Martial Peak: Life Simulator

The cool night air carried the distant hum of insects as the moon bathed the High Heaven Pavilion's territory in silver light. Alone near a lonely, small, wooden house, Yan Xiu stood shirtless, his body drenched in sweat. His muscles tensed and flexed as he swung his sword in a relentless rhythm, the blade cutting through the air with sharp, precise arcs.

His breathing was steady, yet his mind was anything but calm.

He was trying—desperately—to recreate the Flowing Sword Art, the technique he had seen himself create in the simulation. He could still remember the way it felt in that fleeting vision—how the blade moved like a river, unpredictable yet precise, adapting to any obstacle in its path. It had been his technique, something that belonged to him.

And yet, no matter how many times he swung, no matter how hard he tried to recall that sensation, it eluded him. His movements were stiff, unnatural. He could feel the Water Qi within him, but it refused to flow properly.

It was like trying to grasp water with his bare hands—every time he thought he had it, it slipped through his fingers.

He exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance, trying once more. This time, he focused on his muscles, attempting to use his Water Qi—not to control the sword itself, but to strengthen his body, to enhance his strikes.

It was slow at first, a faint trickle of power circulating through his arms. His grip steadied. His movements became a fraction smoother.

But still, it wasn't right.

His strikes lacked the seamless fluidity he had envisioned. His body wasn't responding the way it had in the simulation. He couldn't focus.

Because his mind was somewhere else.

Or rather—on someone else.

The moment he had met that guy, something had awakened inside him. A deep, irrational hatred, like a fire that had been smoldering in his soul long before he was even aware of it. It clouded his thoughts, disrupted his focus, made his every movement feel wrong.

"Fuck!" Yan Xiu's voice echoed through the night, frustration seeping into every syllable. He gritted his teeth, his breath ragged. He had to get stronger. He had to master this technique. He had to push forward.

But no matter what he did, that guy kept invading his thoughts.

"Why can't I get him out of my mind?!"

His grip tightened unconsciously, veins bulging slightly on his arms. His fingers dug into the hilt of his sword, his body trembling—not from exhaustion, but from something deeper.

Hatred.

His teeth clenched. His heart pounded like war drums. That guy… That bastard… He barely even knew him, and yet his mere existence made Yan Xiu feel as if something inside him was being ripped apart.

That suffocating presence. That arrogant gaze. That unshakable air of control, as if he stood above all things.

The thought slipped into his mind before he could stop it.

"Maybe… if I kill him… this thing will end."

His breathing slowed. His pupils contracted slightly.

Yes… Maybe that was the answer.

His sword arm twitched, and suddenly—his movements changed.

The swings that had been rigid and unfocused before now carried a strange sharpness. His body moved instinctively, his strikes becoming faster, stronger. His Water Qi surged, reinforcing his muscles beyond their usual limits.

He wasn't trying to recreate the Flowing Sword Art anymore.

He was swinging purely out of hatred.

The sword cut through the air with a dangerous edge, his strikes fueled by the burning desire to erase that guy's existence.

He would grow stronger. He had to.

Because the next time he saw that guy—

Yan Xiu's sword came to an abrupt stop, the blade trembling slightly in his grip. His chest heaved as the echoes of his strikes faded into the night. His mind, which had been consumed by burning hatred, suddenly jolted back to clarity.

"Yan Xiu! Calm yourself down!" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if trying to shake off a fever. "You don't even know him! How can you say that he's an arrogant bastard and even think about killing him? Maybe he's a good person!"

The thought made him freeze. His own words felt foreign, as if they didn't truly belong to him.

"Really? What's happening to me?"

His grip loosened, and he let out a slow, shaky breath. The raw fury that had consumed him just moments ago had vanished, leaving behind a strange emptiness. He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to suppress the turmoil that still bubbled beneath the surface.

But just as he started speaking again—

Golden words flickered before his eyes.

[Would you like to consume this hatred and transform it into Temporal Energy?]

"Eh?" Yan Xiu's eyes widened in shock. "You can even transform my emotions into Temporal Energy?"

The words remained still, unwavering.

"That... does that even make any sense?"

[Emotions can last for a long time, and thus they can gain Temporal Energy too.]

Yan Xiu's breath hitched.

"Wait! Are you saying that my soul—or the part of the former Yan Xiu's soul that merged with me—has hated this guy for a long time?"

Silence.

The golden text remained, but no response came.

Yan Xiu frowned. He had never considered the possibility before, but the moment the system mentioned it, something inside him stirred. Was this hatred truly his? Or was it an echo from the past? Or even something else entirely?

A strange chill crept up his spine.

"Well..." he exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "I can't ask you anything... I don't even know if you're sentient or not..."

His gaze hardened.

"Then, if it doesn't have any consequences on me—transform this hatred into Temporal Energy."

The golden words shimmered, and at that moment—something shifted inside him.

A strange sensation washed over his body, like a weight being lifted from his soul. The anger that had coiled around his heart like a venomous snake unraveled, dissolving into nothingness. In its place, a warm yet unfamiliar energy surged through his veins.

[Hatred successfully transformed.]

[You have gained 50 Years of Life Simulation Time.]

"Fifty years...?" Yan Xiu whispered, his voice low but filled with awe. He couldn't believe it.

"How strong must that hatred have been... to gain fifty years?" Yan Xiu muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. This definitely wasn't Yan Xiu's hatred, he wasn just too young to have a hatred this old... this was surely something else... something more... mysterious.

His gaze flicked back to the golden text, and he exhaled slowly, realizing the significance. Fifty years. That was a considerable amount of time. The thought of using it—the thought of growing stronger, of learning more, was overwhelming.

He wasn't sure whether to feel proud, worried, or just confused. But one thing was certain: this power was something he couldn't ignore.

"I have to use it," he decided, his voice gaining confidence again.

Without wasting a moment, he focused his mind, the excitement bubbling just beneath the surface but kept in check by his growing curiosity. He had to know what he could do with this much Life Simulation Time.

"Start a new life simulation."

To be continued...

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