Supreme Legacy, War Of the Gods

Mo Clan's inner hall was a stark reminder of the family's decline. The once-grand chamber, adorned with faded tapestries and cracked marble pillars, was filled with tension as the elders gathered. At the head of the room sat Mo Tian, the patriarch of the Mo Clan. His hair was streaked with gray, and the weight of his family's downfall was evident in his weary eyes.

"Patriarch," Elder Mo Jing began, his voice sharp, "it is time we address the issue of Mo Xiu. His inability to cultivate is a stain on our family's reputation. The sect recruitments are approaching, and the other clans mock us for harboring such a disgrace."

Several other elders nodded in agreement, their expressions grim.

Mo Tian sighed, rubbing his temples. "He is still family. Expelling him would reflect poorly on our clan."

"Reflect poorly?" Mo Jing scoffed. "Patriarch, our reputation cannot sink any lower. The Mo Clan is already the laughingstock of Qinghe City. Keeping him here only drags us down further."

A younger elder, Mo Yuan, hesitated before speaking. "Perhaps there's another way. We could send him to one of our remote outposts. Out of sight, out of mind."

Mo Tian's gaze darkened. "Enough. I will not banish my own grandson. Mo Xiu may not be a cultivator, but he is still a Mo. This discussion is over."

Despite the patriarch's decision, the tension in the hall remained palpable.

The Shadow of Humiliation

Mo Xiu stood outside the hall, his back pressed against the cold stone wall. He had heard every word, but his expression remained calm. Over the years, he had grown used to the disdain and ridicule of his clan.

"Out of sight, out of mind," he muttered to himself, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Perhaps that's not such a bad idea."

He turned and walked away, heading toward the training grounds. Despite his sealed powers, Mo Xiu maintained a rigorous routine, using his mortal limitations as a means to temper his patience and willpower.

The training grounds were bustling with activity as the younger members of the Mo Clan practiced their techniques. Among them was Mo Ling, who immediately spotted Mo Xiu's arrival.

"Cousin!" Mo Ling called out mockingly. "Here to watch real cultivators train? Or are you still pretending to be one?"

A few of the younger disciples laughed, their jeers echoing across the grounds.

Mo Xiu ignored them, his golden eyes fixed on a training dummy in the corner. He approached it silently, his movements calm and deliberate.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Mo Ling stepped forward, his voice rising. "Don't think you can just walk away whenever you feel like it."

Mo Xiu finally turned to face him, his expression impassive. "Are you looking for a fight, Mo Ling?"

The challenge in his tone caught Mo Ling off guard. He hesitated, then sneered. "Fight? You can't even cultivate. What could you possibly do to me?"

"Then leave me be." Mo Xiu turned back to the training dummy, his hands curling into fists. Though he lacked the strength of a cultivator, his body still retained a trace of his demigod lineage—hidden even from himself. Each punch he threw was precise, each movement calculated.

The others watched in confusion as Mo Xiu continued his practice. Though he lacked spiritual energy, there was a strange rhythm to his strikes, a sense of mastery that belied his "waste" status.

Mo Ling, however, wasn't impressed. "Keep punching, cousin. Maybe one day you'll scare a training dummy."

The laughter of the other disciples followed Mo Xiu as he left the training grounds, but he paid them no mind.

A Chance Encounter

Later that evening, Mo Xiu wandered through the outskirts of Qinghe City. The bustling marketplace had quieted, the streets now bathed in the silver glow of the moon.

As he walked, he noticed a commotion in a nearby alley. A group of thugs had surrounded a young girl, their crude laughter echoing off the walls.

"Come on, sweetheart," one of them said, reaching for her. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

The girl's green eyes burned with defiance as she stepped back, her delicate features framed by long silver hair. She was dressed in simple robes, but there was an air of nobility about her.

Mo Xiu's gaze narrowed. Though he had no desire to interfere, something about the girl felt… familiar.

"Leave her alone," he said, stepping into the alley.

The thugs turned to him, their faces splitting into grins. "Look at this one," one of them sneered. "Think you're a hero, kid?"

Mo Xiu's golden eyes met theirs, cold and unwavering. "No. Just someone who doesn't like bullies."

The leader of the group laughed and stepped forward, swinging a crude club. Mo Xiu sidestepped easily, his movements fluid and precise. With a single well-placed strike, he disarmed the man, sending the club clattering to the ground.

The other thugs hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Despite his lack of cultivation, Mo Xiu moved with the confidence of someone who had faced far greater threats.

"Leave," he said simply.

The men exchanged nervous glances before fleeing, their bravado gone.

The girl stepped forward, her green eyes studying him carefully. "Thank you," she said softly.

Mo Xiu nodded, turning to leave.

"Wait," she called after him. "What's your name?"

He hesitated for a moment before replying. "Mo Xiu."

The girl's lips curved into a faint smile. "I'm Yu Qingling. I owe you a debt, Mo Xiu."

As she spoke, Mo Xiu felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as though their meeting was no mere coincidence. But before he could dwell on it, she bowed and disappeared into the night, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

A Flicker of Power

Later that night, as Mo Xiu sat beneath the willow tree in his courtyard, he closed his eyes and focused. The events of the day had stirred something within him—a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of power.

Though his bloodline remained sealed, Mo Xiu could feel the faintest whisper of his former strength. It was as though the heavens themselves were reminding him of who he truly was.

"The time is coming," he murmured to himself, his golden eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

As the world around him slept, Mo Xiu resolved to begin his quiet preparations. The gods and demons believed him dead, the mortals saw him as a waste, and his enemies underestimated him.

It was the perfect cover.