The soft glow of the e-reader illuminated Sagar's face as his eyes darted across the final pages of "Immortal Journey To Myriad Wonders." His fingers tapped impatiently against the edge of his bed, the digital clock beside him blinking 3:47 AM in angry red numerals. Sleep tugged at his consciousness, but the story's grip was stronger.
"Just... one... more... chapter," he mumbled, his eyelids growing heavier with each word.
The novel chronicled the tale of a Half-Saint who, despite being merely one step away from achieving the illustrious Saint Realm and becoming an unparalleled existence, met his demise through failure. But death wasn't the end—his father, a Heaven-Saint of immeasurable power, preserved his soul and dispatched it to the Mortal Domain, reincarnating him in the body of a mere mortal.
Through trials and tribulations that would have broken lesser men, the protagonist clawed his way back to power, eventually reclaiming his status as a Saint and ultimately ascending to become a Pseudo-Immortal. The epic concluded with the hero embarking on an Expedition with his companions after achieving this legendary status.
At least, that's how the story was supposed to go.
Sagar's consciousness faded, the e-reader slipping from his grasp and landing with a soft thud on his chest. The screen flickered once, twice, then erupted in a blinding flash of light that consumed his entire bedroom.
When the light subsided, Sagar was gone.
---
The crimson hue of the split moon cast eerie shadows across the desolate landscape, painting the ruins in shades of blood and rust. The once-magnificent structures of the Trinity Heaven Saint Kingdom lay scattered like the discarded toys of a petulant god, their broken forms still emanating whispers of ancient glory.
Wudi Egun—formerly known as Sagar in a life that now seemed more dream than reality—stood amidst the devastation, his silver eyes reflecting the fractured Crimson Death Moon that hung in the sky like a broken promise. His tall frame cut a solitary figure against the backdrop of destruction, long silver hair dancing in the gentle breeze that carried the scent of decay and forgotten power.
"Of all the fictional worlds to get stuck in," he muttered, kicking a small stone and watching it skitter across the cracked marble floor of what had once been a grand hall, "I had to end up in one where I'm a hundred years too late to use any of my knowledge."
The irony wasn't lost on him. He had transmigrated into the world of "Immortal Journey To Myriad Wonders," but not during the timeline of the original protagonist. No, fate had a crueler jest in mind—dropping him into this realm a century after the original plot concluded, after the end of the Heaven Backlash Era and at the dawn of the so-called Prosperous Era.
The Heaven Backlash Era had been the darkest period for cultivators, a time when the path to Sainthood was sealed, leaving even the most talented practitioners trapped beneath the ceiling of their potential. The Prosperous Era had begun only after countless heroes sacrificed themselves to reopen the way to the Saint Realm.
Yet even in this new age of opportunity, no one had managed to cross that threshold. No one had attained Sainthood.
Wudi Egun's lips quirked into a sardonic smile. "And here I am, supposedly the descendant of Saints, wandering through ruins like some tourist with a death wish."
As he walked, his body began to glow with a subtle crimson light, absorbing the Death Qi that emanated from the split Crimson Death Moon overhead. The artifact—once whole and invincible—had been cleaved in two by the legendary Sword Saintess with a single slash of her blade, an impossible feat that had sundered an object more durable than countless merged dimensions.
"Show-off," Wudi snorted, imagining the scene. "I bet she practiced that move for weeks just to look cool. 'Oh look at me, I can cut the moon in half!' Please. Some people have no sense of restraint."
His irreverent thoughts were at odds with the solemn atmosphere, but they helped keep the oppressive aura of the ruins at bay. Even a century later, the lingering power here could suppress beings as mighty as Half-Saints and newly ascended Saints. For most visitors, the pressure would be unbearable.
But Wudi Egun strolled through it all with the casual air of someone walking through a park, his 6'3" frame unbowed by the weight of history and power that pressed down from all sides.
"Perks of being related to the bad guys, I guess," he mused, stepping over a fallen column. "Family immunity to family oppression."
The path led him deeper into the ruins, past crumbling towers and shattered fountains that no longer flowed with the blessed waters of cultivation. His sharp silver eyes scanned his surroundings methodically, searching for landmarks described in ancient texts he'd studied since awakening in this world.
A small creature—something between a rabbit and a lizard with iridescent scales—scurried across his path, freezing when it sensed his presence. Its bulging eyes, each the size of a small plum, blinked independently as it assessed the threat.
"Don't mind me," Wudi said, crouching down to its level. "Just another descendant of tyrants out for a midnight stroll."
The creature tilted its head, one ear twitching.
"What? You don't believe me?" Wudi placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I'll have you know I come from a very prestigious lineage of world-dominating megalomaniacs. We have a family crest and everything."
The creature made a sound like a hiccupping flute.
"Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking. 'If you're so prestigious, why are you talking to wildlife in the middle of ruins?' Fair point, well made." Wudi straightened up. "But you try finding decent conversation partners when your family reputation is 'destroyed the world once, might do it again.'"
The creature darted away, disappearing into a crevice between two fallen pillars.
"Everyone's a critic," Wudi sighed, continuing his journey.
Finally, he arrived at a section of the ruins that radiated an even more intense aura of forbidden power. Gravestones stretched out before him, each emanating a supreme aura capable of suppressing anyone who dared approach. The air here was thick with the essence of death and authority, a combination that would have driven most cultivators to their knees, gasping for breath.
Wudi Egun merely wrinkled his nose. "Smells like someone left cultivation resources out in the rain for a century. Honestly, couldn't they have invested in some magical air fresheners?"
He moved between the graves with purpose, ignoring the ornate monuments of jade and gold that marked the resting places of once-great figures. His destination was far more humble—a simple gravestone carved from ordinary rock, the kind any mortal might use to mark their final resting place.
The inscription read: "Paramount Saint Ancestor."
This unassuming marker was the resting place of his most ancient forebearer, a figure who had lived not just before the Heaven Backlash Era, but three eras prior, during the time known as the Suppression Era.
Wudi Egun stood before the grave, contemplating the paradox of power and mortality. Even Saints, with all their might, could only live for a hundred thousand years at most. Pseudo-Immortals, despite their name, weren't truly eternal either, as the Supreme Saint had confided to his father at the conclusion of the novel.
"Everyone dies," Wudi murmured, "even the supposedly immortal. Quite the design flaw in the system, if you ask me."
He knelt before the grave, his movements shifting from casual to ceremonial with practiced ease. First, he burned paper offerings, watching as the ashes drifted upward toward the split moon. Then he clasped his hands in prayer, his lips moving in silent supplication. Finally, he bowed three times, asking for the blessing of his ancestor.
With the formalities observed, Wudi Egun began to speak to the grave, his voice carrying in the still night air.
"So, Great-great-great-whatever-grandfather," he began, his tone conversational despite the solemnity of the setting. "I hope the afterlife is treating you well. Better than this place is treating your descendants, anyway."
He gestured broadly at the ruins surrounding them.
"As you can probably see—well, not see, being dead and all—but metaphorically speaking, things haven't gone great for the family business. The Trinity Heaven Saint Kingdom isn't exactly thriving these days."
A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
"Some guy called the Supreme Saint and his merry band of do-gooders decided our kingdom needed redecorating. Specifically, in the style of 'complete and utter destruction.' They did a thorough job, I'll give them that."
Wudi's fingers traced the simple characters etched into the stone.
"I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here, disturbing your eternal rest with family gossip. Well, I've got this crazy idea. I want to avenge our fallen kingdom, rebuild what was lost, restore our family's honor—the whole revenge package."
He paused, as if waiting for a response that wouldn't come.
"But to do that, I need a little help. Specifically, I need your Time-space Sword. You know, the legendary weapon that could sever Time and Space, suppress entire eras, and pierce the fabric of reality? That little trinket."
The wind picked up suddenly, swirling around the gravesite with an intensity that seemed almost responsive. Wudi raised an eyebrow.
"Was that you, or just atmospheric dramatics?" he asked the grave. "If you're trying to tell me something, you might want to be a bit clearer. Maybe write it in the clouds or possess a nearby squirrel to deliver the message?"
The wind died down as abruptly as it had risen.
"No? Just coincidence then. Got it."
Wudi Egun glanced around conspiratorially, then leaned closer to the gravestone.
"Between you and me, I've got some... unique insights into how things work around here. Can't really explain how I know what I know—let's just say it would create more problems than it would solve."
With that cryptic statement, he rose to his feet and began to dig with his bare hands. The earth parted easily beneath his fingers, yielding to his determination and the subtle application of his cultivation technique.
"You know," he grunted between scoops of dirt, "most people bring shovels for this sort of thing. But no, I had to go with the dramatic 'dig with my bare hands' approach. Very cultivator-chic, but terrible for the manicure."
His nails, once perfectly shaped, were now ragged and filled with soil. The pristine white of his robes was smeared with earthy stains that would have horrified any self-respecting disciple of a major sect.
"If anyone from the past could see me now," he chuckled, "they'd have a collective aneurysm. The heir to the throne, digging like a common grave robber? Scandalous!'"
Five feet down, his nails scraped against wood. An ancient coffin lay revealed, its once-fine craftsmanship now reduced to rust-spotted, crumbling planks that seemed to be holding together through sheer stubbornness rather than structural integrity.
"Not bad for something that's been buried for multiple eras," Wudi commented, brushing dirt from the lid. "Though I suppose being buried in ground that used to possess immense heavenly energy helps with preservation."
He carefully lifted the lid, prepared for the solemn moment of facing his ancestor's remains.
Instead, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Inside the coffin lay a sword as white as freshly fallen snow, its surface a blank canvas that seemed to absorb the crimson light from above rather than reflect it. The blade appeared to be made not of metal but of pure, solidified nothingness—a paradox given physical form.
This was indeed the legendary Time-space Sword.
But it was also the only thing in the coffin.
"Wait, what?" Wudi Egun blinked rapidly, as if expecting the missing remains to materialize if he just cleared his vision. "Where's the body? There's supposed to be a body. That's kind of the whole point of a coffin."
He ran his hands along the interior of the wooden box, searching for hidden compartments or secret mechanisms, but found nothing.
"This doesn't make any sense," he muttered, his mind racing through possibilities. "Unless..."
A memory surfaced—the author of "Immortal Journey To Myriad Wonders" had begun writing a second novel titled "The Forgotten Era" before Sagar had transmigrated. He'd never had the chance to read it.
"Could this be why?" Wudi whispered, staring at the empty coffin with new understanding dawning in his silver eyes. "Is this the connection between the two stories?"
He reached for the sword, his fingers hovering just above its pristine surface. The air around the blade seemed to distort slightly, as if the very fabric of reality was being gently tugged by its presence.
"I don't suppose you come with an instruction manual?" he asked the sword. "No? User guide? Quick start pamphlet? 'Time-space Sword for Dummies'?"
The sword, predictably, offered no response.
"Fine, be mysterious. That's very on-brand for an ancient artifact of immeasurable power." Wudi sighed dramatically. "I guess we'll figure each other out as we go along. Like an arranged marriage, but with more potential for accidentally ripping holes in the universe."
With a decisive motion, he grasped the hilt of the Time-space Sword. The moment his skin made contact with the weapon, a surge of energy coursed through his body, so intense that it momentarily stole his breath. The crimson glow that had surrounded him flared brilliantly, merging with a new radiance that emanated from the sword itself—a light so pure and white that it seemed to erase the shadows rather than dispel them.
"Whoa!" Wudi gasped when he could speak again. "A little warning next time? Maybe a 'caution: may cause extreme cultivation reaction' label?"
The sword pulsed once in his hand, as if in response.
Wudi narrowed his eyes. "Did you just... sass me?"
Another pulse, this one somehow feeling distinctly smug.
"Great. A sentient sword with an attitude. Because my life wasn't complicated enough already."
He climbed out of the grave, the Time-space Sword clutched firmly in his right hand. As he stood, he noticed that the split moon overhead seemed to waver slightly when viewed through the blade, as if its broken form was being questioned by the sword's presence.
"Interesting," he murmured, angling the blade to better observe the effect. "You really don't like things being broken, do you?"
The sword warmed in his grip.
"Well, that makes two of us." Wudi Egun turned his gaze from the moon to the devastated landscape around him. "There's a lot that needs fixing in this world."
He sheathed the sword in a scabbard he'd brought for this purpose, the white blade disappearing into darkness with a soft hiss, like reality itself was relieved by its containment.
With one last look at the empty grave of his ancestor, Wudi Egun began the journey back through the ruins, his steps lighter despite the weight of the weapon at his side.
"You know," he said to no one in particular, though the sword seemed to vibrate slightly in response, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Or a catastrophic disaster. Possibly both."
The split moon cast its broken light over the scene—a silver-haired man walking away from an open grave, a legendary sword at his hip, surrounded by the ruins of a once-great civilization.
And somewhere, in the vast tapestry of reality, a new thread began to weave itself into the pattern.