I Become Sect master In Another World

The air trembled.

The mist that hung over the graveyard began to deepen once more — thickening into a dense curtain that swallowed the clearing. What had once been a pale haze turned almost solid, like grey smoke woven with shadow.

The laughter and lightness that had followed victory vanished instantly. The disciples of both sects fell silent, glancing around with unease as the fog seemed to breathe — inhaling and exhaling like a living beast.

A faint voice drifted through the mist.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't clear. But it felt close — too close — like a whisper crawling straight into their bones.

Shaurya's smile faltered.

He turned slowly, scanning the area, but even his golden gaze couldn't pierce through the deepening fog. The visibility dropped to barely a few feet.

Then came the change — a sudden drop in temperature that made every breath visible. The warm, humid air of the forest turned to biting cold, the kind that crept under skin and gnawed at the spirit.

The disciples shivered. Their auras flickered faintly as if trying to fight off the weight pressing upon them.

A faint crimson mist began to rise from the ground, swirling around their feet like blood-tinged smoke.

The atmosphere grew heavier — oppressive — thick with ominous spiritual energy that seemed to hum with malice.

The Sanatan Flame Sect disciples instinctively drew closer to each other, tightening formation. The Moonlight Pavilion disciples pressed toward them as well, their fear visible.

Meng Liyu's eyes widened, her voice trembling.

"What is going on? What is this spiritual pressure?"

She stepped up beside Elder Lin Shu and Elder Liya, drawing her sword in one smooth motion. The faint glow of her blade shimmered weakly against the dark mist.

Across the battlefield, Wang Tian and Luo Chen still stood among the remains of the dead cultivators they had just slain. The ground around them was stained black with decayed blood.

Their expressions had turned sharp, the playfulness gone. They gripped the hilts of their swords tightly with their right hands, auras beginning to stir again.

Then, suddenly —

A sound.

A low, vibrating tone — like the hum of a distant bell — echoed through the air.

They all turned toward the direction it came from.

Something was moving within the fog.

A shadowy figure emerged slowly from the thick, swirling grey, its steps silent but its presence deafening. The crimson mist flared violently, merging with the grey, forming a two-toned fog that painted everything in blood and smoke.

A wave of spiritual pressure slammed across the clearing.

Even Shaurya's eyes widened slightly. The aura was dense — ancient, dark, and yet alive.

He clenched his fist, golden sparks dancing faintly across his knuckles.

Wang Tian and Luo Chen tensed, their knuckles white on their sword hilts.

The figure stepped closer.

And then it appeared.

A man — or what was left of one.

His body was thin, fragile, grotesquely elongated. His skin was ashen grey, stretched tight across his bones, and covered with faint blue lines that glowed like cursed veins. His chest rose and fell slowly — not with life, but something between it and death.

No hair. No beard. No color of humanity left.

His posture was slightly bent, and his eyes… molten gold, glowing faintly from deep sockets. The crimson mist coiled around his form like loyal serpents, feeding him, breathing with him. His expression was unreadable — something between boredom and disdain.

A low sound escaped his lips — a whoosh, almost like an exhale of the dead.

Then — he vanished.

A blur of motion.

Before anyone could even blink, he was gone from sight — and then suddenly there, between Wang Tian and Luo Chen.

He struck.

Both fists shot forward like lightning.

His blows hit both disciples square in the abdomen with bone-cracking force.

Thud!

Wang Tian and Luo Chen coughed blood instantly, their auras shattering as they were thrown backward. Their bodies flipped through the air and hit the ground hard, sliding across the cracked earth until they fell beside Shaurya.

Shaurya's eyes widened, the impact shaking the ground beneath him.

Both disciples lay on the ground, coughing blood, bodies trembling from the impact.

The others froze.

Xiao Rui's voice trembled.

"What… He knocked both of them down with a single punch!"

Muo Qian and Su Quan rushed forward immediately — Muo Qian kneeling beside Wang Tian, while Su Quan supported Luo Chen, helping them sit upright.

Shaurya's jaw tightened, his fist clenching hard enough that his knuckles cracked. His eyes locked on the grey-skinned stranger.

His expression darkened.

Then, in his mind, he whispered:

Hey, Systu… Who is that guy?

The system's voice echoed softly in his consciousness.

> "You're right, Host… He's no demon, nor a dead human. He is a Ghost Cultivator."

Shaurya's eyes widened.

"Ghost Cultivator? What do you mean?"

> "A Ghost Cultivator," the system explained, "is not a spirit or a soul. They are alive — but cultivate ghostly arts, controlling spirits, corpses, and Yin qi. They walk the Ghost Dao while living, eventually transforming into ghostly beings or undead immortals. They reject death, fate, and reincarnation — seeking eternal existence through defiance. It's taboo… and terrifyingly powerful."

Shaurya tilted his head slightly, his voice calm but cutting.

"So you are a Ghost Cultivator."

The stranger's eyes flickered faintly — a hint of surprise breaking through his apathy.

Around them, the others gasped.

Elder Liya's jaw dropped.

"Wait, what… What is someone from the Ghost Clan doing here?"

Elder Wan's voice trembled.

"Ghost Cultivators are too rare… too hidden. I never expected to see one."

The man tilted his head, his voice calm and cold.

"Oh, so Ghost Cultivators are rare now?"

He sighed quietly, cracking his neck with a faint pop.

"Well, it's been so long, I'm not surprised."

He flexed his fingers — bones creaking softly.

Shaurya stepped forward slowly, hands sliding into his pockets, his tone now ice-cold.

"You look powerful. That means you've devoured too many souls and killed too many people."

The man — Yang Ling — smiled faintly, thin lips curling upward.

"You guessed right. I've devoured souls you can't even count, boy."

Shaurya's gaze hardened, unreadable, his tone low and sharp.

"Do you kill them just to increase your powers?"

Yang Ling's grin widened, showing teeth too white for something so dead.

"Mostly… I kill them, devour their souls to increase my powers. But sometimes…" His voice dropped, darker, almost amused. "Sometimes I just kill for fun."

A wide, twisted grin stretched across his face.

Shaurya's expression froze — calm, but the fury in his eyes was unmistakable.

His voice turned colder than the mist.

"Do you think this is funny? You're purely evil."

Yang Ling laughed, his tone dripping with arrogance.

"You can say that. Yang Ling is purely evil."

Shaurya closed his eyes.

He inhaled deeply — the air trembling around him — then exhaled sharply.

When his eyes opened again, they were no longer black.

They were gold.

The golden chakra mark ignited on his forehead. His aura surged outward, crackling with divine fury. The very ground beneath him began to tremble.

His voice thundered, filled with divine wrath.

"Why do you kill people? Why do you enjoy it? You kill so many just for power! Do you have any idea… how many families you've destroyed? You're heartless. Purely evil. You will pay the price for your sins!"

His golden aura burst outward, shaking the entire clearing. The mist rippled and the ground split in hairline cracks beneath his feet.

Yang Ling's laughter echoed over the sound — deep, mocking.

"Oh, is that so? You talk big, boy. I'll enjoy killing you… No, I won't kill you first."

His eyes gleamed crimson.

"I'll kill everyone behind you first — devour their souls one by one — and save yours for last."

His grey aura erupted, roaring like a storm.

He vanished, appearing above Shaurya in an instant, fist raised high.

"Let's see you protect them!"

His blow came crashing down like thunder.

The ground exploded in a massive crater, dust shooting upward like a wave.

But — Shaurya wasn't there.

Yang Ling blinked, surprise flickering across his expression.

He turned sharply — and froze.

Shaurya was standing behind him, his back turned, golden aura flaring faintly.

Yang Ling growled, twisting his neck with a crack before launching another punch.

Shaurya sidestepped fluidly, the wind from the blow cutting through the mist.

Yang Ling swung again, faster.

This time, Shaurya's upper kick collided with his chin, snapping his head upward and forcing him back several steps.

Yang Ling stumbled, his bare feet grinding against the dirt. But before he could recover, Shaurya appeared in front of him again — golden energy radiating like sunlight through the fog.

Yang Ling ducked low, dodging the blow, then retaliated with a vicious uppercut that slammed into Shaurya's jaw.

Shaurya was thrown backward — but he flipped midair, landing gracefully on his feet.

The two faced each other again — eyes locked, auras blazing.

The air between them crackled with raw energy — gold clashing against grey.

Then, without a word, they stepped forward simultaneously.

Shaurya's right fist flared with divine golden light.

Yang Ling's left fist pulsed with ghostly grey.

They both swung.

The world seemed to slow.

Every disciple froze where they stood,

Their golden and grey fists cut through the air — a breath apart — light and shadow about to collide… and the world held its breath.

To be continued...