Heaven's Tyrant

Pain.

It wasn't the blood-soaked dirt beneath my back, nor the choking stench of burnt flesh and death that hit me first.

It was the pain.

A raw, soul-deep agony, pulsing in time with my heart. Not just the dull throb of broken ribs or the sharp sting of torn flesh, but something deeper. Something primal. Like my body had been ripped apart and sewn back together with barbed wire and soul-searing fire.

I woke to the wet crunch of bone. Not mine. The last bandit's skull popped like a rotting melon under a boot, spraying what was left of his brains across the blood-drenched earth.

My eyes snapped open. Orange sky. Trees swaying lazily overhead. My lungs dragged in a breath thick with copper and rot. I coughed. Pain lanced up my side. My vision danced.

And for a second… I thought I was still in my apartment.

My fingers still remembered the hotkeys. I even thought I heard the echo of my chair creaking.

But then I saw him.

A cloaked figure stood over the ruined corpse. His boot still pressed into what used to be a man's face, now just pulp. He turned, and though I couldn't see his eyes under the hood, I felt them. Like knives sliding under my skin. Cold. Curious. Stripping me down to the bone.

Then… a smirk.

"Oh? Still breathing? Impressive. And those wounds… already closing. How curious."

I groaned. Pain roared again, white-hot and constant, spreading from my ribs like wildfire. My arms twitched. My legs felt like they'd been hammered into paste. The taste of blood lingered on my tongue—warm, thick, metallic.

But I was alive.

Somehow.

My name was Li Tianyu.

Or rather, it belonged to this body.

That name didn't belong to me. Not really. Not yet.

But I wasn't Li Tianyu.

I was someone else.

Someone who, less than minute ago, had been thirty-one years old, with a stable job at a mid-tier IT firm, a sweet apartment near Akihabara, and enough side hustle money from game reviews and merch resales to live without worrying about rent.

I had a decent life. I had just broken up with my clingy ex—again. Fourth time. We fought over my "lack of ambition." I had too much ambition, honestly—just not the kind that bought Louis Vuitton bags or paid for her weekly crystal healing sessions.

My last memory was simple.

I was slouched in my gaming chair, shrimp chips spilling onto my lap, headset snug around my ears. CC2 finally finished updating. A whole day off tomorrow—no clients, no emails, no clingy girlfriend whining about "quality time."

Just me and my game backlog. Pure bliss.

On my second monitor, some dumb ad popped up.

God-Slaying Chronicles.

Big boobs. Ridiculous jiggle physics.

I clicked out of curiosity, obviously.

Enter the World.

Everything went black.

And bam.

Now I was here.

In this absurd, terrifying, and blood-stained cultivation world that I used to imagine—but never wanted to actually live in.

Don't get me wrong —I loved xianxia. Like any self-respecting otaku, I didn't discriminate. I devoured everything—Isekai, murim, fantasy, wuxia, you name it.

I loved all that shit.

But actually living there?

Fuck no.

No Wi-Fi. No bathhouses with vending machines. No porn.

And worst of all, there were no save points.

I groaned again and forced myself upright, muscles screaming, spine crackling like a bag of fireworks. My hands trembled. Blood smeared my palm. My body—Tianyu's body—was a mess of cuts, bruises, and half-healed fractures. But it moved. Slowly. Stiffly. Alive.

Around me, corpses littered the ground like garbage after a festival. The Li Clan's guards—men whose faces I remembered now, through Tianyu's memories—lay broken and bloodied. Some with throats torn out, others with weapons still clutched in lifeless hands.

And the bandits were worse.

Twisted piles of meat. Heads cleaved clean. Guts spilled like overturned stew pots. Whoever this cloaked bastard was, he didn't just kill.

He performed.

My voice came out rough. Dry. But steady.

"Who… are you?"

He turned his head slightly, amusement flashing beneath his hood like a glinting blade.

"Child, thou askest the wrong question."

His voice flowed like warm oil, each word steeped in ancient arrogance, as if he'd been waiting centuries just to speak in riddles.

"It mattereth not who I am. The true matter lieth within thee."

He took a step forward. No sound. Not a single squelch from the blood-soaked soil beneath him. His shadow stretched long and sharp across the ground, dancing over broken corpses like a death shroud.

I clenched my jaw, swallowing down a thousand questions and at least three snarky comebacks.

You just spoke normally a second ago! Why the hell are you suddenly doing your best Shakespeare impression?

What is this, a side quest called "Theater Kid Cultivator" I unlocked while unconscious?

"I speak as I wish. Language is a toy to me."

Shit… he noticed.

"Should I try modern slang next? Or would that ruin the mood?"

This guy's ego had layers. Like a smug parfait built from thousand-year-old bullshit and dramatic pauses.

Yeah, sure. Let's lean into the Shakespeare act. That's not ominous at all.

I kept my mouth shut. Probably for the best.

Something in my spine told me this guy didn't just look theatrical—he was the kind of monster who'd rip you apart just for ruining his monologue.

He stopped a few paces away, studying me like I was a half-finished painting.

"Ahem. I know thy face, Li Tianyu. Son of Fairy Xu… and that unruly swordhand, Li Zhanyu. A child of promise. A whelp with a spine of jade and heart of fire. But what I see now… is failure."

He gestured lazily.

"No tempering of muscle. No forging of bone. Thy spirit is like the moonlight—bright, pure, unanchored. A gift most rare… yet thou hast squandered it."

I flinched. Not from his words, but from the weight they carried. Each syllable pressed down like a mountain on my chest. My breath hitched.

"What… what do you mean?"

He ignored the question. Typical old cultivator nonsense.

"Yet, there is something else… within thee. A ripple. A shadow. Not wholly Li Tianyu. Perchance… thou art something new?"

I blinked. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

What was I supposed to say?

Yeah, great insight, old man. I'm just an IT guy who got isekai'd into the body of a dead boy with mommy issues and no muscle mass. Please go easy on me?

But instead, I just whispered, "I-I don't understand…"

The cloaked man chuckled, a dry, brittle sound like old leaves crackling in the wind.

"Of course thou dost not. And yet… understanding shall come. In its time."

He crouched, bringing his face closer to mine. His hood slipped just enough for me to catch a glimpse—pale skin, lined with age, but eyes that burned like starlight.

"Li Tianyu is dead, boy… or near enough. What remaineth now is but a shell—a husk reborn. Whether thou art puppet or phoenix… remaineth to be seen."

I stared at him, mind spinning, bones aching, still tasting blood.

No reset button.

No logout option.

No cheat menu.

I was here.

And I had no idea what the fuck came next.

***

Sometime later, we reached a cabin.

The small structure smelled faintly of herbs and old pine, its walls lined with shelves stacked with jars, scrolls, and strange trinkets. It was far tidier than I expected for a place so deep in the wilderness—and far quieter than I liked.

"Is this your cabin, sir?"

"No, it isn't."

…Right. So we just walked into someone else's home like it was nothing.

He let the robe fall across the back of a chair, and without the hood, his appearance struck me again—harder this time. Long silver hair spilled loosely down his back, and when he turned, the firelight caught the edge of his profile.

Too young. Too elegant.

Not the face of a warrior. Not a tyrant. Not a grizzled cultivator.

His skin was smooth, unmarred. His features delicate, refined, and symmetrical—almost ethereal. And yet I'd seen those same graceful hands reduce a dozen bandits to twitching corpses without even raising his voice.

He moved to a small table and poured tea with effortless grace.

"You said something earlier… about my body?"

His gaze lifted. A glint of amusement flickered behind his eyes.

"Ah. Your meridians. Impeccable."

He pushed a steaming cup toward me.

"It's rare. Even among the most cultivated bloodlines, I've never seen energy channels so… untouched."

I hesitated, fingers curling around the cup like it might anchor me to reality. The floral aroma mingled with the cabin's woody scent, oddly calming.

"Untouched?"

"Untouched by inferior techniques. Untouched by reckless, misguided cultivation. Your body's like a blank canvas. No wasted potential. No corruption. A foundation so pure… it's as if heaven sculpted you for martial mastery."

His tone was casual, but the weight of his words made my chest tighten.

"You were fortunate. Had your dantian been even slightly tainted—just a trace of deviation—I would've let your remains into fertilizer."

I nearly dropped my cup.

"Wait. So you saved me… because I'm clean?"

He smiled faintly.

"Not clean. Pristine."

I stared at him.

He sipped his tea.

"This body isn't just pristine… It's hungry. Waiting. As if it was forged to wield something greater than you've ever imagined."

I didn't know what to say. Thank him? Ask for a refund?

A thousand questions swirled in my head—Why me? What was that glow back there? What was this man really after?

He rose suddenly, fluid as water, and lifted a lacquered box from the shelf. Inside, a single jade needle glowed faintly with runes.

"Remove your robe."

"…Excuse me?"

He turned slightly, one silver brow arching like a blade.

"I need access to your back. I must inspect your meridian."

Oh. Right. That made sense. In theory.

And yet I hesitated. Stripping in front of a man who had casually turned a dozen bandits into ground meat and spoke like a cryptic Wikipedia entry felt dangerously close to the start of a questionable doujin.

He wasn't gay. Right?

A part of me—a very repressed, traumatized part—sincerely hoped he wasn't into into young, lithe cultivator bodies like Tianyu's. The thought made my spine itch. But arguing with this man didn't feel like a survivable strategy.

With reluctant hands, I pulled the top half of my blood-stiffened robe from my shoulders.

Firelight hit my chest and abdomen, and I froze.

Holy shit.

I expected a soft scholar's build. Thin limbs. Pale ribs. Maybe the vague shadow of an ab. But this?

Broad shoulders. Cut arms. Carved lines running down a stomach so defined it looked sculpted by a horny war god. Not bulky. Streamlined. Like someone had compressed the essence of peak wuxia protagonist into a fifteen-year-old.

A body that made girls scream and young masters spit blood in jealousy.

So that's what the robe had been hiding.

"You're built better than expected."

"…Thanks…"

He wasn't gay. Probably. Hopefully. Please don't be.

He approached in silence.

A pulse of something—not qi, but colder, deeper—brushed along my back like invisible fingers prying beneath the skin.

Pain surged.

Not sharp. Not sudden. This was different. Like liquid frost threading through my veins, burning slow and deep, coiling inside my marrow. My spine locked, jaw clenched, vision whiting out as breath caught in my throat. Every nerve screamed.

Then it stopped.

I dropped forward onto my hands, gasping. My body trembled. Sweat poured from my face. The chill still lingered, nested in my bones.

"...So? Something wrong?"

He stood behind me, unreadable, calm.

"Your meridians have expanded beyond standard limits. They're... exceptional."

"That… sounds like a good thing."

"It's not good. It's absurd."

"Meaning?"

"When you died, your original meridian collapsed. But whatever force revived you… it rebuilt them. Stronger. Cleaner. Perfectly aligned. That kind of precision doesn't exist in this realm."

"That sounds... great?"

"Great? No. Absurd. Impossible. Divine. Sure, everything you once learned in the Li Clan is gone—your foundation shattered and rebuilt, reset to the Origin Profound Realm but it's flawless. No cracks. No residue. Everything you absorb will refine instantly. No loss. No waste. You are… a perfect furnace without a lid."

"So I just… start over?"

"Not from scratch. From perfection."

That word hung in the air. Perfection. A word cultivators spent their entire lives chasing. And this man had just casually said I had it.

"From this moment, every breath you take builds. Every drop of qi you touch will echo forever."

"That's… encouraging."

"Encouraging enough."

That should've encouraged me.

It didn't.

If anything, it terrified me.

I wiped the sweat from my face. My hand was still shaking.

He poured more tea without looking at me, the soft clink of porcelain and the floral scent grounding me just enough to speak again.

"Seriously. Who are you?"

"My name is Lu Shenyue. I've had many names. But for you—just Shen."

Shen.

The name settled in the air like mist clinging to the ground. Heavy with something I didn't understand yet.

"Alright, Shen. You saved me, spiritually fondled my back, declared me a one-in-a-million prodigy, and gave me tea. So what now? Do I call you Shen or sugar daddy?"

He blinked once. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"…..Either works. Call me 'sugar daddy' again and I'll seal your lips shut with a Heaven-Binding Thread."

"Noted."

…There were sugar daddies in this world?

We sat for a moment in loaded silence. The fire crackled softly, mocking me with its serenity.

"You're going to train me, right?"

No response. Not even a glance.

He just sipped, like stabbing me with divine ice wasn't even the highlight of his morning.

His eyes slid over—silver and sharp.

"Did I say I would?"

"You didn't. But come on. You're the mysterious immortal archetype. You save me. Drop cryptic exposition. You're basically contractually obligated to start my training."

A flicker of amusement crossed his face.

"Contractually obligated?"

"Yeah. Narrative law. Sacred."

He set the cup down with a soft clink. Then stood.

The firelight caught the hem of his robe, which fluttered slightly like it had its own dramatic instincts.

And for one breath, I hoped. I hoped.

Here it comes. The part where destiny is acknowledged. The moment the heavens tremble. The legendary training arc—

"No."

My mouth dropped open.

"…What."

Then he smiled.

Smug. Self-satisfied. The kind of smile that made sect elders chew gravel in frustration.

"Hahaha. I'm kidding. You should've seen your face. Like a kicked puppy."

I wanted to punch him, I really did but I'd be dead trying.

Pretty sure, he'd vaporize me mid-swing.

"Yes. I'll teach you. And make no mistake—I am going to make you my disciple. Whether you like it or not."

My mouth opened, but I couldn't find a proper insult. Or thank you. Or threat.

"…Really?"

"Yes. I want to see if your body can survive my cultivation techniques. They weren't born in this realm. They don't belong here. But if you can endure them—if you can wield them—then even the world will choke on your name."

I said nothing. 

"You want strength. You want survival. Then give me everything. No distractions. No shortcuts. No half-hearted effort. You follow me. Obey me. Submit."

My knees moved before my brain caught up.

I dropped low. The floor bit into my skin. My back throbbed where his power had touched me. But my voice came out clear.

"Disciple Li Tianyu… greets Master."

Because that was the only way to survive in the Xianxia world.