Night.
The Eastern Flame Sect slumbered beneath a waning crescent, silver light spilling over tiled rooftops like dried blood on porcelain. Crickets chittered. Distant patrols passed with lanterns dimmed. The scent of burnt incense lingered in the wind—masking something deeper.
Ash.
It drifted from Shen Yao's sleeve as he stood on the edge of a cliff behind the outer sect's southern wall, a forbidden place where disciples were warned never to venture.
They said it was cursed.
They weren't wrong.
Below the cliff was a shallow gully filled with scattered talismans, broken mirrors, and spiritless flame urns — refuse from failed rituals, sealed ambitions, and forbidden cultivations long buried but Shen Yao had come for something important than trash.
Buried beneath the forgotten and discarded was a name. One he had burned into his mind the moment he died in his past life.
Yun Cheng.
His sworn brother.
In Shen Yao's first life, Yun Cheng was the one who stood beside him during the battle at Red Mist Summit — laughing, bleeding, fighting as if they were brothers of war and when Shen Yao refused to kneel during the Celestial Ascension Rite?
Yun Cheng had been the first to cast the binding flame net.
He even whispered: "You should've just followed the script, brother."
[Infernal Immortality System: Sinflame Ledger active.]
[Entry: Yun Cheng — Tag: Major Traitor. Burn Value: 91.
System Note: Slaying him before cultivation divergence will unlock First Soulburn Echo.]
"Not yet," Shen Yao murmured.
Timing matters.
In this life, Yun Cheng hadn't betrayed him yet. Not publicly. He was still just a promising inner sect disciple, recently taken as a personal attendant by Elder Jinhai of the Flame Council. His status hadn't peaked.
Killing him now would invite suspicion.
But watching?
That was free and fire always watched.
Shen Yao knelt and placed his palm on the cold dirt.
A soft flicker ignited — barely visible.
A tiny flame eye bloomed in the soil, burning silently without light or heat.
[Flame Echo Technique activated.]
It was one of the forbidden arts he would only regain through system assistance, used in his past life by divine assassins. Shen Yao had rewritten it through the Silent Flame Seed.
What the flame saw, he saw.
The image surged.
Yun Cheng.
Seated alone in his private chamber, robes discarded to the side, body wrapped in spirit threads that glowed faintly with cultivation enhancement. He was speaking softly to a scroll — a divine transmission relay.
"…yes, the seed is still dormant. He hasn't made a move. No, Elder Lu says the poison failed… Yes, I'll press further, but we can't expose too much. The moment he awakens, we act."
Shen Yao's flame pulsed.
He's already moving. Already conspiring.
He watched Yun Cheng stand, retrieve a black talisman from his sleeve, and press it against the wall.
Words glowed faintly in divine script:
"Mortal Lock must be confirmed before Rite."
Shen Yao smiled coldly.
He had only just returned to age fifteen. Barely rekindled his soul flame. And already, the Divine System had spread its tendrils.
They feared him.
They should.
He closed the vision.
Let the traitor believe he was still asleep.
Let them whisper and scheme in shadows.
He'd burn all their scripts before the first act ended.
The next morning, the sect buzzed with subtle unrest. An outer disciple had gone missing. Zhou Ping — the trembling boy with bad seals — was nowhere to be found. His belongings remained. His flame traces ended near the western storage hall.
No blood. No signs of combat. Just gone.
"Beasts again," someone muttered.
"Or fire demons…"
Shen Yao said nothing.
Because he knew what happened.
Zhou Ping had accepted a Divine Flame Anchor.
In his first life, Shen Yao had seen dozens of those anchors fall. They gave instant power — but they bound the cultivator's fate to the Divine System. And once Heaven decided you had served your purpose, your soul burned away like candle.
He had tried to save Zhou Ping once.
That time, he failed.
This time?
He wouldn't even try.
Let the weak perish. This world didn't need more mouths that begged for scraps.
Later that day, Shen Yao stood at the Flame Pillar Courtyard, where outer disciples were called to spar before instructors. Matches were usually randomized — but today, the flame tokens had been tampered with.
A coincidence?
No.
He stared at the name drawn across from his.
Jin Mu.
The boy grinned with perfect white teeth, twirling his flame ring around his wrist.
"Well, well," Jin Mu said with a smile, voice loud enough to carry. "I heard you've been skipping drills, Brother Shen. Hope you're not rusty."
The other disciples chuckled.
None of them knew that Jin Mu, years from now, would sell Shen Yao's name to a divine registrar in exchange for a Flame Crown Favor but Shen Yao knew and this was a gift.
"Maybe a little," Shen Yao said mildly. "Don't hold back."
Elder Mo nodded from the platform.
"Begin."
Jin Mu moved instantly — flame seals flaring. His hands weaved through standard fire channeling forms, summoning a blazing serpent from the ground that coiled and snapped forward.
"Crimson Fang Strike!"
Spectators clapped.
It looked strong.
Shen Yao didn't move.
The serpent lunged and as it passed the halfway mark, Shen Yao raised a single finger.
He whispered.
"Cremation Palm."
The serpent exploded mid-air.
Not shattered — disintegrated. Flames folded inward, devouring themselves, screaming as if the technique had been forcibly denied its right to exist.
The arena fell silent.
Jin Mu staggered, eyes wide. "What happened?"
Shen Yao moved.
He was a blur of ash and heat.
One step forward — Void Ash Step.
A burning afterimage of Shen Yao remained behind as he appeared in front of Jin Mu like a phantom.
His palm touched Jin Mu's chest.
A soft thrum — not impact, not force — but detonation.
Jin Mu's flame robe burst into charred fragments, and he was flung backward like a leaf caught in wildfire, smashing into the courtyard wall with a muffled grunt.
He didn't rise.
Elder Mo blinked.
"Match over."
No one cheered.
They didn't understand what had happened.
Only one thought echoed in their heads.
That wasn't normal fire.
That night, Shen Yao stood beneath the old ash tree where disciples often whispered secrets or made promises. He wasn't there to speak but to listen.
Lian Xue arrived, quiet-footed, carrying a small scroll bundle.
"You asked me to check the herb logs," she said softly. "You were right. Elder Lu ordered four units of Cold-Fire Root three days ago. It's banned for consumption."
Shen Yao nodded.
"And Yun Cheng?"
She hesitated. "He's been given permission to leave the sect for a 'divine errand' in five days."
Which meant: Divine reinforcement.
They were preparing for him. Already.
Shen Yao looked to the stars.
"You've done well, Xue."
She flushed faintly but didn't respond.
"I'm preparing something quiet and final," he said.
She swallowed. "Will it hurt?"
"Yes."
"But will it save you?"
Shen Yao turned his head slightly. His voice was almost a whisper.
"No one's saving me. I'm the fire and fire burns alone."
The stars above the Eastern Flame Sect shimmered faintly — unaware that one of their own had begun the path to immortality not through prayer, but through kindling the names he would one day erase from history.
Two days later— He had done this seventy-nine times.Failed seventy-eight. But this time, the flame did not resist.