Cultivator of the End: I Refine My Own Death-Chapter 110 – Tears for the Dead That Never Wept

The world was changing, as it always had in the wake of Rin Xie's footsteps, but now it felt different. It felt heavier. The winds, the skies, even the ground beneath his feet seemed to tremble in response to his existence. The Earth itself recoiled at his presence. The once-pristine air, now tainted by his Death Core, carried an unnatural weight—a suffocating, oppressive aura that bled the color from everything it touched. It was as though his mere being had become an omen, a herald of the end of all things.

Rin had learned to ignore the whispers of dying grass, the occasional flickers of shadow in the corner of his eye. But now, it was unmistakable. Storms followed him. Black rain, thick and viscous as ink, fell wherever he wandered, a shroud of death descending from the heavens with every step he took. The skies churned, turning into roiling masses of clouds that threatened to suffocate the light. There was no sun where Rin went, only the endless storm, a reflection of the darkness that had taken root inside him.

The scent of decay lingered in the air, and the world seemed to bend and warp around him. The trees, their leaves wilting before his gaze, shuddered as he passed, and the distant echoes of the dead resonated in his ears—strange, hollow voices calling to him from the winds, whispering of past sins and future calamities.

As he walked through the land, the dying grass would shift in the wind, its whispers forming his name, "Rin... Rin... Rin..." A slow, rhythmic chant, as if the earth itself was mourning him—mourning what he had become. The sky wept in black tears, and the soil beneath him grew tainted with every step.

There were others who noticed the changes, of course. Cultivators—foolish ones, hungry for power, deluded by their own arrogance. They saw an opportunity in his passing, believing they could exploit it. There were always those who believed they could control death, or that death could be used as a tool. They could never have been more wrong.

The rogue sect had laid their trap well. It was set in a clearing, a dead place, hollowed by their previous sacrifices. Children—mangled corpses from their rituals—were scattered in the dirt, remnants of what had once been human. The sect had devised a cunning plan, intending to bind Rin in a seal of blood and spirit, offering up their most sacred treasure—the souls of children—as bait. They thought that Rin would come for their power, that his rage would lead him into their grasp.

But they underestimated him.

Rin's eyes fell upon the altar where the children were bound, their faces marked with the faintest trace of life. But it was too late. Death had already been etched into their souls. Their bodies were vessels, empty shells awaiting to be consumed by the forces of the sect's twisted rituals. When they saw him, they didn't run or scream. There was nothing in their eyes. Just the hollow gaze of souls already broken.

The leader of the rogue sect, a man cloaked in illusions, stood with a raised hand, prepared to call upon the seals. He muttered incantations beneath his breath, his fingers weaving through the air like a spider's legs weaving a deadly web. Rin watched, indifferent, as the man's spirit power surged around him. The storm above seemed to respond, crackling with malevolent energy. Lightning flashed, and the very air grew thick with death.

"Foolish," Rin muttered. His voice was barely a whisper against the howling wind, but it carried the weight of countless deaths.

In an instant, he moved. His body blurred as he ascended in a storm of blood and rage. The rogue cultivators never stood a chance. Death answered to him now—his mere presence caused the ground to crack and the air to bleed. His hand swept across the air like a blade through flesh, cutting through the sect's defenses, unraveling their seals with a single thought.

The children's souls were trapped, bound by the sect's magic, but Rin felt no hesitation as he tore through their sacrificial bindings. His movements were swift, efficient, and merciless. The air pulsed with energy, a resonance that would be felt for miles.

The sect leaders tried to fight back, their attacks weak and desperate against the overwhelming force of Rin's power. But it was futile. The air itself twisted under the weight of Rin's will. The storm above churned into an uncontrollable frenzy, darkening the sky with black clouds that reached down like tendrils of despair.

One by one, the rogue cultivators fell. Their bodies were ripped apart by the sheer force of his power, disintegrating into dust and ash as their souls were consumed by his Death Core.

Rin's eyes turned to the last child standing in the clearing. She was small, her eyes wide with fear, her small hands clenched into fists. The child looked up at him, and for a moment, there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes—a kind of innocence that had no place in this world.

She did not cry.

Her eyes were dry. She stared at him, her gaze unflinching, her body trembling not with fear, but with the weight of something far deeper. Her soul had been torn apart long before he arrived. She had known death before she had even drawn breath.

The storm above raged in the background, as though it were grieving for her. But the child did not shed a tear. She did not scream. She simply stood there, gazing at him with eyes that had seen too much, eyes that had already wept all the tears they would ever shed.

Rin's chest tightened as he approached her. He wanted to speak, to offer comfort, to tell her that everything would be okay, but the words never came. The truth was, there was nothing left to say. He had seen too many children like her—too many souls that had been torn apart by the world's cruelty.

He had no warmth left in him.

No tears.

No hope.

His hands trembled, and the deathly aura that surrounded him flared violently, nearly choking the life from the dying grass around them. He felt the weight of her gaze upon him—unblinking, unwavering, but hollow. There was no light in her eyes, no humanity left. She had already been consumed by the darkness, just as he had been.

Unable to speak, Rin knelt down before the girl. His hand reached for her soul, pulling it into his grasp with a soft whisper of incantation. He could feel the cold emptiness in her, the utter lack of life, as her soul began to flicker out like a dying flame. The child's gaze never left his, as though in those final moments, she recognized something in him—the same darkness that now coursed through her very being.

With a flick of his wrist, Rin sealed her soul within a jade bead, the essence of her life bound forever in the precious stone. He did not know why. There was no reason, no purpose for it. He simply felt the need to do it. A promise, perhaps. A silent vow.

He turned from the carnage, walking away without a second glance at the remains of the sect, the children, or the girl.

As he walked, his thoughts were clouded, but one thing was certain: He had seen it again. The thing that had shattered him long ago, the thing that had hollowed him out from the inside. That thing he could never seem to erase from his soul.

Grief.

But this time, there was no comfort. No release. Only the feeling of something cold, something broken, hollowing him out even more.

He wrote the child's name in blood on the ground—an unspoken promise, one that only death could understand.

"I will build a place," he whispered into the air, his voice lost to the winds. "A haven, where death cannot touch you. A place where you will never weep again."

He knew the words meant nothing, just as the promise would mean nothing. But it was all he had left. A deathless haven, built upon the bones of the world, made for those who would never know warmth again.

And so, he walked on, into the storm that followed him—forever alone in the silence of death.

To be continued...