He knew why Han Yi couldn't restrain her tears. He knew why, the moment revenge was mentioned, it brought her back to that time.
Years ago, Han Yi and her family had lived far away in the Frostveil Highlands—a land of eternal winter, where the sun was a rare visitor, hidden behind thick clouds and relentless snowfall. It was a place of howling winds, ice-covered peaks, and merciless storms, yet despite its harsh nature, the people there endured. Travel was never impossible; they had their ways. Tamed bloodbeasts, bred for generations, carried them across the frozen expanse, ensuring they were never truly trapped by the snow.
Han Yi's father, Han Zhennan, was the heart of their small town. He was the founder and dean of the Lightning Will Martial Institute, a school not bound to any sect, built with his own hands and his late father's legacy. It was the only martial institute in that place, a beacon of strength and knowledge in an unforgiving land. Unlike the powerful clans that ruled other places with strict hierarchies, there were no clans in their town—only the institute, where all could learn, no matter their background.
Han Zhennan was a respected and kind man, a cultivator who saw mortals not as tools, but as people. He treated them with fairness, never as slaves or mere servants, and for that, he was beloved by all. Lu Zhenhai himself had once been the vice dean of the Lightning Will Martial Institute, a sworn brother to Han Zhennan, and it was from that very institute that Stone Path Hall took much of its inspiration.
Han Yi lived a carefree life then—a child who laughed, played, and trained with youthful energy. Her older brother, Han Yu, was the quiet one, always watching, always thinking, so unlike her wild and energetic self. They had peace.
Until the calamity came.
The beast struck without warning.
Fifteen meters tall, its fur as white as the storm, blending into the blizzard as though it were born from the snow itself. If not for its crimson, ruby-like eyes, it would have been invisible in the raging frost. Its massive paws, armed with claws that could rip through stone, tore through buildings with ease. With every earth-shaking roar, the air itself froze, and from the storm rose spears of ice, each one sharpened to deadly perfection, impaling anything in their path.
It was a devastation beyond words.
This was no ordinary beast.
This was the Glacier Tyrant.
And it destroyed everything.
Han Zhennan and Lu Zhenhai struck as one, lightning splitting the sky in blinding arcs as the deafening roar of battle drowned out the screams of the fleeing townspeople. Thunder crashed. Arrows streaked through the storm. Blood sprayed from the Glacier Tyrant's hide, its white fur now streaked with crimson. But the beast did not falter.
If anything, it grew fiercer.
It was a calamity given form—a force of nature that did not know pain, did not know fear.
Han Zhennan, standing at mid-stage Rank 2, wielded his lightning like a tempest, each strike burning into the beast's flesh, scorching through its thick hide. The storm howled with his fury. His blade moved with terrifying precision, carving through the ice and the monster's defenses alike.
Lu Zhenhai, though only early-stage Rank 2, fought with unyielding resolve. His bow, drawn taut, fired arrow after arrow, each shot a spear of death aimed at the beast's weak points. His arrows streaked through the frozen air like falling stars, seeking blood.
But the Glacier Tyrant was undaunted.
With a roar that shook the heavens, it retaliated. Ice lances exploded from its body, faster than the eye could track—a blizzard of death, piercing through the battlefield like falling meteors. The town, already crumbling, was torn asunder. A quarter of it lay in ruins.
People screamed. Buildings shattered. And still, the beast did not fall.
Then, in a single, blinding motion—it struck.
Han Zhennan barely had time to react before a massive claw, sharp as razors, crashed into him. He was sent hurtling through the air, slamming into a building. Wood and stone collapsed atop him, burying him beneath the wreckage.
For a moment, everything was silent.
Then, he moved.
Han Zhennan pushed himself out of the rubble, blood streaking his face. His breath was ragged, his body screaming in pain. But it wasn't the beast's attack that made his heart freeze in terror.
It was what he sensed next.
Beyond the battlefield, hidden in the shadows—there were figures.
Masked figures.
Slaughtering his people.
His students, desperately trying to hold their ground, were being cut down, one by one. They fought bravely, but they were being pushed back, overwhelmed.
Han Zhennan's heart pounded. A chill ran through his spine that had nothing to do with the snow.
This wasn't just a beast attack.
It was an ambush.
His breath caught. His wife. His children.
They were still in the town.
A roar of desperation tore from his throat. "No—NO!"
He spun toward Lu Zhenhai, eyes wild. "IT'S AN AMBUSH! NOT A BEAST ATTACK! I HAVE TO SAVE MY FAMILY! HOLD THAT BEAST DOWN, LU!"
Lu Zhenhai's head snapped toward him, taking in the words in an instant. Then, without hesitation, he fired.
The night was torn apart by a blazing streak of power.
"Peak-tier Rank 1 battle skill—Thunderpiercer Barrage!"
A single arrow shot forth—but it was no ordinary shot.
Lightning crackled along its shaft, condensing into a blinding spear of destruction. The very air shuddered as the arrow rocketed forward, its speed so great that even the Glacier Tyrant flinched, its instincts screaming at it to evade.
But it was too large. Too slow.
The arrow struck true.
A massive explosion erupted from the beast's chest—flesh and ice burst apart in a violent detonation. The monster reeled back, its deafening roar filled with agony as it staggered, struggling to remain standing. Its crimson eyes burned with fury.
But Lu Zhenhai wasn't finished.
He loosed another arrow. Then another. Then another.
His hands were a blur—arrows rained down like a storm, piercing into the beast's eyes, its joints, its wounds.
The Glacier Tyrant roared, its vision flickering with pain and rage. And then—it charged.
A towering, unstoppable force of nature, barreling toward Lu Zhenhai with the wrath of an avalanche.
Lu Zhenhai moved.
His body blurred—his movement art carrying him backward, slipping through the snow like a phantom. Even as he dodged, his bow never ceased firing. Each arrow a blade of lightning, each strike a promise of death.
But the beast—the beast refused to fall.
And the battle raged on.
Han Zhennan was a blur of destruction, his blade cutting through masked figures with relentless speed. Each strike was lightning, each step left arcs of crackling blue in his wake. He did not stop. He did not hesitate.
His mind roared with a single, desperate command:
"I MUST SAVE THEM! I MUST! I WILL KILL ANYONE IN MY WAY!"
His blue-tinted hair whipped through the air, his eyes burning with a fury so great it threatened to consume him. But beneath the rage, beneath the killing intent—was pure, unrelenting desperation.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, a mother ran.
Her arms wrapped tightly around her two children, she pushed her body beyond its limits, lungs burning, legs screaming for relief. But she could not stop. She would not stop.
She had to find him—her husband.
The Lightning Will Institute had already fallen into chaos. That was where the attack began, where most of the enemies had struck first. She couldn't stay there. She had to run, escape, find Han Zhennan. Only he could protect them.
Then—shadows descended.
Two masked figures lunged from the darkness.
She dropped her children and drew her sword without thought, her motherly instincts turning into the sharpened edge of a blade. The fight began.
Steel clashed against steel, her sword moving with terrifying precision, deflecting every strike. She fought not for herself, but for her children. She fought like a woman who had everything to lose.
Yet, even in the chaos, one truth became clear.
Han Yi was never touched.
Not once.
Every strike that came near her daughter was deflected—every blade, every spear, every hidden attack—nothing was allowed near her.
But Han Yu?
Han Yu saw the sword arcs that nearly reached his eyes.
Saw the strikes that were barely pushed aside when aimed at him.
And he saw, for the first time, the truth his young heart had always suspected.
The building beside them collapsed in an avalanche of wood and stone.
His mother—Xue Lian—moved instantly.
Without thinking. Without hesitation.
She grabbed Han Yi and leapt away.
Only then did her mind register—where was her son?
A chill unlike any the frozen wasteland had ever given her pierced her heart.
She turned—her face a mask of horror—only to meet Han Yu's gaze.
A gaze that held no fear.
Only quiet, bitter understanding.
"I knew you would pick her."
Her body moved, but before she could even take a step, a barrage of blades rained down upon her.
She barely managed to dodge at the last second—a blade nearly impaling her stomach.
The building crashed down.
The dust rose. The sound of destruction roared in her ears.
And Han Yu was gone.
Xue Lian's world shattered.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands trembled, frozen in place as she stared at the wreckage, as if willing it to undo itself.
As if willing reality to change.
As if willing her son to still be there.
But then—a child's cry.
Han Yi's wail broke through her daze, snapping her back to the present.
Her body, almost by instinct, tightened its grip on her daughter.
And for the first time, a thought—an ugly, undeniable truth— crept into her mind.
Maybe this was always the choice she would have made.
Maybe it had always been like this.
Maybe, whenever her children were in danger—Han Yu had always come second.
She just never realized it until now.