," Chen replied.

Two Weeks Later

The region of Heshan Province was known for its fertile lands and vast granaries. It was the empire's breadbasket—and Chen's first target.

Imperial supply caravans moved regularly through its winding roads, guarded by complacent soldiers fattened by peace and excess. They did not expect ambushes, much less from a warrior once presumed dead.

Chen's strike was swift and surgical.

Under cover of night, his group descended upon a convoy. Lu Fan led the charge, his sword flashing like lightning, while Qing Lan's arrows rained death from the trees.

Chen was a shadow among them, cutting through steel and flesh with Stormbreaker's unrelenting edge. His movements were fluid, precise—a dance of vengeance honed by suffering.

Within minutes, the convoy was decimated. Flames consumed the carts, and the survivors fled into the woods, haunted by the name whispered by the wind.

"The Abyss returns…"

In the following days, rumors swelled. Grain shipments failed to arrive at military outposts. Gold meant for bribes vanished. Small towns once loyal to the empire began to stir, emboldened by whispers of rebellion.

Chen's forces grew.

Disillusioned soldiers deserted their posts to join him. Farmers who had lost everything under Zhao Ren's taxes offered food, shelter, and more importantly—information. Chen moved like a storm, striking where it hurt the most, then vanishing before retaliation could take root.

But with each victory, Chen felt a gnawing weight.

Revenge burned hot—but the path he walked was soaked in blood. Could he afford hesitation? Could he still cling to the remnants of the man he once was?

One Night, in the Forest of Tangxi

The campfire flickered low. Most of the warriors slept, exhausted from their recent skirmish. Chen sat alone, sharpening Stormbreaker, its blade now etched with fresh notches of battle.

Qing Lan approached, her steps silent.

"You don't sleep."

Chen didn't look up. "Sleep invites memories."

She studied him, her eyes softer than usual.

"You fight for more than revenge," she said. "I see it. You could have killed Jiang Wei that day—but you didn't."

Chen's hands stilled.

"Death was too merciful for him."

"Then what do you want?" Qing Lan asked. "What is all this for?"

Chen looked at the fire, the flames reflected in his eyes.

"For the innocent who died believing I betrayed them. For the warriors who followed me into battle and never returned. For those who suffer under Zhao Ren's tyranny. I want to tear down the lies they built upon my name... and build something true in its place."

A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, Qing Lan nodded. "Then we follow you—not for blood—but for freedom."

Far away, within the gilded halls of Jinlong Citadel, Zhao Ren sat upon his throne, sipping wine laced with crushed jade—a luxury only afforded by emperors. The hall was silent, save for the soft footfalls of a cloaked figure entering.

Zhao Ren's lips curled into a smirk.

"You failed."

The man knelt. "Forgive me, my lord. Blackthorn has fallen. Murong Chen lives."

Zhao Ren's smirk vanished.

"What?"

The air grew heavy. Even the flames in the braziers seemed to dim.

"You told me he was dead," Zhao hissed.

The cloaked man bowed lower. "We all believed it. But the Shadow walks again. And he's gathering strength."

Zhao Ren's hands clenched, the goblet in his hand cracking.

"Summon the Black Guard," he growled. "I want every province locked down. Every traitor hunted. Murong Chen... will be erased from this world."

Back at the Rebel Camp

Chen stood before his growing army. Men and women from every corner of the empire—disgraced soldiers, betrayed nobles, the forgotten and the damned.

He raised Stormbreaker high.

"They took everything from us," he roared. "Our names, our homes, our lives. But now... we take it back."

A roar of defiance rose to the heavens.

The embers of rebellion had become a conflagration. And soon, Zhao Ren's empire would drown in fire and ash.

Murong Chen's vengeance had only just begun.