Cold mud pressed against Lin Tian’s cheek as he squeezed his back deeper into the narrow recess of the earthen wall. Overhead, torchlight flickered against the damp stone, casting erratic, distorted shapes that stretched across the pit. Footsteps crunched on dry shale, growing louder with every passing second. "Where did that useless piece of trash crawl off to?" a voice sneered, rough and thick with impatient malice. Lin Tian kept his breathing shallow, his fingers curling tightly around a jagged piece of slate he had palmed from the wet dirt. Inside his chest, a newly formed thread of Qi hummed, a tiny spark of warmth circulating through his repaired meridians. Only moments ago, he had been a dying dog, gasping for his final breath on the cold floor of this mass grave. Transmigrating into this cruel world had been a nightmare of endless labor, culminating in the ultimate betrayal by his own sect. They had broken his bones, ruptured his cultivation base, and tossed him aside like a broken tool. Now, the Primordial Pouch pressed against his hip, a heavy, leather-like weight that throbbed in sync with his own heartbeat. Memories of his former life flashed through his mind like broken glass. Back on Earth, he had been nothing but a corporate drone, grinding ninety hours a week for a company that replaced him within two days of his fatal collapse. Awakening on the Tianlian continent had felt like a second chance, but the harsh reality of the cultivation world quickly shattered that illusion. Here, the hierarchy was absolute, and those at the bottom were treated worse than cattle. Sect Master Zhao had smiled warmly while assigning him to the most dangerous vanguard missions, exploiting his loyalty until he was no longer useful. When his meridians were shattered during a beast wave, the sect didn't even bother to waste a single low-grade pill on him. Instead, they had thrown him into this deep disposal pit to rot alongside the carcasses of mutated beasts. "A senior brother's duty is to sacrifice himself for the younger generation," Zhao had said, his voice dripping with false benevolence. Those words now burned in Lin Tian's chest like molten iron. Never again would he allow himself to be a sacrifice. If the world was a meat grinder, he would be the one turning the handle. "Sect Master Zhao said he was dead," another voice grumbled, lower and more cautious than the first. "If he survived that fall, he's tougher than he looked." "Tougher?" The leader of the patrol scoffed, his shadow falling across the entrance of the narrow cleft where Lin Tian hid. "He was a discarded husk. His meridians were shattered. Even if he breathed his last breath ten minutes ago, he's nothing but dog meat now." Lin Tian tightened his grip on the stone fragment, the sharp edges digging into his palm until his skin nearly broke. Sweat dripped down his temple, stinging his eyes, but he did not blink. He was no longer the weak, compliant senior brother they had trampled on. In his past life, he had worked himself to death at a sterile office desk, only to wake up in this brutal cultivation realm where human life was cheaper than dirt. Waking up in this frail body, he had initially tried to play by their rules, to be the dutiful, protective older brother to a sect that eventually threw him into a pit to die. That man was gone, buried under the mud. Anger did not cloud his mind; instead, it crystallized into a frigid, calculating focus. A sharp prompt flickered in his peripheral vision, glowing with a soft, crimson light that only he could see. *System Status: Qi Refining Level 1. Primordial Pouch active.* One level. It was a pathetic start, but it was infinitely better than the broken, empty void he had carried an hour ago. He could feel the thin stream of spiritual energy circulating through his chest, warming his limbs and sharpening his senses. Coarse outer disciple robes rustled as the leader shifted his weight. Cheap liquor reeked from the man's breath, a sour odor that drifted into the alcove. "Check that corner," the leader ordered, gesturing with a rusted iron sword toward the deeper recesses of the pit. "If you find his corpse, strip his ring. I doubt a dying dog has anything left, but even a few copper spirit coins are worth the climb down here." Step. Step. Ge Hong, the leading patrol disciple, stepped directly in front of Lin Tian's hiding spot. His gaze was swept toward the far wall, completely dismissing the dark fissure right beside him. Arrogance was a terminal disease in this world. Lin Tian lunged. Movement was a blur of raw, unrefined speed. His left hand shot out like a striking serpent, wrapping around Ge Hong’s throat before the man could even register the shift in the air. Ge Hong’s eyes widened in sudden, stark terror as Lin Tian's fingers dug deep into the flesh of his neck. "Urgh—" Silence was crucial. Lin Tian channeled every drop of his newly acquired Qi into his right hand, driving the jagged slate deep into Ge Hong's throat while simultaneously twisting his left hand with brutal, bone-crushing force. *Crack.* Wet, sickening sounds of fracturing cartilage echoed in the tight space. Ge Hong’s gasp was cut short, turning into a wet, bubbling gurgle. Blood welled over Lin Tian’s knuckles, warm and metallic. Pressing his weight down, he absorbed the desperate, wild kicks of Ge Hong’s legs until the light in the disciple's eyes finally flickered out. *Target neutralized,* the system's cold voice echoed in his mind. Without wasting a second, Lin Tian dragged the heavy corpse deeper into the shadow of the alcove. His heart was thumping, but his hands were steady. He unclipped the Primordial Pouch from his waist. Leather of the pouch felt warm, almost fleshy, as if it were breathing against his palm. "Devour," Lin Tian whispered, his voice a low, raspy thread. Mouth of the pouch widened, defying the laws of physics. It stretched open, revealing a bottomless, pitch-black void that seemed to pull the light from the air around it. A strange, vacuum-like force seized Ge Hong’s corpse. Slowly, the body was drawn forward, folding and compressing into a grotesque, twisted shape as it was sucked into the narrow opening of the pouch. There was no blood, no mess, just a horrifying, silent consumption. Within seconds, the grown man was entirely gone, swallowed by an artifact no larger than a fist. A violent tremor ran through the pouch, followed by a surge of dark, potent energy that rushed up Lin Tian’s arm and slammed into his chest. *Ding!* *Sacrifice accepted: Low-grade human cultivator (Qi Refining Level 2).* *Processing spiritual essence...* *Warning: Human sacrifices yield three times the cultivation progress of standard spiritual beasts of equivalent tier.* Lin Tian gasped as the torrent of refined Qi flooded his meridians. Power of this scale was staggering, threatening to rupture his mended pathways before settling into a steady, rhythmic cycle. He felt his cultivation barrier shake, the single thread of Qi in his chest multiplying into a thick, swirling vortex. Progress shot up instantly, leaving him halfway to Qi Refining Level 2. A cold chill swept down his spine, sharper than the damp mountain air. Three times the progress. This meant the path to absolute power lay not in hunting rare beasts in dangerous wildernesses, but in harvesting his fellow cultivators. Primordial Pouch was not just a storage tool; it was an engine of mass slaughter that fed on human essence. Part of him, the residual morality of a twenty-first-century man, recoiled in horror at the implication. But that civilized part of him was a luxury he could no longer afford. On this dying continent, strength was the only currency that mattered, and mercy was a fast track to a shallow grave. He looked down at his own hands, now clean of blood but metaphorically stained forever. A dark, quiet resolve settled deep within his soul. If he had to walk a path paved with the corpses of his enemies to reach the peak, so be it. More than the power, a deep, unsettling realization washed over him. Human bodies were the ultimate fuel. System prompts didn't just accept them; the mechanics actively preferred them. A chilling detachment settled in his chest, replacing the lingering adrenaline of the kill. If survival meant feeding this bottomless, soul-devouring pouch his own sect brothers, he would do it without a single shred of hesitation. *Ding!* *First human sacrifice milestone achieved. Reward granted: 'Ashen Breath Mask' (Passive/Active).* *Description: Employs the residual ash of the consumed to completely conceal the host's cultivation level and life signature. To anyone below the Foundation Establishment realm, you will appear as an ordinary mortal with shattered meridians.* Perfect. Lin Tian willed the ability to activate. Instantly, a cool, phantom sensation settled over his face, as if a layer of fine, invisible soot had been brushed across his skin. His aura vanished. Vibrant, swirling Qi within his chest became entirely undetectable from the outside, hidden behind a flawless facade of weakness. He wiped the blood from his hands onto the dirt, his mind spinning with tactical possibilities. With this mask, he was a ghost. No one would suspect a cripple, allowing him to hunt in plain sight. "Hey, Ge Hong!" a voice called out from the main path of the pit. "What's taking so long? Did you find the trash or what?" Lin Tian froze. Second disciple was approaching, his footsteps echoing closer. Quickly, Lin Tian pressed himself back into the shadows, his eyes scanning the rocky ground. He needed to eliminate the remaining two before they realized Ge Hong was missing. His fingers closed around the dropped iron sword, its rusted blade heavy and reassuring in his grip. Muscles coiled as he waited for the second target. --- Minutes ticked by in agonizing silence. Lin Tian stood motionless in the deep gloom, his form blending seamlessly with the jagged rocks. He had dragged the remaining bloodstains on the ground over with dirt, leaving only a faint, metallic scent in the air. Patience was his greatest weapon now. His Ashen Breath Mask worked perfectly. Even as the second disciple rounded the corner, torch held high, the man’s eyes swept right over Lin Tian’s position without pausing. "Where the hell did he go?" the disciple muttered, scratching his head. "Ge Hong!" He took three more steps forward. Lin Tian didn't hesitate. Stepping out from the darkness, his movement was silent and deadly. Rusted metal cut through the air with a faint whistle. Before the disciple could turn, the blade pierced his lower back, slipping between his ribs to puncture his lung. A wet gasp escaped the man's lips as Lin Tian drove him to the ground, pinning him with his body weight. Desperation flared in the disciple's eyes as he thrashed beneath Lin Tian. Mutated energy tried to flare up as the man channeled his own Qi to push Lin Tian off, but his cultivation was unstable and weak. Lin Tian’s hands were like iron vices, locking the disciple's head down into the wet mud. He poured his own refined Qi into his arms, completely suppressing the disciple's frantic struggles. Every gasp of air the man tried to take was filled with mud and his own blood. Slowly, the frantic beating of the disciple's heart slowed, then stopped altogether. Lin Tian stood up, wiping cold sweat from his forehead. He grabbed the second corpse and fed it to the Primordial Pouch. Two down. Dragging the limp body close, he offered it to the waiting artifact. Once again, the dark void swallowed the body whole, and another wave of rich, warm Qi surged into Lin Tian's meridians. *Ding!* *Sacrifice accepted: Low-grade human cultivator (Qi Refining Level 1).* *Cultivation progress increased.* He was so close to breaking through to Level 2. Power humming in his veins was intoxicating, a sharp contrast to the cold, calculating void in his mind. Becoming a monster was a small price to pay in a world where the strong devoured the weak. He picked up the dropped torch, extinguishing it in the dirt to plunge the corridor back into darkness. Only one remained. Lin Tian began to creep toward the exit of the pit, his steps light and silent. He kept his back to the wall, his eyes adapting to the gloom. Suddenly, a soft, yellow light flickered from the entrance of the clearing. Breath caught in his throat as he pressed his spine against the cold rock. He hears a familiar voice from the shadows—Mo Fan, holding a lantern, stepping into the clearing to check why the patrol went silent.

Chapter 3: A Mask of Ash