The Indomitable Mad God

Chapter 1
"Ugh…"
A pained groan echoed through a slightly dilapidated cottage. Wu Ya awoke from his coma, lying on a narrow bed. His wounds had been treated, but his shattered bones remained unhealed.

"You’re awake? Your resilience is astonishing. With every bone broken, you still survived," remarked an elderly man entering the room, his tone laced with surprise. The old man had found Wu Ya in a dense forest, barely clinging to life, and brought him home to nurse him back to health. Against all odds, Wu Ya had endured nearly half a month in unconsciousness.

"Thank you," Wu Ya replied coldly, his clear eyes flickering with a trace of bloodlust.

"Don’t move. Your bones haven’t mended yet. Rest," the old man urged, seeing Wu Ya attempt to rise. Wu Ya nodded silently.

Once the heir to Blackwater Province’s most powerful faction, the Eight Hundred Miles of Black River, Wu Ya had lost everything. The Divine Hall, Immortal Mountain, and Celestial Kingdom had allied to annihilate his clan, all to seize the Annals of Heaven’s Destruction. His parents and kin had fought to their last breaths to protect him and their legacy. The battle had left tens of thousands dead, even a Martial Saint fallen. The land of Blackwater Province had drowned in blood, the skies darkened.

Wu Ya, shielded by his clansmen’s sacrifice, had fled to Cloud Province with the sacred text.

"I will take vengeance. I will crush those three factions!" Rage burned in his heart, etching sharp resolve across his youthful face.

Half a month passed. Under the old man’s care, Wu Ya’s body healed swiftly. Driven by hatred, he trained relentlessly, day and night.

…

"Old Wen, are there any major sects or academies in Cloud Province?" Wu Ya asked one day.

"Stormcloud Academy is the closest," the elder replied after a moment’s thought.

Wu Ya fell silent. His injuries had healed, but he needed resources to grow stronger. Joining a faction or academy was his best path forward.

In the Endless Continent, power ruled all. Strength determined survival—had the Eight Hundred Miles of Black River been stronger, they might have endured. The hierarchy of cultivation was clear: Martial Apprentice, Warrior, Master, Grandmaster, Sovereign, Paragon, Saint, each divided into nine stages. Reaching the pinnacle demanded time and tribulation.

"I’ll go to Stormcloud Academy," Wu Ya decided.

Old Wen chuckled. "Don’t take this harshly, but Stormcloud Academy is prestigious. Without exceptional talent, you won’t be admitted."

Wu Ya smiled faintly, unperturbed. As the heir of the Black River, his constitution had been tempered since childhood. His innate gift—the Indestructible Saint Body—had saved his life. Legends spoke of those born as supreme beings, destined to dominate the Three Thousand Provinces. Wu Ya was one such prodigy.

"Thank you for saving me. I can’t repay you now, but I swear to honor you in the future," Wu Ya vowed solemnly.

Old Wen waved him off. "This old bones won’t last much longer. Bury me on the mountain peak when the time comes. I’d like to watch the sun and moon rise there."

Wu Ya said nothing but swore inwardly: If possible, I’ll grant you a millennium of life. Having lost all kin, he refused to lose the man who’d saved him.

Days later, fully recovered, Wu Ya slipped away at dawn. No farewells—he couldn’t bear Old Wen’s sorrow.

Stormcloud Academy
Nestled among mist-shrouded peaks, Stormcloud Academy stood as a titan in Cloud Province. Its annual admissions drew thousands, yet fewer than a hundred would pass the stringent trials.

"Form orderly lines! Disorderly conduct means disqualification!" a proctor barked at the crowd.

Wu Ya arrived after days of travel, joining a queue. Confident aspirants entered the gates, only to return dejected. Yet Wu Ya’s resolve held firm.

After hours of waiting, his turn came.

"Name, age, origin," a proctor demanded.

"Wu Ya. Seventeen. Blackwater Province."

The proctor’s eyes narrowed at "Blackwater Province." The Black River’s heir was said to have a talent value of ten. This boy can’t be him—just a refugee with the same name.

"Follow me."

Wu Ya was led to an ancient stone stele—a Heaven’s Mandate Stone that measured innate talent. Values ranged from one to ten; Stormcloud required at least five.

Wu Ya pressed his palm to the stone. Cool energy flowed through him. The stele shimmered, coalescing into the numeral "六" (Six).

"Talent value six. Pass." The proctor nodded, satisfied.

Good thing I suppressed my energy, Wu Ya mused. Had he not, the stele would’ve shattered, as it had in his youth. His true talent exceeded the scale.

Guided into the academy, Wu Ya ignored the stares of other recruits—curiosity, disdain, indifference.

"What’s your talent value?" a chatty youth pestered.

"Six," Wu Ya replied curtly.

"Six?! Impressive! I’m only five!"

"Tch. A mere six, acting so aloof. As if he’s a ten," sneered a richly dressed boy nearby, oozing arrogance.

Wu Ya ignored them all. His path was clear: grow stronger, reclaim his legacy, and drown the Three Great Factions in their own blood.