The Strongest Body Customization System

You ever watch someone too still?

Like, too still?

Most people fidget. Scratch their arm. Breathe loud. Look around. But this guy, Ian, he didn't do any of that. He just sat in that corner of the library, surrounded by scrolls and tablets, like the world didn't exist outside the ink.

To some, that was normal.

To Ren, it was a problem.

Who was Ren?

Good question.

He didn't have a sect badge, didn't wear inner disciple robes, and definitely didn't participate in the illusion meditation sessions. But no one really asked questions when you kept your head down and moved like you belonged. Especially not in a place full of people obsessed with the mind.

Ren watched Ian for three days.

At first, it was out of habit. Ren was a rogue cultivator. Paranoia kept him alive. But then curiosity took over.

Because Ian didn't act like anyone else.

He asked too many questions. Quiet ones, yes, but constant. The kind that meant something.

Why are the oldest texts in this library missing authors?

Why is the city shaped in a perfect spiral?

Why does the local Divine Ki move against the formations at night?

Questions like that.

Who even notices that stuff?

Was it normal to notice that stuff?

Ren didn't think so.

And that was the problem.

Because if Ian wasn't normal, then he might be dangerous.

And if he was dangerous, then he might be valuable.

Or vulnerable.

So the question became: What would someone like him be worth, dead?

Rogue cultivators like Ren didn't operate on sect rules. There was no oaths, no elders, no "five principles of Daoist brotherhood." There was only one rule:

Take before you're taken.

On the fourth night, Ren followed Ian.

Ian didn't notice. Or maybe he did. Who knows? Some people are like that, too calm. Makes you wonder: Are they weak? Or just waiting for the right moment to kill you?

Ren didn't care. He moved with silence-steps, a technique he learned from an assassin in the Ash Bone Region. He didn't need to get close. Just line of sight.

He waited until Ian passed through a narrow corridor of stone mirrors between the meditation chambers and the outer market district. No one around. No guards. No formation seals.

Perfect.

Ren pulled the talisman from his sleeve, chaos-threaded, infused with destabilized Qi. Not deadly, but disorienting. Open the target's soul defenses for just a moment.

Then hit with a compressed curse spear.

One shot. Quick kill.

Take the body. Soul ring. Scan the memory imprint. Sell what you can. Bury the rest.

That was the plan.

But you ever have that gut feeling? That tingle, like something's wrong before it even starts?

Ren hesitated.

He looked at Ian's back. Just standing there. Quiet. Hands in his robe sleeves.

No aura. No pressure. No defense.

Almost… too undefended.

That's when the second question hit Ren:

What kind of cultivator doesn't raise a single barrier while walking alone at night in a Chaos-grade city?

He clenched the talisman tighter.

"Whatever," Ren whispered. "He won't even know what hit him."

You ever notice how quiet the world gets right before something violent happens?

It's not like in movies, no swelling music, no dramatic thunderclap. It's just... still. Empty. Like the world's holding its breath.

Ren was holding his breath, too. One step out from the shadow, talisman glowing a soft red. Almost pretty, in a way. Funny how deadly things can be beautiful. Like nightshade. Or cursed women. Or this talisman that was probably worth more than anything he owned.

He didn't hesitate anymore. His hand moved. Fast. Precise.

The talisman flared, the compressed curse spear snapped forward, silent, almost elegant.

But Ian moved.

No, moved is the wrong word.

He vanished. Like a shadow getting erased by the sun.

Ren blinked, once, and Ian was behind him.

How? That made no sense. He was watching. He had line of sight. There were no flickers, no spatial tears, no Qi shift. Just... nothing, and then Ian was there, his voice low, calm, way too calm.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Ren spun, pulled a dagger from his sleeve, spirit-infused, curse-laced, obsidian edge. The kind of weapon you only use when you don't want the soul to reincarnate.

He slashed. Wide arc. Fast.

Ian didn't even move. He just lifted one hand.

And that was when everything went wrong.

The air cracked.

Ren's dagger shattered like glass, no resistance, no clash of energy, just gone.

And then the sky bled.

Okay, not literally, but that's how it looked. Black lightning spidered overhead. The clouds, if they even were clouds, swirled into wings. Enormous. Ethereal. Burning at the edges with fractured gold.

Chaos angel.

Ren's knees locked. His breath came shallow.

You know what chaos angels are? Most people think they're just myths. Or remnants from the War Beyond the Gate. Something you read about in old scrolls and think, "Huh, that's cool," and then move on because it sounds too out there to be real.

But this one was real.

Ian wasn't glowing with power. He was drowning in it. His hair lifted in the breeze of his own aura. His eyes were still human, kind of, but filled with something ancient. Not rage. Not hate.

Just decision.

Ren fell to his knees. He didn't even mean to. His body just... gave up.

"I surrender," he muttered. "I surrender. I didn't know. I thought you were just some obsessed scroll rat. I wasn't gonna, look, I didn't even use the soul extractor..."

"You were going to," Ian said. Voice like steel wrapped in silk. "Intent matters."

Ren swallowed. "Please. Don't kill me. I'm not your enemy."

Ian was quiet. The wings behind him flickered, almost fading, then surged again, massive shadows stretching down the corridor. No wind. No temperature. Just... that weight.

That unbearable presence.

"Every rogue cultivator says that," Ian said. "Until the next time. You saw me, you thought: easy mark. No defenses. High knowledge value."

He wasn't wrong.

Ren had done this before. Three times. Four? He lost count. It's how he survived.

"I won't do it again," he lied. He didn't even try to make it sound convincing. Just desperation. Maybe that would work.

Ian stared down at him for a long time. Too long.

And then he said something that stuck with Ren more than anything else.

"If you'd succeeded, you wouldn't have felt guilt. You'd have felt profit."

Ren opened his mouth. No words came out.

"There are two kinds of danger in this world," Ian continued. "The kind that kills you because it's chaotic. And the kind that kills you because it chooses to."

The lightning gathered in his hand. Not a spear. Not a blade. Just a shape. Raw, unfiltered destruction.

Ren wanted to beg. He really did.

But part of him knew it wouldn't work. Ian wasn't angry. He wasn't emotional. That was the scariest part.