Zero protocol: Red, The code ascendant

The path northward was broken and steep.

Lian Xue's robe was torn along the right side, soaked in rain and blood. Her breath rasped through clenched teeth, each exhale laced with heat from the marrow injection. The burn hadn't stopped yet. Her muscles still twitched, twitching with phantom spasms like lightning flashes under her skin.

But she didn't slow.

The path dipped into a narrow canyon. She traced it without sound, barefoot now—boots lost after the fall debris scraped against jagged stone. Her weapon remained sheathed in its rod form across her back. Every few minutes, her scout drones pulsed green along her vision overlay. Clear for now.

Power Level: 6.7

The world wasn't impressed by it. Neither was she.

A single Core cultivator had nearly caved in her chest with one strike. Only her planning—her trap—had turned the odds. And even then, it hadn't been clean. Her shoulder still hadn't fully reset. Pain dug into the joint with every swing.

She reached a stone outcrop where wild moss clung to the cliff face. Without a word, she pressed her palm to the cool rock and waited. A low click sounded.

The wall opened.

Not magic. Not a formation. Just physics.

She had carved this refuge a week ago, anticipating retreat. One of several fallback shelters, all built with her own tools. The room inside was barely larger than a storage closet. But it was clean, dry, and rigged for concealment.

She entered. Sealed it shut. Slumped.

For three hours, Lian Xue did nothing but listen to her own pulse.

---

When she woke, it was past midnight.

The pain had dulled. The marrow serum had burned out. Her limbs felt sluggish again. Her body throbbed with bruises and damage she hadn't had time to address. She sat cross-legged, connected a thermal needle to her thigh, and let the nanometal inside her recalibrate.

No upgrades this time.

But she didn't need more tools.

She needed understanding.

That Core cultivator from Eastfang hadn't been weak. But they hadn't fought smart either. He relied on brute strength and spiritual pressure, not tactics. If he had approached quietly, or sealed off her escape route first...

She would've died.

Lian Xue exhaled. Her breath fogged the air.

"Too close."

---

She stayed hidden for two days. Not idle. Never idle.

Her drones scouted the surrounding miles, tracking patrols, gossip, and mercenary movement. Eastfang was in chaos. The sect's Core disciple had survived the fall—crippled, but alive. His face had been burned. His pride, shattered.

They offered a new bounty: ten thousand spirit stones for Lian Xue, dead or alive.

More worrying were the rumors.

"She uses metal that moves." "She disappears into mist." "Her weapon turns into a dozen forms."

Too accurate.

She needed to shift tactics.

Her presence couldn't remain an urban myth. It had become too precise.

Which meant it was time to leave this region.

But she couldn't travel without repairs.

And she couldn't repair without components.

---

Night fell again.

Lian Xue crossed the forest silently. A shallow river bisected the trees, carving a fog-filled gorge through the stone. That fog became her cloak. She moved under its cover, her steps soundless.

A rogue camp lay ahead—half-hunters, half-cultivators. Former sect disciples. Wandering blades. People who valued strength more than rules.

She didn't plan to kill them.

Just borrow from them.

She waited until midnight. Then dropped into the outskirts of the camp like a whisper.

Scout flies disabled alarm wards. Metal dust disrupted fire-based detection spells. Her own steps passed between shadows like wind between reeds.

She reached their forge tent.

Inside: spirit iron, smelted dragon bone, and two dismantled puppets left to rust.

Perfect.

She stole only what she needed—light materials, fused cores, and magnetic dampeners. Not enough to trigger a full inspection.

And yet—

"Who goes there!"

A voice—young, sharp. She turned.

A boy. No older than thirteen. Holding a spirit torch and a shaking blade.

He blinked.

Saw her silver eyes.

She moved.

One twist—pressure point. The boy collapsed without a sound, unconscious. No injuries. She caught him before he hit the floor. Lowered him gently.

Then vanished into the fog again.

---

Back in her refuge, she rebuilt.

A new central coil. Reinforced cooling lines. Her weapon, now enhanced with impact-guided shape memory, responded faster. Her drones—fitted with noise-filtered micro-blades—could now disarm an enemy without alerting others.

She ran diagnostics. Then slept.

---

Day four.

Another threat.

Not mercenaries this time.

A bounty sect.

Small. Efficient. Known as the Bronze Vow Hall. Specialized in hunting high-value targets with coordinated precision.

They were close.

Too close.

Lian Xue triggered her final warning trap—an explosive clay figurine three hundred meters from her shelter.

It detonated at dawn.

By the time the Bronze Vow team reached the site, she was gone.

She ran through the ravine. Cold wind ripped at her robes. Arrows—enchanted—whistled behind her.

One scraped her arm. Another struck her thigh.

She stumbled, rolled, flung a smoke drone behind her. It burst—violet mist flooding the ravine.

She limped. Blood ran down her leg. Her breath turned ragged. Her left hand trembled.

Her pursuers fanned out, surrounding her.

The Bronze Vow leader, a woman with black hair and snake tattoos along her arms, called out:

"Surrender the tool, girl. You don't belong in this world."

Lian Xue straightened.

Her eyes glowed faintly. Not from power. But from resolve.

"You're right. I don't."

The weapon at her back slid free—shifting, expanding into a chained halberd with twin-edged blades.

"But I'm staying anyway."

They rushed her.

She met them.

Not like a cultivator. Not like a warrior.

But like a machine programmed for survival.

Every step she took was an algorithm. Every motion, a refined strike. Her weapon spun—blades folding mid-air, redirecting force, smashing ribs, slicing tendons.

She didn't win easily.

She bled.

Her wounds grew deeper. Her foot slipped once. A blade caught her side. She dropped to a knee.

But she rose again.

And when the fight was over, six bodies lay broken.

Power Level: 7.0

New Ability Unlocked: Pulse Skin – The god-metal beneath her surface could now emit a one-second energy pulse, enough to deflect one spiritual strike every hour.

Not strong. Not flashy.

But it would keep her alive.

---

She collapsed in the forest after the battle.

Hours passed.

Her wounds sealed slowly, body trembling from exhaustion. She stared up at the sky through trembling lashes.

"Still alive..."

No rest.

No allies.

Only the hunt.

But that was fine.

She whispered to the leaves above her.

"If this world won't make room for me... I'll carve it open myself."

Then she passed out.

But even unconscious—her hand still held her weapon.

The forge spark of survival still lit in her chest.

And her next enemies?

They'd never see her coming.