The sky wept blood.
Two titans stood at the edge of a burning cliff, their shadows stretching across a shattered battlefield. One cloaked in flowing obsidian armor, his presence thick with ancient malice. The other, draped in torn red robes, his eyes glowing with defiant resolve. This was not a war of nations. It was a battle between fate and defiance.
Valem Dreadmourne, known as the Blood King, stood alone. His crimson blade pulsed in rhythm with his blood, a living weapon forged by generations of war. Opposite him, Veylor Nihil, wielder of the Forbidden Void Art, stood atop the corpses of fallen elites, laughing.
"You can't stop the descent, Valem," Veylor hissed. "The world belongs to shadows now."
Valem tightened his grip. "As long as blood flows in my veins, you'll never claim this world."
Their clash split mountains. Their power shook the earth.
Valem unleashed his forbidden technique, Crimson Oath Severance, tearing through space itself. Veylor countered with Shadow Maw, a devouring void. The battlefield drowned in red and black as sky and land twisted into chaos.
When the dust settled, Veylor was gone—fled through a portal, severely wounded. Valem stood victorious.
But his body was broken.
With one last look at the burning land he swore to protect, Valem vanished into the shadows, wounded beyond healing, carrying his secrets into oblivion.
---
That night, in the peaceful village of Dreadmoor Valley, a boy was born.
Kaen Dreadmourne.
Under the blood moon, as if destiny had marked him, Kaen cried for the first time.
His mother, Elira Dreadmourne, smiled weakly, holding the boy close. "You're his legacy now... My little Kaen."
The village mourned the mysterious vanishing of their guardian, unaware that the torch had already passed.
---
Twelve Years Later.
Dreadmoor had become a peaceful village, though its people carried an air of unease. Today was Blood Rank Measurement Day — the moment when young cultivators would awaken their bloodline affinity and rank.
Kaen stood in line among dozens of youths, silent, his red eyes calm. He had always been... different. Quiet. Dreamy. Distant.
He stepped onto the platform.
The elder placed the Bloody Rock Crystal before him. "Focus your will. Let the blood speak."
Kaen placed his hand.
Nothing.
A single flicker of red, then silence. The crystal cracked, unable to read anything.
Gasps. Laughter.
"Is he even a cultivator?" "He's probably rankless!" "What a shame — from the Dreadmourne family?"
Kaen stepped down without a word. He could feel it — something was off.
Deep inside, something stirred. Something ancient.
The Blood had spoken.
But the world wasn't ready to listen.
To be continued...