C4 Hatred!

In the dead of night, a slender figure emerged from the Heart Refining Path and vanished into a terrifying black abyss.

The Heart Refining Path, a legendary Phantasm Trap etched by the Thvelond Sect's founder, Everett, could ensnare even a duke. Its fame was widespread, known to all across the nine continents.

As soon as the figure materialized in the pitch-black corridor, the entire cosmos shifted.

"Boom!"

A star ablaze, dragging a luminous tail millions of miles long, hurtled toward the individual with cataclysmic force.

"Whoosh!"

With a swing of his fist, a colossal beam of light pierced the heavens, shattering the star. The intense Divine Light recoiled across the firmament, illuminating the world in a split second.

"Roar!"

The dragon, one of the ten great holy beasts, shone with a golden brilliance, its Divine Light scattering like rays from a mighty sun.

The dragon's roar sent shockwaves through the cosmos, fracturing the void, unable to withstand the power.

"Whoosh!"

The individual aligned his fingers as if holding a sword and, with a forward slash, unleashed a vast sword aura that streaked across the sky like a dazzling starry river. In a flash, the dragon was decapitated.

Golden blood sprayed forth, tearing through the void, threatening to obliterate all in its path.

Along his journey, the individual vanquished the ten great holy beasts and clashed with ancient demonic titans, their battles so fierce that the sun, moon, and very fabric of the universe quivered.

At last, at the terminus of the Heart Refining Path, he discovered a tattered, bloodied form.

"Little rascal!" he said with a light chuckle, flashing a bright, pearl-like smile.

He stooped down, tenderly lifting the frail body of the creature, and with measured steps, faded from the realm of the Heart Refining Path.

At the foot of Thvelond Mount, before the Heart Refining Path, a Divine Light flickered. The man's lithe figure materialized in this world.

Suddenly, his expression turned intense as he gazed at the summit before him.

There, a young man stood defiantly, resembling a sharp golden Immortal Sword.

"You've arrived!" the youth declared, his elongated, sorrowful eyes fixed on the man at the peak.

"The purpose of inscribing the Heart Refining Path is not to take lives, Master. I refuse to let this child be the first to perish there!" declared the golden-haired youth. His voice was cool and detached, his long golden locks billowing in the breeze, exuding an unmatched aura of dominance.

"Time immemorial is upon us; it's time for you to depart!" The youth, cradling a mouse, gazed at the figure atop the mountain peak, a hint of reluctance in his eyes.

"Clayton, if you truly intend to leave Thvelond, I implore you not to take anything from Thvelond Mount with you—not a single blade of grass, a tree, nor a drop of blood," the golden-haired youth finally turned, addressing the one holding the mouse.

The youth was tall and slender, clad in a light blue robe, with thick black hair cascading over his shoulders. His eyebrows were sharp as swords, his nose finely sculpted, and his lips thin and elongated, yet pale and seemingly devoid of strength.

But what was truly unforgettable were his eyes: narrow and deep, the pupils pitch-black and utterly pure.

Those eyes harbored a myriad of complex emotions: sorrow, rage, defiance, and yearning.

His complexion was ghostly pale, reminiscent of the dead. His gaunt frame and mournful eyes spoke of an eternal solitude. He was like a fleeting blossom, destined to bloom but once.

"Golden Roc Ancestor, if you must go, then please go alone. Thvelond cannot endure the sorrow of losing you," Clayton said with a light laugh, though his eyes betrayed a touch of reluctance and melancholy.

Clayton was the Thvelond Sect's once-in-a-generation prodigy, his talent otherworldly, a monstrous genius who would forever stand out in the annals of the Sect.

"I have lived from the dawn to the mid-point of time immemorial, a span of five hundred thousand years, and you possess the most extraordinary talent I have ever witnessed!"

"If you truly must leave, then do so without looking back. And remember, never forget the four great iron laws of the Thvelond Sect!"

With a thunderous boom that shook the heavens and the earth, the golden-haired youth took flight, soaring towards the medicinal garden behind the Thvelond Temple on Thvelond Mount.

"Hey, kid, why are you always so frail?" Clayton chuckled, his long black hair dancing in the breeze, the light blue ribbon tied in it as blue as the sky itself.

Gently placing the small body of the mouse on the ground, Clayton turned to gaze back at the Heart Refining Path. The sound of Clements' furious roars echoed, prompting a helpless sigh from him.

"Why can't you just wait for me?" he muttered with a wry smile before his body shot up into the sky, vanishing toward the direction of the medicinal garden.

Ever since Mouse's senior brother had passed away, he had stepped away from the struggle for dominance over the nine continents and settled into a quiet life in the medicinal garden, safeguarding the roots of the Thvelond Sect.

Drinking wine and admiring the wonders of Thvelond became one of life's great joys for him.

Yet, there remained an unresolved knot in his heart; his resentment towards Thvelond was even more intense than Mouse's.

Mouse couldn't recall how he had managed to leave the Heart Refining Path.

He wasn't sure how many days had gone by when he suddenly opened his eyes to blinding sunlight that bathed the earth in gold.

Staring at the surroundings that seemed both familiar and strange, Mouse shook his head fiercely.

Behind him, the dark maw of the Heart Refining Path loomed ominously, like the gaping mouth of a demon.

"Little guy, don't be scared. If the sky falls, your senior brother will hold it up for you!" A pair of sorrowful eyes flashed through Mouse's mind in his daze.

There stood a figure in a light blue robe, a slender body with an ancient sword strapped to his back, walking the Heart Refining Path amidst the flow of Chaos Energy. Demon Gods fell around him, and the cosmos itself seemed to shatter, creating a scene as if a Great Emperor walked the earth, his pride towering above the mortal realm, ready to conquer the heavens and the earth.

"Senior Brother Clayton!" Mouse sighed wistfully. Once again, it was Senior Brother Clayton who had come to his rescue, and Mouse had lost count of how many times this had happened.

Clayton had been as close as a brother to Mouse's deceased senior brother, Maeander.

When Clayton had first joined the sect, Maeander had taken great care of him. They had shared a deep bond and were like brothers in arms.

But tragedy struck when Maeander was poisoned and killed, his body never to be found, leaving behind nothing but a pool of pus and blood—a truly lamentable end.

"Wow, I never expected little Ratty to actually make it to the fifth day. I was ready to collect his corpse!" From a distance, a large group of at least twenty people approached Ratty.

Upon seeing the leader of the group, Ratty's filthy body shuddered, and his eyes filled with terror. It was a young man exuding scholarly charm, strikingly handsome with a sharp, hawk-like nose that added a hint of severity to his demeanor.

"Clarkson!" Ratty stood up shakily, addressing the newcomer with utmost respect.

While Ratty was scared of Judas, his fear of Clarkson was on another level. Over the past three years, Judas had subjected Ratty to humiliation and beatings, taking pleasure in shaming him before the female disciples. He enjoyed seeing Ratty's face flush with embarrassment and his limbs tremble in fear.

Clarkson, however, preferred a different approach. He relished in physically beating Ratty, believing in the power of violence to resolve issues and instill fear and submission.

"Oh no, my shoes are dirty!" The group encircled Ratty, each extending a foot with mud-caked shoes in front of him.

"Don't worry, Second Senior Brother, I'll clean them for you!" Ratty's face broke into an obsequious smile. He ripped his light blue robe and tore a large piece from his pristine white undershirt. Kneeling down, he meticulously cleaned the mud from Clarkson's shoes.

"Hey, Mouse, what about us?" the other disciples shouted angrily. One of them stepped forward and delivered a sharp slap to Ratty's face, the sound resonating across the Heart Refining Path long after the act.

"I'm so sorry, Senior Brother, I'll clean yours right away!" Ratty said, plastering on a smile as he tore another large piece from his undershirt and carefully wiped the disciple's shoes clean.

One by one, he continued, stooping low to clean each of the senior brothers' shoes. His unattractive face wore a sycophantic grin as he bowed and scraped like a servile underling. Yet, he worked with a brisk efficiency, leaving the shoes spotless.

This task had been his for three years, and he had become adept at it.

"Well done, the shoes look good. Now, to avoid tarnishing the splendid environment of Thvelond, I'll entrust you with the task of being our cleaning cloth!" Clarkson stood with hands on hips, a genial smile gracing his scholarly face.

"Absolutely, absolutely. For the sake of Thvelond, I would gladly give my life!" The Mouse laughed heartily as he expertly lay down on the ground, turning his back to the twenty or so fellow disciples, his senior and junior brothers.

The Divine Light blazed in thousands of strands, fierce and blinding.

In that moment, the group of more than twenty disciples all unbuckled their belts and directed their lower bodies toward Mouse, who was lying there.

"Whoosh!"

With the crisp sound of flowing water, streams of filthy, foul-smelling urine cascaded onto Mouse's battered body.

In that instant, the reeking urine soaked through Mouse's hair and the last shreds of his clothing, leaving only his underwear damp.

At that moment, through his blurred vision, Mouse clenched his teeth so hard that a bright streak of blood appeared on his pale lips.

He gripped his fists so tightly that his sharp nails pierced his palms, maiming the flesh until it was nearly falling apart.

"I swear, with all that I am, that I will return all the humiliation I've endured today tenfold, a hundredfold!" Mouse bit down on his teeth, making this vow for what must have been the hundredth time in three years.

"Alright, time for our workout. Little brother Mouse, are you ready?" Clarkson pulled up his trousers and looked down at Mouse, soaked in urine, with a grin that showed off his pearly white teeth.

"Thud!" "Thud!" "Thud!"

In an instant, dozens of heavy feet mercilessly trampled over Mouse's body, the sound of bones breaking and blood splattering filled the air.

The onslaught of more than twenty people eclipsed the sunlight itself.

Amidst the downpour of stomping feet, Mouse wrapped his arms tightly around his head.

Even then, his slightly squinted eyes revealed a chilling, bloodthirsty intent.

"I, Mouse, swear that from this day forward, no one will ever step on my head again!"

"Stop!"

On the Heart Refining Path, Clements, who had just passed by Clayton, finally broke free from the Phantasm Trap.

Witnessing the scene before him, he was on the verge of exploding with rage. He bellowed, and the force of the holy sound sent Clarkson and his gang flying.

More than twenty people were sent sprawling, blood spurting from their mouths and noses, severely injured.

"Chief Elder, I was wrong, we were wrong!" Clarkson's face went pale as he saw the terrifying sight of Clements's white hair standing on end.

A group of individuals knelt on the ground, pleading for mercy from Clements.

"Scram!"

With a roar of fury, Clements was on the verge of exploding with rage.

Upon receiving the command for clemency, Clarkson and his companions made a hasty retreat.

Over the past three years, he had repeatedly humiliated Rat and had been wounded by Clements's wrathful outbursts just as often. Yet, every disciple of the Thvelond Sect understood that Clements would never take the life of a fellow disciple over such trifles.

This was the essence of Thvelond, a family brimming with warmth and harmony.

The only two who despised Thvelond, who stood in stark contrast to its values, were Clayton and Rat.

Under the fierce midday sun, Rat slowly rose to his feet. He was indifferent to his physical wounds, the bleeding gashes, and even the foul stench that clung to him.

Without so much as a glance at his master, Clements, he remained stoic, limping step by step toward the rear of Thvelond Mount.

Clements, with a look of mixed emotions, trailed closely behind Rat, neither daring to speak nor to depart.

And so, the elder and the younger, with slow yet resolute steps, made their way to the back of Thvelond Mount, to the place Rat called home.