He has been reincarnated through countless worlds, adorned with billions of mythological terms!

The gray robe was old, faded from washing, and the edges were frayed. The hood was pulled down low, covering most of his face, revealing only a section of his chin—his skin was rough, his cheekbones were high, and his jawline was as sharp as if it had been carved with a knife.

He walked across the wilderness beyond the Great Wall, across the withered grassland that had appeared countless times in his dreams, across the route once taken by the iron cavalry of the nomadic tribes, and across the white bones left behind by the forty-one days of bloody battle sixty years ago—those white bones, half-buried in the soil, blown by the wind, rained on, and gnawed by wild dogs, were no longer white, but grayish-yellow, almost blending into the color of the grassland.

He stopped beside a skeleton.

It was a very complete skeleton. Judging from its size, it belonged to a young man who was no more than twenty years old when he died.

Three ribs were broken, there was a knife mark on the left arm bone, the skull was intact, and the teeth were clenched tightly.

The gray-robed man squatted down and placed something in his hand next to the bones—a small, blue wildflower with dew still clinging to its petals.

He stood up and continued walking.

We left the grassland, crossed the hills, and entered an official road.

A caravan was passing by on the official road. The driver saw a man in a gray robe walking by the roadside and wanted to call out to him to ask if he needed a ride, but he swallowed the words back.

The man in the gray robe walked along the official road for three days, and on the evening of the fourth day, he entered a city.

The name of the city is not important.

The important thing is that there is a reincarnator in this city.

He discovered it in the mind of the adjutant at Yan Hui Pass—although the adjutant was useless, he was still a general of the pass, and his military reports contained a lot of seemingly useless information.

One of the stories mentions a boy in the city who suddenly began to display amazing martial arts talent three months ago, transforming from an unknown hunter's adopted son into someone sought after by several powerful families in the city.

At sixteen years old, he broke through from a second-rate martial artist to the peak of a grandmaster in just three months.

This speed is monstrous among the indigenous people, but standard among the reincarnators.

The man in the gray robe walked through the city streets and stopped at the entrance of an alley.

The alley was narrow, with high walls on both sides, and withered grass growing on the top of the walls.

At the end of the alley was a door with a faded door god image pasted on it, and dim light shone through the crack in the door.

He didn't go into the alley, but stood at the alley entrance and waited.

After about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the door at the end of the alley opened.

A young man emerged from inside—approximately sixteen years old, tall and slender with a handsome face, dressed in a well-tailored dark blue outfit, with a long sword hanging at his waist.

The scabbard was inlaid with several fine jade stones, which shimmered faintly in the twilight.

He walked quickly, his steps were brisk, and there was an uncontrollable sense of pride between his brows, as if he had just been praised and fawned over in some occasion and had not yet returned to the ground from that euphoric state.

The man in the gray robe watched him walk out of the alley and pass by him.

The boy didn't notice the person standing by the roadside. He didn't even glance in that direction—his perception, at the peak of martial arts mastery, was completely unaware of the person standing at the alley entrance at this distance.

Three steps after he had passed, the gray-robed man raised his right hand and drew a line in the air with his index finger.

The line begins at one's own fingertips and ends at the back of the boy's head.

An invisible line.

The boy took two more steps and then stopped.

He stood in the middle of the street, the smugness on his face still lingering, but his eyes had already changed—the instinct to survive countless reincarnations sounded an alarm deep within his consciousness at the last moment.

He didn't turn around, but instead fell forward, his body exploding into a cloud of blood mist the moment he hit the ground.

After the blood mist dissipated, the boy's figure had already disappeared at the end of the street.

Blood Escape Technique.

The gray-robed man lowered his finger and followed.

His stride was neither too long nor too short, just like when he came out of Yanhui Pass.

The boy ran wildly through the city.

The Blood Escape Technique burned 30% of his life essence, in exchange for a five-fold increase in speed within the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.

He crossed three streets, climbed over two walls, crawled under a tarpaulin in a vegetable market, and finally jumped into a dry drainage ditch.

The drainage ditch led out of the city, its exit behind a mass grave—the escape route he had memorized from the very first day he was reborn into this world.

Every reincarnator leaves themselves a way out, and he has never forgotten this since the third world.

It was completely dark when he climbed out of the drain.

The phosphorescent lights flickered on the mass grave, like countless cold, lifeless eyes.

He leaned against the stone wall of the drainage ditch, panting heavily, his right hand gripping the sword, his left hand pressed against his chest, feeling the throbbing pain left by the burning of his essence.

Then he saw the man in the gray robe.

He stood under a withered tree at the edge of the mass grave, his hood pulled low so the moonlight couldn't reach his face.

The boy did not ask "Who are you?" or "Why did you kill me?"

Such dialogue is unnecessary between reincarnators.

He drew his sword.

The sound of the longsword being drawn was particularly crisp in the mass grave, and a layer of pale blue light flowed across the blade—wind-attribute true energy, which he had cultivated to the highest level.

The sound of the air being cut by the sword was like the tearing of cloth.

The gray-robed man tilted his head slightly, just enough for the sword to graz the edge of his hood.

The sword energy struck the withered tree behind him, splitting the trunk in the middle and causing it to fall to either side, kicking up a cloud of dust.

The boy sheathed his sword and slashed again.

The second sword strike was faster and more cunning than the first—slashing diagonally from the lower right to the upper left, aiming at the gray-robed man's throat.

The gray-robed man took a step back, exactly one step.

The sword tip grazed his throat, separated by a layer of air, without even touching his collar.

The boy failed to unleash his third sword strike.

He held the sword horizontally in front of him, made a sword incantation with his left hand, and channeled all his inner energy into the sword.

A pale blue light shone brightly, illuminating half of the mass grave.

Then he did something that made the gray-robed man pause slightly—he threw away his sword.

It wasn't released from the hand; it was thrown intentionally.

The longsword transformed into a streak of blue light, shooting towards the gray-robed man's face. He then turned and ran, not towards the deeper parts of the city, but towards the direction he had come from—the city itself.

This move took the gray-robed man by surprise.

Most reincarnators instinctively run towards less populated areas, into wilderness, or to the farthest possible place when fleeing for their lives.

But the boy ran back, ran towards the city.

There are many people in the city, and in crowded places, reincarnators dare not act recklessly—this is an unspoken rule among reincarnators.

It wasn't because I was worried about being found out by the natives, but because doing so would be discovered by other reincarnators.

Those who expose their location in the cycle of reincarnation are essentially waiting to die.

The gray-robed man reached out and caught the sword.

The azure true energy on the sword struggled for a moment in his palm, like a snake being pinched at its vital point, before calming down and the light went out.

He casually stuck his sword into the ground and continued walking forward.