To save you the frustration, I will explain where I was. I woke up in the body of Kain Reskco, a disgraced Outer Court disciple of the Scarlet Moon Sect.

  Fifty thousand years had passed since I was in the Mortal Plane, but they spoke Hellian—the language supposedly passed down from gods to help people pass through the Celestial Plane. Surprising as it was, it was still consistent through the planes. I found that agreeable—

  The culture, not so much.

  Perhaps my memories of the Mortal Plane were so detached that I had forgotten what the culture was like there, but for all the large buildings and steam automation the Mortals were proud of, some of their “progressive” beliefs were regressive, brutish, and detestable, and the ones that remained consistent were just as disagreeable as they were fifty thousand years prior.

  One such tradition was the “sect.”

  A sect is both a school and a business for cultivators. The school teaches humans how to cultivate in exchange for the students doing work for the sect. The work varies per the needs of the clients. In some cases, individuals may hire cultivators as bodyguards or mercenaries. Conversely, individuals could employ alchemists to heal diseases that modern medicine could not fix. Cultivation was neither good nor bad—it was a matter of might and miracles, and if you paid the right price, you would be on the right side of it.

  Scarlet Moon was no different. It was built on a twelve-mile campus in the Hanken Mountain Range. Sects often choose mountain peaks because the Qi density is stronger in higher elevations. But naturally, this comes at the cost of livability—but that’s nothing cultivation arts cannot fix.

  Scarlet Moon, as with most sects, erected large-scale wards that cloaked a section of the mountain and gave them absolute control over the atmosphere. Not only did these wards provide barriers and weaponized defenses, but they also regulated the temperature, keeping the Scarlet Moon Sect in a perpetual state of late spring despite the scenery beyond the barrier being a frozen, uninhabitable wasteland of frost and snow.

  I gazed at the campus from the mountain top for a moment, appreciating the way the campus separated its Outer, Inner, and Core sections with the color of the pathways and buildings, each contrasting against courtyards of Scarlet Rowe trees. I was also impressed that people were flying on swords in the Inner Court, a sign of high standards for sects. The sect was spectacular, but I would never legally enter it. I was a Spiritless, and cripples were spat upon. The only place I could go was the mortal commerce outside the sect walls—a place lacking many resources.

  To heal myself, I would need to break in. Assuming I could even leave the mountain. If I had signed a soul pact, leaving the sect or breaking into it could kill me. I had to find out.

  But first, I needed to get rid of the evidence.

  I found a stream a mile down the mountain to ditch the evidence. It was an offensively short distance I would not even have teleported to in my last life, but it somehow took me over twenty minutes walking down the winding pass to reach it, and my instincts were screaming that a pathetic fall could spell my doom.

  I have neither the time nor the poeticism to describe such humiliation, so I will leave that to you to capture, but I can say that by the time I made it to the icy river and looked at the reflection of my hideously mediocre face in the water, I was ready to scream.

  I understand that it's thoughtless to compare a mortal body to an Immortal’s. The vessel sitting before you is the ideal physical blueprint that I have perfected over countless millennia, so it's only natural that a genetic born cannot compete. That said, even for a mortal, the face and body staring back in that river was a swollen mixture of bones and organs stapled together by a god who found sadistic pleasure in imperfection. Was it the worst? No. Trust me when I say that the Mortal Realm knows no limit to visual atrocities. Yet it was undeniable that I would be confined to being an unappealing mutt for the foreseeable future.

  That said, I could change my appearance, just as I could fix my cultivation. The only thing I needed was time and resources, and at that moment, I had neither.

  I just assaulted a cultivator as a spiritless, and my execution was drawing near if I didn’t act. So I set to work.

  The first thing I had to do was check my pact. Those in sects sign a soul pact that binds them to a sect for a set period, usually one hundred years. Once contracted, one must serve the sect without question or distinction and cannot betray them. If I had one, I wouldn’t be able to leave, even if I wanted to. So I had to figure that out before I could determine my next course of action.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  I lifted my hand and closed my eyes.

  My hand and heart didn’t react at all—even to indicate past agreements.

  I thought.

  I lifted my head and stared into the bleak wasteland of snowy mountains and clouds beyond the sect.

  I would die if I tried to descend the mountain without equipment or cultivation, so I had to fix my situation with Renly through wit. That said, it would be a hard road. The shovel, my room, the witnesses—people knew what happened.

  I rummaged through my miner’s bag, looking for a solution. Inside, I found a hammer and chisel, a hand drill, two candles, a flint and steel, and some rope.

  That would be enough.

  I returned to the mining quarters, slowly inspecting my surroundings with my Divine Eyes to identify cultivators who could spot me with a divination technique.

  I thought.

  I approached my dorm with my cloak, using Divine Eyes to avoid people walking around. Then, I meticulously stacked kindling from the heating piles onto the porch and lit a fire. As the door caught flames, I pulled out my deepest voice and screamed:

  “You dared to harm a sect member? Are you insane?”

  I could see the miners panic inside the building with my Divine Eyes. Everyone knew a cultivator had been dragged out of the quarters an hour before, so no one was confused as to why a cultivator had returned. So they screamed and rushed to the other door, believing that they would die.

  “Are you?” I screamed as the miners screamed and moved to the other end of the hall.

  The team lead, a man named {Robak Middle Last}, but who everyone just referred to as Robak, exited his cabin. He was a burly bearded man who was rather reasonable. He showed his virtues and character by facing me head on.

  “What’s happening, sir?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Stay put!” I commanded.

  He froze.

  “This is a warning,” I said. “Your crew witnessed something—and it’s not to be discussed. It’s not even to be inquired about. Those who know are not to speak. And if a single word about it gets out—I will return and kill you.”

  His lips quivered as he watched his team flee the burning building, and he stammered out a “Understood.”

  “Good. Whatever justification you need for this building and its supplies — it’s not my concern. Just remember, if you speak the truth, there will be swift and decisive retribution.”

  He swallowed.

  “Now scram!” I roared. “Make yourselves scarce!”

  Robak and his crew scrambled inside other buildings as the mining quarters burned. I watched embers flying in the slight breeze, feeling satisfied that at least half of the evidence had been destroyed. Now it was time to get rid of the rest.

  I returned to the river and waded through it to prevent footsteps. I then followed it a mile until I reached a Poison Harmony bush. It was a , a category of plant that collected Qi. Celestines were primary ingredients for alchemical elixirs and body tempers, but today I was seeking one out for their appearance and poison. The poison was strong enough to kill Spiritless, so they wouldn’t get near it. As for cultivators, they would search for the cloak with Divine Eyes, as the cloak was enchanted and glowed. Since the entire bush glowed, it would blend in. That was the best I could do.

  I carefully nestled the cloak into the back of the bush, shivering at the reality that I could die with one misstep. It was a distorting experience that put things into perspective. Just the day before, my head and body could explode, and I would survive, mind, memories, and all. Now, a petty bush could kill me. I felt sick thinking about it.

  I walked back and threw the dagger and shovel into a crevice before taking care of the most important problem—

  Speaking.

  The worst thing a person can do in the times of investigation is speak. I couldn’t hide my personality. For all I knew, the weak, suicidal fool I had swapped with had spoken with a lisp. And even if they didn’t, people would know anyway. People are too distinct. So what I needed was an excuse to stay quiet during the investigation.

  So I grabbed a large rock and prepared to break my jaw.

  I looked into the rippling river.

  My pep talk didn’t help my mood. But it didn’t matter right then. I would complain about it when I survived.

  With sheer conviction, I swung the large rock at my face, praying that it was enough to hurt a Mortal.

  It was. Oh, yes, it was. I hit myself expecting a crack, but it broke my jaw and busted open my cheekbone. I screamed and fell into the river, watching the water breathe pink as I struggled to remain conscious.

  Pain.

  True pain.

  If you thought I was immune to that after countless battles and injuries—you’d be wrong.

  Pain is essential—it reminds you to act prudently and protect yourself. It tells you not to walk on your broken foot. It tells you to rest and heal. There is no escape from pain save for lepers, and such people are destined for grotesque fates.

  Pain was good.

  But I didn’t feel that way at the time. I genuinely struggled to return to the miner quarters, and by the time there I didn't have to put on a performance. Bloody and mutilated, I pounded on Robak’s door.

  He hesitantly opened the door and then snapped his vicious eyes on me. “Did you start this?”

  I groaned in pain.

  “You’re lucky I heard ‘No.’ But you’re unlucky ‘cause I don’t believe you.”

  He looked around and grabbed me and threw me into the house and shut the door. Then he walked up and said, “If I learn you brought those cultivators here—I’ll kill you.”

  I nodded, docile and subservient, but in my mind I answered differently.