The half-wild man saw through the boy’s fear in an instant—the wide eyes, the faint tremor in his shoulders.

  He had felt that same dread decades ago, when this forsaken shore was even crueler, with no refuge at all.

  Night brought spirit soldiers. He and a dozen warriors had barely broken free of the encirclement, only to encounter warlord beasts none had ever seen—dead and wounded in moments.

  Their makeshift shelters could not withstand the onslaught.

  Demons filled the sea. Undead lurked below. Monsters roamed the land. Demonic winds howled from the skies.

  In the end, tongue severed and legs devoured, he had leapt into the green spring in desperate defiance, certain of death.

  Instead, the waters healed his wounds. When he awoke, he found himself in this cave.

  Over decades, he had widened the narrow space, making it livable.

  Now, looking at the boy, Yan Tang realized: he had not simply survived.

  Deep down, he had been waiting.

  Like a father, he clapped a heavy hand on the boy’s thin shoulder, his face gentle.

  The floating sand softened, flowing with tender grace.

  Believe me. I lived alone for thirty years. Follow my way—this time, we will succeed.

  Show me your water essence.

  Timo took a deep breath and focused.

  Pure pale-blue water essence surged in his palm—gentle yet resilient.

  Moisture in the air responded, gathering slowly around him in thin veils of mist, forming a faint azure halo.

  “Excellent! Truly gifted!” Delight flashed in Yan Tang’s eyes. “From today, I will guide you. With my years of experience, you’ll avoid many dangers and take fewer wrong turns.”

  Seeing the words, Timo felt as if injected with vitality—spirit soaring, eyes bright. “Really? You’re willing to teach me?”

  Yan Tang nodded. Long-lost human connection flooded back, reminding him why living was right.

  Child… will you take me as master?

  He straightened his broken frame, old warrior’s pride rising.

  Timo gazed at this weathered elder—legs gone, tongue taken, yet eyes unwavering.

  Reverence surged in his chest.

  Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees and kowtowed. “Master Wildman—I accept!”

  Yan Tang burst into deep laughter, beard quivering, yellowed teeth flashing—no red tongue visible.

  I am no wildman.

  Yan Tang.

  From the fire capital, Flareglory Kingdom.

  Once drillmaster of the Empire’s Heavenly Flame Brigade.

  Sixty-five years old.

  Timo’s eyes shone brighter. He felt he had met a truly great man.

  Driven by hazy instinct, he kowtowed again, forehead ringing against stone.

  No need.

  My training is brutal.

  They called me demon mentor…

  Writing this, memories stirred vividly.

  The kneeling boy blurred into the many apprentices he had trained—some lost here with the brigade.

  They proved themselves warriors…

  Child, do you remember your name?

  Timo thought, head aching sharply.

  “Timo” was what people in the trial had called him—warm, intimate—but he lacked certainty.

  “The fish mother… named me Little Mongrel.”

  “Hah…” Yan Tang roared with laughter, startling Ugly Bastard upright—eyes darting wildly before it flopped back to sleep.

  He jabbed a finger at the creature. But for its vigil over the human, he would have crushed it long ago—those claws would make fine weapons.

  Those are the mongrels.

  Humans bear no such name.

  If you don’t mind—take my surname.

  Timo nodded. Little Mongrel had always felt wrong.

  “Then Tang…”

  “Timo!”

  The boy blurted it suddenly, certain.

  Sand flowed smoothly.

  Timo Tang.

  Yan Tang paused—then rewrote.

  Tianming Tang.

  Tianming sounds stronger.

  Child of heaven’s call—one cry to devour all.

  Fitting.

  As long as you don’t scorn a cripple—I teach everything.

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  “If you teach,” Timo vowed, eyes fierce, “I’ll give my life to learn.”

  Yan Tang’s pride swelled.

  Good—you have my old fire.

  Rise.

  Here, no rules—only one goal: grow stronger. Break through.

  He slapped his thigh stump, mind already mapping merciless regimens.

  Timo stood tall, fists clenched, smiling brilliantly—tears of resolve brimming.

  This ragged elder now shone like a beacon.

  I must train again too.

  Tianming—with me, I’ll shorten your path.

  This hell is also the continent’s richest, most primal vein.

  He pointed toward the frost-fruit store.

  Perfect for water cultivators.

  Pity—they only sustain me now.

  Most plants and beasts here carry venom.

  Even the mists breed hallucinations if breathed too long.

  Yan Tang paused, examining Timo’s corroded leather armor—wind snake hide, tough but no match for poison fog.

  He pinched a flap; it tore like paper.

  First step: proper battle garb.

  Hope the thunder wolf pelt remains—those greedy merfolk won’t waste it.

  This pouch… exquisite craft.

  Material extraordinary.

  His fingers traced the faint gold patterns—cool, unyielding.

  Gold-veined spirit snake?

  Not adult hide, but unmistakable.

  He had seen illustrations in imperial tomes.

  When these serpents crowned kings, they razed heavens.

  How did you come by this?

  Timo scratched his head—blank innocence.

  Yan Tang waved it away.

  Forgotten—like so much.

  Strip that armor.

  Hope my stitching holds.

  Timo obeyed swiftly, shedding the cracked leather.

  Yan Tang’s brow furrowed at the boy’s spare frame—arms like reeds, legs thin as branches.

  His own forearm—corded, scarred—dwarfed Timo’s thigh.

  He shook his head, fist tightening.

  Those round stones yonder—from tomorrow, dawn physical training.

  Your frame—a gale would carry you off.

  That gem won’t save you forever.

  Use sparingly.

  “Yes, Master—all as you command!”

  Timo snapped to attention, voice ringing—eager recruit through and through.

  Yan Tang studied his new apprentice, satisfaction deepening with every glance.

  With one hand he gathered the ruined leather armor; with the other he tucked the gold-veined snakeskin firmly under his arm, the gesture unmistakably possessive.

  “From now on, you sleep in the outer cave.

  If that Ugly Bastard brother of yours misbehaves—kill it.

  It would make excellent nourishment.”

  The words lingered in the sand as he turned and vanished into the deeper chamber.

  Within lay the spoils of his scavenged life: tools, garments, daily necessities—anything portable he had hauled from decades of wrecks.

  Timo instinctively started after him, but a stone door ground shut just as he stepped forward, sealing the passage.

  At the same moment, fresh grains of sand swirled and swiftly traced several lines of script before his eyes.

  “Tonight, for your sake, I’ll let that fish demon stay until dawn.

  At sunrise—it must leave.

  Otherwise, I’ll brew it into fish-bone soup.”

  Timo understood the boundary his master had drawn. As the sand settled and scattered, he returned to the outer cave and let out a quiet sigh.

  If Ugly Bastard’s kind were man-eating monsters, keeping it served no purpose.

  Releasing it risked betrayal—if it encountered its kin again, it might sell out both him and his master.

  At that thought, Timo’s hand drifted to the leather pouch. His fingers brushed the dagger and the coiled silver threads within.

  Ugly Bastard lay sprawled in sleep, drooling copiously, its grotesque features on full display.

  Timo’s gaze sharpened into something lethal.

  He drew the silver threads and looped them—swift and sure—around the creature’s stumpy legs.

  The demon jolted awake, instinct driving it to flee, but the threads held like iron. It toppled forward.

  Timo dropped his weight onto its small body and bound the short claws next.

  “My master says your kind devoured his legs and cut out his tongue.

  Tell me the truth—were you planning to eat me when you got the chance?”

  His voice was low and cutting, laced with fury, the dagger pressed cold against the scaled throat.

  “Good brother… I-I’ve only been alive five years,” it whimpered. “I did hear the Tide-Weaver Priestess say they’d eaten humans… but I’m innocent!”

  Moments earlier it had been dreaming of becoming the most handsome lord of the Black Sea, every tribe kneeling in worship. Now, wide awake, it found itself completely subdued.

  “Tide-Weaver Priestess?” Timo demanded.

  “Not a person—the fish mother! The half-human who fed you the spirit-tongue elixir. Their bloodline is far nobler than us tamed fish demons. Legend says they come from a deep-sea paradise!”

  Timo’s mind went blank; no memory surfaced at all.

  Paradise, elixirs—he didn’t care.

  “You swear you’ve never harmed a human?”

  The blade pierced a scale, drawing a bead of dark ichor.

  “None!” it squealed. “I swear on the sea-spirit god—if I’m lying, let me remain a lowly fish grunt forever!”

  Its voice stretched into a rattle, throat trembling; its eyes rolled white, foam bubbling at its lips.

  Timo eased the dagger back.

  “Because you helped me, I’ll believe you—for now.

  Without my master, I might have swallowed your lies completely.”

  “Master… so that half-man is with you after all! But then… why didn’t he save you yesterday? I saw him holding stones, plotting something…”

  Seeing how busy its mind was, Timo paused with his hand on the threads.

  “Enough nonsense. My survival yesterday was a miracle.

  Your kind must have feared I’d devour you, so none dared come close. You were the same—you didn’t dare approach me either, did you?”

  At the word “devour,” Ugly Bastard dropped all pretense.

  Its bulging eyes darted wildly as it begged for mercy.

  “Aiyo… good brother! You’re crushing me—I can’t breathe! I’m dying… please, let me go! I swear I’ll obey you!”

  Hearing the creature’s pathetic whining, Timo’s lips curved in smug satisfaction.

  “I could release you.

  But first you have to tell me—how do we escape this hellhole?

  Otherwise, tomorrow you become Master’s fish soup.”

  At those words, Ugly Bastard stopped struggling entirely. Its body went rigid, as though accepting its fate.

  “You might as well kill me now. The farthest I’ve ever been is this cave.

  Compared to the merfolk’s punishments, your threats are nothing…”

  Timo snorted.

  “Now you know fear.

  You gave me that ugly name ‘Ugly Bastard,’ called me ‘little mongrel.’

  Your kind are the real mongrels.”

  Long-suppressed grievance finally poured out—he wasn’t going to miss this chance.

  “But… we are,” it murmured. “The fish mother used earth-spirit blood to spawn us—we’re mongrels among the sea demon clans.

  And you—if you have no merfolk blood, how can you speak the sea clan’s tongue?

  Calling you little mongrel isn’t wrong either…”

  Timo instinctively touched his neck, confirming the smooth skin—no gills.

  He glared.

  “One more lie and you’re done.”

  “Maybe the fish mother sensed your power and wanted you to kill the maturing sea demon.

  I overheard her telling the merfolk subordinates—they’re trapped here by the Black Sea Lord.

  They’ve always been scheming to escape.”

  Timo fell into thought. He could indeed understand their language and even mimic their shrill, grating cries—harsh even to his own ears.

  “If the fish mother is as noble as you say, why didn’t she help us?

  She watched her own children get fed to it one by one.

  The human mother I remember—however faintly—would never do that.”

  His tone softened again; thinking of those barred young demons stirred pity in him.

  “I… heard the merfolk call us defective.

  Doomed to be feed.

  If you hadn’t disrupted the ritual this time… I’d have been eaten too.”

  Its voice grew weaker, fear shadowing its bulging eyes.

  It had escaped the crimson glow only because it was fast enough to flee the zone of devouring.

  Timo sighed deeply, rose to his feet, and looked down at the now-quiet creature.

  Different bloodlines—yet the same capacity to feel.

  Compassion prevailed.

  He loosened the threads.

  The claws flexed, revealing hidden barbs that glinted coldly in the firelight.

  Yet Ugly Bastard made no move to attack. It simply worked its fins, sniffling pitifully as it slumped to the ground.

  “Enough about them.This Black Sea Lord you mentioned—how powerful is it?”

  Seeing the demon’s tongue lolling from thirst, Timo raised a hand. A sphere of clear water condensed and he poured it over the parched creature.

  Ugly Bastard flapped its fins weakly, eyes brimming with tears as it retreated into the shadows.

  “The fish mother said every drowned soul among the spirit soldiers is suppressed by the Black Sea Lord in the abyssal depths.

  Those cursed humans can never leave this place—not for eternity.”

  Knowing it had no chance of survival outside, Ugly Bastard obediently shared every secret it had overheard.

  “The fish mother also said the Black Sea Lord is everywhere.

  No living thing that enters these waters ever leaves alive.

  The Tide-Weaver Priestess’s group is just a small splinter tribe in this domain, existing only to breed sea demons.”

  Clearly desperate for water, Ugly Bastard glanced again at the pool, then at the sealed stone door to the inner cave.

  It wanted to dive in, but it didn’t dare.

  A brief spark of rebellion flickered in its eyes and died.

  With a trembling claw it pointed to a hollowed wooden trough.

  It said nothing more.

  Timo understood at once.

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