The third morning in the wild began like the others—gray skies, dew-soaked leaves, and the ever-present chill of damp soil beneath his feet. But something was different today.
Lucien felt it in his bones.
The air was tenser. The birds quieter. The forest didn't breathe the same way it had before.
He crouched behind a large stone outcrop, peering between the leaves of an overgrown bush. His ears picked up the unmistakable sound of footsteps—light, measured, but careless.
Humans.
He hadn't seen another person since his exile.
Part of him flared with instinctive caution. Cultivators meant danger. But a smaller, darker part of him—a part that had begun growing since the Codex awakened—felt curious. Not out of kindness.
But hunger.
He stayed low, waiting.
Three figures moved through the trees. Two men and a woman, all dressed in travel robes marked with a faded silver lotus. Their cultivation wasn't high—low-tier disciples at best. Their spiritual signatures were faint, but far beyond Lucien's current strength.
He shouldn't fight them.
He couldn't win.
Not yet.
But he followed them anyway.
They were bounty hunters. Lucien figured that out quickly. They moved with the practiced rhythm of people who had tracked prey before, and their quiet banter gave them away.
"The clan said he fell somewhere around this region," one of the men said, adjusting the blade at his side.
"Assuming he survived," the other muttered. "Broken dantian, no core, no qi. Probably got eaten by wolves."
The woman rolled her eyes. "I hope not. That bounty's too good to miss. A Vael Clan exile with a soul-mark? That's thirty thousand spirit coins minimum."
Lucien's fingers curled into fists.
They were hunting him.
Even after casting him out, the clan still wanted him dead. Not for safety. Not out of duty. For profit. For reputation. Because the existence of a fallen Vael—especially one that might survive—was a stain they couldn't allow.
They couldn't afford to let him live.
And they'd sent amateurs to clean up their mess.
Lucien's blood simmered.
He should've backed off. Should've waited. They were too strong, and he had only one active skill. But something inside him wouldn't let go. The Wrath Core pulsed beneath his ribs, slowly, steadily, like it was listening.
Pain becomes power.
Emotion becomes energy.
He shadowed them for hours, learning their pace, their rhythm, their patterns. They set up camp by a dried-out streambed just before sunset. One went off to scout. The other two remained near the fire, too relaxed, too confident.
Lucien made his choice.
He struck at dusk.
Not from the front. Not honorably.
From the shadows.
He waited for the one on watch to turn his back, then hurled a stone across the clearing. It struck a tree with a sharp crack. The man spun toward the sound, sword half-drawn.
Lucien was already behind him.
He didn't aim to kill. Not yet. He drove a sharpened stick—more stake than weapon—straight into the side of the man's knee. Bone crunched. Blood sprayed. The man screamed, collapsing.
Before he could shout again, Lucien's hand clamped over his mouth.
The pain from the struggle was immediate. The man thrashed wildly, elbowing Lucien in the ribs. The strikes landed hard. But Lucien welcomed it. With each hit, his core drank.
[Damage sustained – Sin Energy increased: +1.6%]
[Warning: Energy threshold approaching activation]
Lucien's fingers found the man's throat and squeezed. No technique. No elegance. Just survival.
Just wrath.
When the man finally stopped moving, Lucien rolled away, panting. His side burned. His lip was split. His vision swam. But he was alive.
More than that—he was ready.
The second man came running at the sound of the scream. Too fast. Too panicked.
Lucien stood.
The man froze mid-step, sword out.
"You... you're just a kid—"
Lucien triggered the skill.
Infernal Pulse.
This time, it wasn't just force. It was focused, tight, brutal. The stored pain exploded from his palm like a hammer, smashing into the man's chest.
Ribs cracked.
He flew backward, hit a tree, and didn't get back up.
Lucien fell to one knee.
The power was incredible.
But draining.
The Wrath Core was down to 4%. He could feel the emptiness creeping in. Not weakness, but a sort of mental hollowness. Like if he pushed again without fuel, it wouldn't be wrath he released—it would be himself.
And then she arrived.
The woman hadn't made a sound, but Lucien felt her before he saw her.
She didn't speak.
She didn't hesitate.
She slashed.
The blade sliced a shallow line across his chest before he could react, hot blood spilling down his shirt. He stumbled backward, instincts screaming, the pain sharp and real.
Perfect.
[Damage sustained – Sin Energy increased: +2.1%]
He used the momentum to roll, grabbing the sword from the dead man's hand.
It was heavy. Clumsy. But it would do.
The woman advanced.
Lucien met her eyes for the first time.
They were calm.
Too calm.
He didn't scare her.
That would change.
He moved first, feinting left, then ducking low. The sword barely brushed her robe, but the motion forced her to step back. Just enough to give him space.
He twisted his stance, pressing a hand to his chest.
Pain still fresh.
Wrath waiting.
"Infernal Pulse."
He aimed it upward this time—not to kill, but to break stance.
The shockwave sent her off balance. Lucien lunged forward, blade raised. She caught it with her own sword, sparks flying, steel screaming against steel.
"You're not bad," she said through gritted teeth.
Lucien didn't answer.
He slammed his head into hers.
She reeled, dazed.
He stabbed.
It wasn't clean.
It wasn't heroic.
It was survival.
The blade sank into her side. She gasped, dropping her weapon. He shoved her to the ground, pulling the sword free. Blood gushed out. She clutched her wound, eyes wide in disbelief.
"You... you're supposed to be dead," she whispered.
Lucien stood over her, chest heaving.
"I was."
He turned away.
She died moments later.
The night was quiet again.
Lucien sat near the fire they'd built, hands covered in blood—some his, most not. The corpses lay scattered. The Wrath Core hummed faintly, like a beast purring after a feast.
He had killed.
Not beasts.
Humans.
Cultivators.
And he didn't regret it.
He should've felt something. Guilt. Horror. Even pride.
But there was only one feeling pulsing through him.
Power.
He opened the system.
[Sin Energy: 8%][Wrath Core Stability: Solid][Skill Proficiency: Infernal Pulse (12%)][Absorb Available: 3 Human Targets][Proceed?]
He hesitated.
Not because he was afraid.
Because this would change everything.
Absorbing beast essence was one thing. But human essence? That was another path entirely. No righteous sect would forgive it. No system of order would tolerate it.
But Lucien had already been thrown away.
He pressed his hand to the woman's chest.
"Proceed."
The absorption was different.
Sharper. Louder.
Her fear, her rage, her dying thoughts—all of it surged into him like fire.
The other two followed.
He took it all.
When it was over, the campfire had nearly burned out.
And Lucien Vael was no longer the boy they had been sent to kill.
He was something else.
A predator.
A sovereign in the making.
Not through grace.
But sin.