Shen Yue's heart thrummed with anticipation as the system's voice echoed in his mind, cool and mechanical.
"Host, you may create your first clone for free, without expending spirit energy. Please assume a comfortable position and issue the command."
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. The cave's damp air clung to his skin, and the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance grounded him.
Settling cross-legged on the cold stone floor, Shen Yue adjusted his posture until his body felt at ease, his mind clear.
With a silent thought, he gave the command: Create the clone.
What unfolded before him stole his breath.
A faint shimmer rippled in the air, like heat rising from sun-baked earth. From that distortion, a skeletal frame began to form, bone by bone, gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Muscles wove themselves over the structure, followed by veins and organs, pulsing with life.
In the clone's lower abdomen, a spiritual root glimmered into existence, a delicate lattice of energy.
Finally, skin spread across the figure, smooth and flawless, until a perfect replica of Shen Yue stood before him—naked, motionless, and eerily familiar.
Shen Yue studied the clone, unfazed. After all, it was his own body he saw every morning in the stream's reflection.
Yet, as he marveled at the system's power, a sudden realization jolted him.
"The bracelet," he muttered, eyes widening.
He had forgotten the items stored within his spatial bracelet, relics of unknown origin.
With a flicker of thought, he opened the spatial interface.
A cascade of treasures appeared in his mind's eye—herbs, weapons, scrolls—but one item seized his attention: a pair of ancient robes, dark as midnight, embroidered with cryptic patterns that seemed to pulse faintly.
Without hesitation, Shen Yue stripped off his plain tunic and trousers, tossing them to the clone.
"Put these on," he commanded.
The clone obeyed instantly, dressing itself with mechanical precision.
Shen Yue, meanwhile, slipped into the ancient robes.
At first, they hung loosely, oversized on his lean frame, but then the fabric shimmered and tightened, molding itself to his body as if alive.
He ran his fingers over the intricate embroidery, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
"Of course," he murmured. "These aren't ordinary clothes. Not from that bracelet."
Standing at five feet seven, Shen Yue's youthful frame was strong yet lithe, honed by months of survival and training.
His fair skin glowed faintly in the cave's gloom, and his long black hair, cascading nearly to his lower back, shimmered like polished obsidian.
Catching his reflection in a nearby puddle, he chuckled.
"In another world, I'd be walking runways, not battlefields."
He shook off the thought, turning to the clone.
It stood motionless, awaiting orders, its face an uncanny mirror of his own—sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and an air of quiet intensity.
Curiosity stirred within him.
"System," he asked aloud, "how do I customize its personality?"
A translucent panel materialized before him, listing traits: cautious, intelligent, cold-blooded, demonic, and more.
Shen Yue hesitated, his fingers hovering over the options.
Should he make the clone different? A tool shaped for specific tasks?
No. He wanted a partner, not a puppet.
"Give it my traits," he decided, then added, "and make it a sword lover."
As the system processed his request, a flicker of doubt crept into his mind.
What if it disobeys?
Before he could voice the concern, the system's voice cut through.
"Clones cannot defy the host's commands. Their loyalty is absolute."
Relief washed over him.
"Good," he said softly, then named the clone. "Clone 1."
The system confirmed the assignment, noting that Shen Yue's unique talents—those tied to his soul—could not be transferred.
Everything else, however, was shared: his skills, his instincts, his drive.
When the process concluded, the system announced, "Clone 1 is complete. It will obey any command, even at the cost of its life."
The interface faded, and Clone 1 moved.
It dropped to one knee, head bowed. "Master," it said, its voice identical to Shen Yue's, yet tinged with a formal reverence that felt alien.
Shen Yue's chest tightened.
Seeing himself kneel was unsettling, like staring into a distorted mirror.
"Stand," he said quickly. "From now on, a bow is enough."
Clone 1 rose, clasped its hands, and bowed.
The gesture was fluid, respectful, and eerily precise.
Shen Yue nodded, satisfied, then issued his first true command.
"Leave the cave. Hide near the forest boundary. Stay unseen and observe any battles. Extract talents from the dead, but don't intervene if someone's dying. Occasionally infiltrate the military base and silently kill lower-level barbarians—fourth or fifth stage of Qi Blood Realm. Collect their heads for military rewards."
Clone 1's eyes gleamed with understanding.
"As you command, Master." It turned, its movements swift and silent, employing the Raging Wind Wolf Steps.
In moments, it vanished into the shadows, a ghost born of Shen Yue's will.
Watching it go, Shen Yue felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
For the first time in months, he wasn't alone.
He had avenged his father, stepped onto the path of cultivation, and grown strong enough to command respect in the outer city.
Recognition meant little to him, but the calm settling in his heart was undeniable.
He closed his eyes, reaching inward to sense the subtle shift in his soul—a quiet strength, a flicker of purpose.
When he opened them again, three days had passed.
---
Shen Yue remained hidden in the cave, sustained by the wolf meat preserved in his spatial storage.
The ancient robes, untouched by dirt or wear, clung to him like a second skin.
In those quiet days, he entered the Soul World, diving into the memories of Peng Lei, the man who had destroyed his family.
The truth was a blade to his heart.
Peng Lei had found the bracelet in an ancient temple, where a demonic heart had chosen him as its vessel.
Empowered by its dark energy, he consumed the essence of others to fuel his cultivation.
Shen Yue's father had been one of his victims, murdered in secret, his death falsely reported as a battlefield casualty.
Peng Lei had then stolen his father's 3,000 contribution points, transferring them to his own account.
With no living relatives, those points would revert to the military upon Peng Lei's death.
But Shen Yue had a plan.
He had shared every detail with Clone 1, entrusting it to execute the next steps.
Meanwhile, he trained relentlessly—calisthenics to hone his body, spiritual energy control to sharpen his mind, and combat movements to perfect his instincts.
Each repetition brought him closer to his evolving strength, a quiet promise to himself: No one will take from me again.
One night, a faint rustle broke the cave's silence.
Shen Yue's eyes snapped open, hand instinctively reaching for his blade.
Then he saw it—Clone 1, stepping into the dim light, its borrowed clothes stained with dirt and blood.
It bowed deeply. "Master."
Shen Yue relaxed, a faint smile curving his lips.
"Report."
"The war has ended," Clone 1 said, its voice steady.
"The military has ordered the release of the surviving cannon fodder."
Shen Yue nodded, his mind racing.
"And the plan?"
Clone 1's eyes met his, a mirror of his own resolve.
"All preparations are complete."
Their gazes locked, a silent understanding passing between them.
The path ahead would be treacherous, fraught with enemies and secrets.
But Shen Yue was no longer the grieving boy hiding in the shadows.
He had strength, strategy, and a loyal clone willing to walk the same blood-soaked road.
"It's time," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Time to return to the family."
No more hiding.
No more fear.
He would reclaim what was his—his father's legacy, his honor, his future.
And those who had wronged him would pay, one soul at a time.