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Holding the manual of Ren-Shii tightly, more so than I did most things, I slowly peeled the first page open. I quickly stopped, almost getting myself killed. Bitterly laughing at my greed, raising its ugly head, my fingers danced over the air, forming a small sigil of the crest of Noctem. Letting the darkness spread throughout this cultivation chamber to hide my aura. I began reading the Second Form, Ren-Shii.

\'Ren-Shii was the path of carnage and war. Quick, tenacious, and furious is its path. To retreat is to betray the Way of Ren-Shii.\' It read, in words of dried blood. I was enamored, almost as if I could feel the intent of its creator etched into the text. "Steel, your blade, and you shall harden your heart. Weakness cannot exist, only the path you create."

Flipping from page to page, sucking in everything I could, I realized that Ren-Shii did not care for the path of defense, much less retreat. It was a technique meant to sharpen the mind, the body, and the blade. Ren-Shii sacrificed everything it deemed irrelevant. If a weakness could not be located, my strike would create one. If I cannot dodge, my blade will be my defense. Everything about Ren-Shii felt primal. Fueled by anger, hate, I would become the embodiment of war.

Lost in its meaning, one of my four souls saw to ponder its depts while I continued. Page after page, I studied the very essence of what it means to follow, the Flow of Ren-Shii, to the precise technique it held. Ren-Shii was not a spear manual, but as I read through the Fist Martial Manual, the images seemed to change to one that fitted the spear. Seven forms it showed, Each of them carrying their meaning that would blend seamlessly into one.

Pulling myself from the simple move sets, a flicker of intent summoned the spear from the ring of bael. Holding the shaft of the Spear of Pestilence, breathing rot. The Seven forms of Ren-Shii, erupted through my mind one by one. Following the motions held in my mind, my body and spear became one.

I struck, in a divisive manner different from Zariels Gift. This strike was fueled by me, filled with hatred and wrath. It wasn\'t wild but somewhat cold, vicious, and cunning to a fault. There was no trick, no Dao to distract me. It was just me and my spear. Yet, this simple strike I felt was worlds ahead of anything I had felt before.

Carrying on, in quick, precise motions, I did not stop even if I made a mistake. To retreat was to fail. I would not stop my actions to correct myself until I finished. I needed to finish—this wasn\'t about being perfect. Perfection will come. Ren-Shii is a lifestyle; probably all of the Forms are.

Completing a full rotation, I did not bother to think but instead started the next rotation, ensuring I would correct my past mistakes or improve. I had always thought my sins were more of a burden; sure, they had their benefits, but they swept me away at specific points in my life. But Ren-Shii seemed to be made for those carrying pride as a crown and wrath as their blade.

Hours had skimmed by till twilight arrived, yet the ferocity in my blade only seemed to grow, evolving as though it were a demonic dragon. The Spear Pestilence wined, whisking through the darkness, cleaving the void apart. Cracks splintered at my spear\'s intent, racing over the chamber like webs, bringing out the moon\'s silver light.

Thrusting my spear out with all I held, a profound glint flashed through my eyes. My arms bulged, and an evil tyrant\'s fair of diabolical aura rushed out from my spear, piercing through the stones like hot butter. The mountains in the distance seemed to vanish as a magical beam of pure spear intent destroyed everything in its path, leaving nothing behind but wreckage and the dead.

Howls of screams rang through my ears, as did the heavy scent of blood. What should have made me apprehensive only seemed to bring me a wave of calm. Breathing in my power, from a single strike that held no divinity, no godly strength, only my hatred and ferocity, joyous satisfaction swept over my lips.

Dismissing the darkness consoling my body, I smile, "A half days of practice, what will it look like when I master Ren-Shii? With this Body and Soul technique, I am sure to become a full-fledged king without the help of War of Kings and Crimson Winds. Once I master this technique, I am sure I will be a new type of beast."

"BLOODGRAVE!"

Knowing what was about to take place, I stepped through the massive hole created from my spear and glanced up at the furious expression of the Elders—fixing my eye over the familiar face of Elder Gu. He floated over grimly.

"Lord Gu, "I greeted fearlessly, cuffing my palms that still held my spear.

"Many people died," He remarked calmly, holding me down with his aged eyes that cared a heavyweight to them. "Do you have anything to say?"

Sucking a heavy breath, divinity carried over the tip of my words, allowing them to be heard far and wide throughout the Holy Swords and beyond. My power of sin, I could not control, nor did I wish to now that I could focus it. Calming my mind, my voice thundered like the crackles of steel against steel.

"I, Asura Bloodgrave, will not apologize! Jail me, torture me! I will not bend nor break. The weak have no value in this world, much less this sect. Those that die are destined to die. Let it be their honor to find their ends at my spear, then a devil of the nines."

Swallowed in horror by my words, many of the elders drew their swords.

"Monster!" They howled.

"Devil!" Some cried.

"Tyrant!" Others whispered.

"Then come," I beckoned, "If I am to die, then attack. I will die with my dark spear in hand against the heat of battle."

Silence fell under the twinkling twilight of the night. Eyes were locked, and blades were drawn, shimmering under the silver moon. I stood indifferent, holding a smile of anticipation.

"Come"