They spent the night beneath a shattered cliff, surrounded by jagged stones and wind-whittled statues that had long lost their faces. The stars above twinkled dimly through a veil of mist—the sky here always seemed gray, like it mourned the earth below.
Derick lay on a bed of dry grass, staring up in silence.
He had escaped death.
But where was he now?
The old man sat nearby, cross-legged atop a smooth stone, unmoving except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. His name, Derick had learned, was Master Shen—though he seemed reluctant to call himself that.
"Master of what?" he'd muttered. "Survival? That's all I've got left."
Still, Derick knew he owed this man everything.
The Spark of Knowledge
Morning came with a cold breeze. Derick's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten in over a day.
Master Shen opened his eyes and tossed a small satchel toward him. Inside were dried roots and a hard loaf of bread.
"Eat. Then we begin."
"Begin what?" Derick asked, chewing slowly.
"Your path."
Shen stood and drew a crude circle in the dirt with his staff. Then he sketched twelve dots around it and split them into three layers.
"These are the cultivation realms," he said. "The stages of strength—of evolution. Of freedom."
Derick leaned closer.
"There are twelve major realms," Shen explained. "And each realm has four levels: low, middle, high, and peak."
He tapped the outermost layer.
"Low Stage Realms:
Body Forging Realm
Qi Awakening Realm
Spirit Pulse Realm
Core Formation Realm"
"These are what we see on Earth—or what remains of it. Most never rise beyond the second."
He tapped the middle circle.
"Middle Stage Realms:
5. Soul Sea Realm
6. Heaven Vein Realm
7. Origin Palace Realm
8. Saint Path Realm"
"Few even know these exist. I've only read about them. They require energy Earth no longer has."
Then his finger moved to the inner circle.
"High and Peak Realms:
9. Divine Saint Realm
10. Demi-God Realm
11. True God Realm
12. Transcendent Realm"
"These… are myths to us. Realms where a single breath can shatter mountains. Where death itself can be bargained with."
Derick stared at the chart.
It felt like staring into infinity.
"And… where am I?" he asked.
Shen smiled thinly. "You're nowhere. Yet."
The First Lesson
"Before you cultivate," Shen said, "you must first understand your body. That's where all strength begins. Body Forging Realm. The first gate."
He handed Derick a small stone—plain, smooth, dark gray.
"Hold it. Close your eyes. Breathe slowly. In through your nose. Out through your mouth."
Derick obeyed. After a few minutes, Shen spoke again.
"What do you feel?"
"…Nothing."
"Good. That means your soul hasn't burned out yet."
"…What?"
Shen chuckled. "The demons breed humans for labor, not longevity. But some of us—those with hidden potential—are born with stronger roots. You feel it, don't you?"
Derick opened his eyes. "…I think so. It's like… like something sleeping inside me."
"Exactly. That's your foundation. You can't awaken qi without it."
He stood. "Come. We'll begin with stances."
Blood, Breath, and Bones
The next few days were hell.
Shen trained him from dawn to dusk—no fancy spells, no flying swords, just raw body control. Breathing techniques. Balance. Pain tolerance. How to stretch tendons, drive force into your bones, and channel every movement with intention.
"Body forging isn't about lifting stones," Shen barked, correcting Derick's form. "It's about turning your own body into a weapon."
At night, Derick collapsed into sleep, muscles screaming.
And yet, something in him began to shift.
His limbs grew steadier. His senses sharper. He started hearing the wind differently. Not just the sound—but its rhythm, the subtle way it moved through trees and over stones.
For the first time, he felt alive.
The Shadow That Watches
But even far from the slave pits, they were not safe.
Shen warned him never to light fires too bright. Never to stay in one place too long. The wilderness wasn't empty—it was infested with hidden dangers: feral beasts mutated by dark qi, rogue cultivators turned mad, corrupted remnants of ancient wars.
Once, late at night, Derick woke to find Shen staring into the dark woods.
Eyes glowed faintly in the distance. Watching.
"What is it?" Derick whispered.
"…Hunters," Shen muttered. "Scouts. Not demons—but worse. The kind that serve them in secret. We move at dawn."
Derick didn't sleep after that.
The Whisper Inside
On the sixth night, as Derick sat alone, practicing his breathing near a shallow pond, something stirred within him again.
A faint pulse. Like a heartbeat that didn't belong to him.
Ba-dum.
It came from his chest—not physical, but spiritual.
He clutched the stone Shen had given him, and this time, he felt it hum. Faintly. Like it was resonating with something deeper inside him.
He gasped—and the pulse vanished.
"You're not ready yet," Shen said from behind.
Derick turned. "Did you see that?"
"I felt it," Shen said. "And so did others."
He knelt beside him.
"The first gate is opening. You're stepping onto the path. But the moment you take that step…" He looked into Derick's eyes.
"You will never know peace again."
Derick nodded.
"I don't want peace," he whispered.
"I want power. Enough to free the others."
Shen closed his eyes, as if mourning that answer—and also respecting it.