He walked out into the sunlight. He was weak, his base was shallow, and he was surrounded by enemies. But he had a thousand years of combat experience and a soul forged in the fires of the apocalypse.
"You have three breaths to leave," Han Feng said, his voice echoing with a weight that shouldn't belong to a boy. "One for your life. One for your soul. And one for the mercy I no longer possess." Cultivation Story: Reincarnation
The thug screamed as his own momentum shattered his arm. But the scream was cut short. Han Feng stood, his aura suddenly expanding like a waking dragon. The air in the small shack grew cold. He walked out into the sunlight
He sat cross-legged. His meridians were clogged with worldly impurities, "trash" by his former standards. But he knew secrets the current world had forgotten. He didn't practice the basic Iron Skin technique his family provided. Instead, he breathed according to the Breath of the Primordial Chaos —a technique he’d looted from an ancient god’s tomb in the Higher Realms. "You have three breaths to leave," Han Feng