Chapter 2 The First Step of Return

The heavy rain outside continued to lash against the mud walls of the shack. The storm did nothing to cool the tense, heavy atmosphere inside.

Julian Vanguard stared at his son. His hands shook as he gripped the edge of his thin mattress. The boy standing before him looked exactly like the Logan he had raised. He had the same pale face and the same worn clothes. Yet, the timid, fearful posture was entirely gone. The aura radiating from the teenager was heavy. It felt like an iron wall.

"Logan..." Julian's voice trembled with a mix of shock and terror. "What... what did you just do? Where did you learn to fight like that?"

Logan turned his eyes toward his father. The freezing, deadly glare he had used on the thugs vanished instantly. It was replaced by a calm, reassuring gaze. He could see his own facial features mirrored in the older man's worn face. The shared Vanguard bloodline ran deep.

"Father, do not worry," Logan said. His voice was smooth and grounding. "While I was unconscious, I had a long dream. I saw the ancestors of our family. I saw our true heritage before we were exiled to this wretched border town."

Julian blinked. Tears of pain and confusion welled in his eyes. "A dream? Logan, you don't understand what you've done. That was Tyson. He is the right-hand man of Sect Master Gordon. Gordon is a brutal practitioner at the peak of the Iron-Skin Realm! When they return tomorrow... they won't just ask for silver. They will kill us."

"Let them come," Logan replied calmly. He walked over to his father's side and gently placed a hand on Julian's shoulder. "For a hundred years, the Vanguard blood has been stepped on. That ends today. Rest, Father. Let me handle the Iron Tiger Sect."

As Julian opened his mouth to argue, Logan subtly slid his finger over a meridian point on his father's neck. A gentle pressure caused the exhausted, sick man's eyes to grow heavy. Within seconds, Julian drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep. It was the first restful sleep the man had experienced in months.

Logan stood up and walked back to the center of the room. He looked down at the blood-stained table and the splintered doorway. The cold rain was blowing directly into the shack.

This body is far too weak, Logan thought, clenching and unclenching his fists. The muscles are malnourished. The bones are brittle. Worst of all, the dantian is blocked by impurities.

In this world, martial arts cultivation was divided into clear realms:

Body Refining (Bronze, Iron-Skin, Silver-Bone)

Qi Foundation

Core Formation

Sovereign Realm

The current Logan was not even at the lowest Bronze tier. He was a complete mortal. To a normal person, rebuilding a destroyed or withered dantian was impossible. But Logan was not a normal person. He was the Ghost Commander. He possessed the knowledge of the Nine Heavens Tyrant Script—a legendary, god-tier cultivation technique he had discovered in an ancient ruin before his betrayal.

Logan crossed his legs and sat directly on the cold dirt floor. He closed his eyes and began to control his breathing.

Inhale for three seconds. Hold for nine. Exhale in a single, sharp burst.

He began to force his sluggish blood to circulate backward. This was a forbidden method known as the Reverse Meridian Cleanse. It was incredibly painful. It felt as if thousands of hot needles were piercing through his veins at the same time. Sweat instantly drenched his shirt. Large drops of dark, foul-smelling black sludge began to ooze from his pores. These were the built-up toxins and impurities of sixteen years of poor nutrition and neglect.

"Hmph," Logan grunted softly. He did not cry out. A man who had survived a viper's venom did not care about a few hot needles.

Break and rebuild, he commanded his own body internally. Awaken!

A loud hum echoed inside his mind. The desert of his dantian suddenly cracked open. A tiny, golden spark of primordial qi flared to life in the center of his abdomen. The spark began to greedily drink the natural energy flowing from the rainstorm outside.

One hour passed. Then three. Then five.

By the time the night began to turn into a pale grey dawn, Logan opened his eyes. A flash of bright gold light flickered within his pupils before vanishing.

He stood up, his bones popping loudly like firecrackers. The pale, sickly look on his skin was gone. It was replaced by a healthy, firm glow. He had not only cleared his meridians, but he had successfully broken straight through the Bronze tier and entered the Early Iron-Skin Realm in a single night.

He walked over to the broken doorway and looked out at the muddy streets of Blackstone town. The rain had stopped. The air smelled of wet earth and impending blood.

"Noon is approaching," Logan muttered, watching the sun rise higher into the sky. "Let's see if this Sect Master Gordon values his gold, or his life."

Before Logan could even step away from the doorway, a series of frantic, heavy footsteps splashed through the mud outside. A young girl, no older than fourteen, came sprinting around the corner of the dirt path. Her clothes were soaked, her hair was a tangled mess, and her face was flushed with sheer panic.

This was Mei, a neighbor's daughter who often helped Julian gather herbs.

"Logan! Logan, you have to run!" Mei gasped, clutching her chest as she slid to a halt in front of the broken door. Her eyes widened when she saw the shattered wood, but she didn't stop to ask questions. "The Iron Tiger Sect... they aren't waiting until noon! Tyson's men went straight to Sect Master Gordon last night. Gordon is furious! He brought his entire elite guard. They are marching down the main street right now!"

Logan didn't panic. He calmly reached into a basin of water, washed the black impurities from his hands, and dried them on a clean cloth. "How many?"

"Over thirty men!" Mei cried, her voice cracking. "And Gordon is leading them himself. He's carrying his Nine-Ring Broadsword. Anyone who stands in their way is being shoved into the mud. Logan, please, take your father and flee into the monster-infested woods. It's suicide to stay here!"

"Flee?" Logan let out a soft, low chuckle that sent a shiver down Mei's spine. It wasn't the chuckle of a scared boy trying to act brave; it was the chilling laugh of a commander who had just received an invitation to a slaughter. "A Vanguard does not run from stray dogs, Mei. Go back to your house and lock the windows. This street is about to get messy."

The entire street fell into a deathly, suffocating silence.

The remaining twenty-four thugs instantly halted their advance, their faces turning completely white as they looked at the six elite fighters groaning in the mud.

Gordon’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. The arrogant smirk completely disappeared from his face, replaced by a deep, murderous gravity. He realized he had severely miscalculated. This wasn't a lucky teenager. This was a monster.

"Early Iron-Skin Realm..." Gordon growled, his grip tightening on the hilt of his massive broadsword. "You hid your cultivation well, brat. No wonder Tyson failed. But if you think a minor breakthrough allows you to challenge me, you are dead wrong!"

Gordon gripped the hilt with both hands and drew the heavy broadsword. A dull, metallic grey glow coated the entire blade as he channeled his peak Iron-Skin qi. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and wet earth.

"Die!"

Gordon leapt into the air, bringing the massive blade down in a terrifying, vertical cleave meant to split Logan in half. The force of his jump split the mud beneath his feet, sending a spray of dirty water into the air.

Logan looked up at the falling blade, his expression completely unbothered.

"Too slow," Logan whispered.

Instead of dodging, Logan raised the cheap iron club horizontally to block.

CLANG!

The collision of metal sounded like an explosion. A shockwave of air blasted outward, spraying mud across the walls of the surrounding houses. Mei covered her eyes from behind a nearby crate, expecting Logan to be crushed into a paste by the sheer weight of Gordon's peak-tier strength.

But when the dust cleared, Logan hadn't moved an inch. His boots were firmly planted in the mud. The cheap iron club held Gordon's massive broadsword completely at bay. Logan’s arm wasn't even shaking.

"How... how can your strength match mine?!" Gordon gasped, his veins bulging on his forehead as he pushed down with all his might. "I am at the peak of Iron-Skin! You're just a brat!"

"Your cultivation is a joke, Gordon. You cultivate the skin, but your inner meridians are completely hollow," Logan said coldly. "Let me show you what true power looks like."

Logan’s golden primordial qi flared through the club. With a violent upward jerk, he shattered Gordon's guard, sending the massive broadsword flying into the air. Before Gordon could recover his balance, Logan shot his left hand forward, his fingers forming a rigid spear, driving straight into Gordon’s chest.

Thud!

The strike bypassed the metallic grey skin entirely, sending a vibration of pure primordial energy straight into Gordon's internal organs.

Gordon's eyes bulged. He spat out a massive spray of dark crimson blood as he flew backward, crashing through the dirt and rolling twenty feet before sliding to a halt at the feet of his remaining, terrified men.

The peak master of the Iron Tiger Sect was defeated in a single exchange.