Chronicles of a creator From a xianxia universe

And humanity was born.

/ From here, the story begins normally.

A puppeteer boy, Ominis, appeared to be 15 years old, with an average face, 160 cm tall, and dressed in tattered clothes. He had just been robbed by exiles.

“I have no strength left,” said the young man, exhausted. Afraid of being found, he hid in the cave in front of him.

Leaning against the wall, time passed. Afternoon turned into night, and the boy remained there sweating in fear, hunger, and anxiety. Ominis had an athletic build.

From behind the trees of the long forest emerged six barbarian thieves — large, imposing men who robbed everyone they found alone. Hearing their voices, Ominis knew they had tracked him there.

"That brat, we need to make him pay for the scar on my face!" the bandit leader exclaimed, still enraged by the humiliating outcome. "We'll kill him. I can smell him around here," said the bandits' vice-leader, referring to a magical artifact called Bruixola, capable of locating anyone when fed a drop of their blood.

Well… Today I can't be a coward. I must, after all, be brave, or I’ll remain mortal forever. "You trash!" Ominis had to give them a sixth-grade lesson. Seeing him, the bandits ran toward him. When they were just a meter away, the bandit chief attacked first with a punch to his chin. Ominis dodged and kicked the vice-leader. The others, seeing this, joined the attack.

"Kill him!" — shouted the bandit leader — "Whoever kills him will be rewarded with 100 Gogs!" Ominis fought the twelve members of the assault group, killing two with strong punches to the skull. Grabbing the sword of the fallen, he jumped behind two rocks. The remaining ten bandits gathered and surrounded him. All of them, fearing they'd be next, hesitated and waited for the leader’s command.

Ominis was nearly passing out from exhaustion, nervous, and with his fist aching. He realized that if he kept fighting, he’d die. But before he could process this, the vice-leader had disappeared from his field of vision. Ominis felt a gust of wind from the north, turned, and was struck in the head, bleeding and passing out instantly.

The vice-leader was a skilled assassin — unlike the others, even the chief. He had risen through the ranks thanks to his cunning. He was still barbarically muscular, but had tattoos on his head and resembled Anderson Silva. "Boss, let me take care of him." Some bandits, eager for fun and blood, shouted that they wanted to abuse the boy. "No, we can sell him to a very rich lady in the city," — he thought of the money and the puppet-like life Ominis would endure — "he’ll make an excellent sex doll for the nobles. Help me carry him and put him on the horse!"

"Brothers, we’ll get rich this time. I know a very rich and famous woman in the city, with a good reputation, but who secretly loves buying little boys," said the vice-leader, to which the chief asked, "Who is this noble slut?" Laughing at the chief’s curiosity, the vice answered, "Lady Anastasia. But she lives in the Middle East, we’ll have to take him to Nanyue. She’s a countess, temporarily staying there due to political marriages."

“I see…” Realizing the vice’s true capability, the chief felt internally threatened and wanted to kill him, but decided to keep him alive at least until they delivered Ominis.

Ominis was still bleeding from the head, but his wound was healed over the two-day journey. The bandits made several stops, as the trip was long. They rode until they reached a two-story wooden inn on top of a hill — simple but comfortable. The inn was run by a couple, who naturally sensed the men's malicious nature and were suspicious of Ominis’s mistreated appearance.

However, they didn’t interfere, knowing they were powerless to help. They merely watched as the bandits entered the inn. There were ten round tables, some occupied by notable figures; others by men of different ethnicities — some mulatto, some Asian. Ominis even saw a Buddhist, though he didn’t know what that was yet. The man was bald and wore a kasaya with “extern” written on it, something Ominis would recognize in the future.

As the bandits sat at one of the tables, holding and watching Ominis, he continued to scan the room, hoping to find someone powerful to save him. His eyes fell upon the black hair of a young woman with Eastern features. Looking again, he saw she was sitting beside a noble-looking young man, dressed in a blue and white hanfu. His hair wasn’t wavy like Ominis’s, but tied in a queue. The man’s name was Bai, and he was accompanied by the black-haired girl and four others — two men and two women — seemingly his age, though he clearly led them.

At other tables sat men in lamellar armor — apparently low-ranking officers, but in such a remote place, they were considered strong, and few dared oppose them. At another table, four drunk men laughed and argued merrily.

“Did you hear there’s going to be a recruitment for the Taoist sects, the White Lotus, and the Divine Societies?” said one of the drunken men, drawing everyone’s attention. Meanwhile, Ominis watched the counter where two women stood — the innkeeper’s wife and daughter.

Both were blonde with green eyes, wearing white cotehardies that reached their feet. Their red lips stood out, but their loose blonde hair was most striking. They looked young — the mother appearing about thirty, the daughter around nineteen. They alternated between serving and cooking, while the innkeeper, a cheerful man who seemed around forty-five, greeted guests at the counter. On the counter sat a candle, a quill, and a scrap of paper. The innkeeper’s name was Juan Palomeque.

The bandit chief chatted casually with the innkeeper. Meanwhile, the innkeeper’s daughter — the blonde girl — began waiting tables in place of her mother. Ominis watched her, always smiling, but something felt off — perhaps a feeling he imagined. The girl noticed she was being stared at and looked back in confusion. The drunk men at the table also glanced at Ominis, then returned to their conversatio

n. Soon, it was Ominis’s table’s turn.