The Cultivator's Revenge

“Seize them! Kill the boy and the girl! Failure is not an option—it will be your heads otherwise!”

The command, sharp and brutal, sliced through the midnight silence of Malora City, each word a hammer blow against Rayden’s pounding heart. Dozens of them. A hunting pack demanding his life.

“Brother… I… I can’t run anymore….”

The voice beside him was a ragged whisper. Raelyn, his twin, was fading. Her face was a pale mask in the moonlight, her steps faltering, her breath coming in painful, shallow gasps.

“You have to, Lyn! Keep running or they’ll kill us!” Rayden urged, his own lungs burning as he pulled her along.

Rayden Duskar understood nothing. Moments ago, he was at home, sharing a simple dinner with his sister and their parents. Then came a knock at the door. His father had risen to greet what he thought was a guest.

Instead—

CRACK!

The gunshot echoed, a deafening thunderclap in their quiet life. Rayden’s head whipped around just in time to see his father collapse in a spreading pool of crimson.

His mother’s scream was stolen by her next command: for them to run. As they scrambled for the back door, another gunshot rang out. Through the frame, Rayden saw his mother fall.

“Brother… who are they? What is happening?” Raelyn sobbed, the words torn from her as they fled into the darkness.

Rayden shook his head, his mind a maelstrom of terror and confusion. “I don’t know. Just run. We have to get somewhere safe.”

Their desperate flight carried them out of the city’s labyrinthine alleys and into the foothills of the mountains looming beyond. It was there that Raelyn’s legs finally gave out. She stumbled to a halt, her body trembling uncontrollably.

“Brother…”

Panic seized Rayden. His mind raced. “Lyn, listen to me. Run to Aunt Diana's pavilion at the top of the hill. When it’s safe, go to her house and get help. I’ll lead them away.”

Raelyn’s hand clamped onto his arm, her eyes wide with terror and refusal. “No! I won’t leave you!”

“You have to!” he insisted, his voice cracking with an authority he didn’t know he possessed. “I’ll meet you there in the morning! I promise!”

Tears streamed down her face, but she finally nodded and, with a final, terrified glance, sprinted away.

Only when her silhouette vanished into the trees did Rayden allow himself a single, shaky breath. He scanned his surroundings, a new wave of fear washing over him. He remembered this place. Not far from here, the earth simply fell away into a sheer, deadly cliff.

Just as he turned to run in a different direction, four figures cloaked in black materialized from the shadows, blocking his path. But it was the man at their center who made Rayden’s blood run cold.

“Uncle… Hery?” The name escaped Rayden’s lips as a choked whisper.

Confusion and a profound sense of betrayal warred within him. Hery. His father’s most trusted friend, the man who had helped build their family's business from nothing. He was practically family. Yet here he stood, flanked by armed men, his face an unreadable mask.

“Uncle, why—”

Hery didn’t let him finish. His gaze was glacial, a void where the familiar warmth used to be. A sharp, almost imperceptible gesture from his hand was the only answer Rayden would receive.

BANG!

Agony exploded in Rayden’s shoulder. The force of the bullet threw him to his knees, a raw scream tearing from his throat.

One of the black-clad men glanced at Hery. “Do we deliver this one to the Bramasta Family as well?”

Hery shook his head, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Don’t bother. He’ll die here.”

Without another word, they turned and melted back into the night, leaving him bleeding on the cold, damp earth. Rayden’s vision blurred, his breath grew shallow, and the world began to fade into a silent, black ocean.

But just before consciousness abandoned him completely, he heard a sound. The soft, steady crunch of footsteps on wet leaves, approaching with a calm, unhurried rhythm.

An old man emerged from the fog, his simple robes stirring in the night breeze. He stopped before Rayden, his expression placid, yet his narrowed eyes seemed to scrutinize something far deeper than the boy's physical wounds. The old man knelt, his weathered hand hovering over Rayden’s chest as if sensing an invisible current. A flicker of interest crossed his features.

“Raelyn…” Rayden rasped, the name a faint prayer. “I have to… save you…”

“Do you wish to live?” the old man asked suddenly, his voice low and resonant, cutting through the haze of pain.

With the last of his strength, Rayden forced his lips to move. “Yes…”

The old man leaned closer, his gaze sharpening with intensity. “I will save you… on the condition that you become my disciple.”

Rayden’s brow furrowed weakly. Who was this man? Why was he here? It made no sense. But the image of Raelyn, alone and terrified, burned in his mind. He had no other choice. He had to survive. For her.

Slowly, Rayden managed a faint nod.

The old man’s left hand pressed firmly against Rayden’s chest. A soft luminescence spread from his palm, weaving through Rayden's body like ethereal threads, stitching his life back together.

***

Ten Years Later.

BOOM!

A barren hill at the edge of the Village of Deities simply ceased to exist, pulverized into dust by a single, casual punch. A young man of twenty-six stood calmly amidst the swirling debris, his expression impassive. Not a speck of dust clung to his clean clothes; only his long hair swayed in the wind generated by his own power.

In stark contrast to his composure, two old men nearby were anything but calm.

“Excellent! Now that’s my disciple!” boomed a hale and hearty old man. He was Raksa, a grandmaster of the martial arts.

“That’s only because I taught him how to concoct the divine pills to support that training!” retorted another elder, reeking of strong spirits and still clutching a bottle. He was Mahadewa, a peerless, if perpetually drunk, master alchemist.

“Hah! That was a feat of pure physical conditioning, a result of my methods!” Raksa shot back.

“Physical conditioning is useless without divine elixirs to fuel it!” Mahadewa slurred, determined to claim credit.

Just then, a third, calmer voice cut through their bickering. “You are both mistaken. His power is a direct result of the meditative foundation I taught him. Without it, his body could never have contained such energy.”

This was Erlangga, the serene master of cultivation.

Before Mahadewa could offer another rebuttal, a graceful figure descended from the air. A woman of breathtaking beauty and elegance.

“Rayden! Master Sena summons you!” she called out.

Rayden, the young man who had just leveled a hill, appeared before her in an instant, bowing respectfully. “Master Calia. Thank you for the message. I will go at once.”

He then turned to the bickering trio. “Master Raksa, Master Erlangga, Master Mahadewa. I thank you for the training.”

They nodded in acknowledgment as Rayden’s form blurred, streaking toward the residence of Master Sena, the sword sage.

Ten years ago, it was Sena who had found him dying at the bottom of that cliff. It was Sena who brought him to the Village of Deities, convinced that a colossal, sealed power within Rayden was the only reason the boy had clung to life. And it was Sena who, along with the other four masters, had forged him into what he was today.

“Rayden, your progress is astounding,” Sena greeted him as he arrived.

“It is all thanks to the guidance of the masters,” Rayden replied, his head bowed in respect.

Sena’s eyes gleamed with pride. “I am certain there is no one left in the mundane world who can touch you. Tell me, what is your plan?”

Rayden looked up, and for the first time, the cold obsidian of his eyes burned with a decade of suppressed fire.

“I will return to the city. I will find my sister. I will uncover the truth behind my family’s massacre. And I will exact my revenge upon the Bramasta Family.”

Master Sena nodded, a slow, satisfied smile gracing his lips. “With your Sage-level power and my sword techniques, you are more than capable. But remember this, my boy: do not let vengeance consume you. Should you ever need sanctuary, the Village of Deities will always be your home.”

Rayden gave a firm, resolute nod. The old hunger for revenge still coiled in his heart, but now, it was accompanied by the quiet, absolute certainty of overwhelming power.