Zero protocol: Red, The code ascendant

The city was called Wanluo, a coastal trade hub nestled between jagged cliffs and spirit-beast-infested forests. By mortal standards, it was a metropolis. By cultivator standards, it was a backwater.

For Lian Xue, it was an opportunity. Not safety. Never that. But for a few days, it could offer the illusion of peace—and materials she couldn't scavenge from ruins and corpses.

She entered through the western gate dressed in travel-stained robes, a wide-brimmed straw hat shading her silver eyes. Her scythe was folded into a compact rod strapped across her back, its god-metal surface dulled by soot and clay. Her injuries were real this time. The last mercenary had shattered her left forearm. She'd splinted it with her own weapon before escaping.

She looked weak.

That was the point.

The guards at the gate barely glanced at her. Wanluo didn't care about lone travelers unless they brought trouble. Trouble, however, had a habit of following her.

---

Within an hour, she'd rented a room in a rundown inn in the eastern quarter. The walls were moldy. The ceiling leaked. But the owner asked no questions.

She used the last of her low-grade spirit stones to power a spiritual lock on the door. Once secured, she began inventorying her remaining tools.

Three scout flies. One electromagnetic flasher. Two syringes of anesthetic derived from beast glands. One vial of blood-thickener to simulate internal injuries. One folding scythe. And two functional pulse mines—barely.

Her body trembled as she sat on the floor. Her vision blurred for a moment.

"Processing power... sixty-three percent," she muttered.

Pain had a cost. Strategic injuries added stress to her internal systems. Too many calculations under duress and the god-metal frame beneath her skin would start to overheat.

"I need better cooling." Her voice was steady. "Or more power."

Power Level: 5.1 Target: 7.0

She would need at least two full levels before she could take on Foundation-tier sect disciples head-on. And she knew they were coming. She'd killed too many. Too publicly.

Her map projected across her retinal display. Shops. Clinics. Rogue cultivator dens. A few black-market alchemists.

She chose three targets: a scrap vendor for parts, a talisman seller for spiritual ink, and an alchemist rumored to sell illegal body mods to rogue cultivators.

If she timed it right, she could be in and out before anyone noticed.

---

It went smoothly.

At first.

The scrap vendor was easy. She bought shattered puppet parts and broken spiritual cores. With a few tweaks, she could repurpose the core fragments to boost her processing speeds temporarily.

The talisman shop was more interesting. A half-blind cultivator manned the counter, his hands trembling as he sorted through damaged charms. He didn't recognize her. Good.

Then came the alchemist.

She entered through a back alley entrance behind a butcher shop. The smell of blood and incense filled her nose. Two guards glared at her but let her pass after she slipped them a coin coated in a faint magnetic field.

Inside, the alchemist was waiting.

He was old. Wrinkled. His qi was strange—not powerful, but unstable. Corrupted by too many self-experiments. He looked at her and smiled with teeth too sharp.

"You want speed. Reaction upgrades. I see it in your eyes."

She said nothing.

He reached behind the counter and pulled out a vial of black liquid.

"Spirit-forged marrow fluid. Temporary. Painful. But it will make your muscles faster for three hours. Side effects may include seizures, hallucinations, or death."

She took it.

Paid.

Left.

---

The trouble started on her way back.

A young man in jade robes blocked the alley ahead. He was maybe sixteen. Smug. Pretty. And arrogant enough to radiate qi even while standing still.

Behind him, four guards. Strong. Alert. Not from Wanluo.

"You," he said, pointing. "I saw you in the talisman shop. You took the last ink."

Lian Xue didn't respond.

"Do you know who I am? My uncle is the Lord of the Eastfang Sect. That ink was mine."

She stared.

He grew angrier.

"I should have you kneel. Beg. Strip. But today, I'm generous. Apologize, give me your storage ring, and I might forgive you."

She blinked.

"You want my things," she said quietly. "Because you're weak."

The silence that followed was brief.

The first guard moved. Fast. Trained.

She sidestepped. Threw a flash mine. It detonated in pure white.

The second guard lunged blindly—she shattered his kneecap with a sweep.

The jade-robed youth screamed.

She turned, dropped a smoke pellet, and vanished.

---

By the time the city guards arrived, she was already back in her room. She stripped, washed the blood from her arms, and injected the marrow fluid.

It burned.

Her vision blurred. Her skin felt like it was being peeled off. But her reaction time doubled. Her muscles vibrated with potential.

"Power Level: 6.0"

She reinforced her weapon.

Waited.

They came at midnight.

Twenty of them. Cultivators from Eastfang. Mercenaries hired by the boy's family. Some were Qi Consolidation stage. One was Core Formation.

She trapped five in the alley with a wall collapse. Two more were picked off by her drone in sniper mode. She fought three hand-to-hand in the smoke—using pure calculation to outmatch their sloppy forms.

Then came the Core cultivator.

She fled.

Lured him to the cliffside.

Baited him into chasing her onto a half-collapsed rope bridge.

Then detonated the base.

He fell.

She didn't watch him land.

---

By dawn, she was gone.

Wanluo burned behind her. The Eastfang guards would lie, cover their shame. But the stories would spread.

"A ghost woman."

"A mortal demon."

"A rogue weapon user who moved like wind and struck like thunder."

She didn't care.

She walked north.

Power Level: 6.7

Her shoulder still burned. Her legs ached. But the god-metal in her chest thrummed with potential.

Another level soon.

Another tool for survival.

She would keep moving. Keep fighting.

Until the day no one could chase her again.