Beneath the glow of ancient flame lanterns in the Sanctum of the Eternal Flame, time seemed to stand still.
Within these sacred walls, five years had passed—quietly, yet profoundly.
In the heart of the Sutra Vault, a young figure sat cross-legged atop a stone platform, wrapped in silence.
"Five years..."
Aeron Vale's gaze deepened, reflecting both wisdom and calculation.
He had spent a quarter of his twenty-year residency in this world, and every moment had been devoted to growth.
Over those years, Aeron had done more than refine his martial techniques.
He had also peeled back the layers of this world—its history, its rulers, its powers behind the curtain.
All of that knowledge had come from the very halls he lived in.
For the Sanctum of the Eternal Flame, the world's most revered martial monastery, was far from passive in worldly affairs.
While outwardly peaceful and secluded, its network of watchers, scholars, and hidden agents extended deep into the veins of the continent.
No war, rebellion, or regime shift occurred without the Sanctum knowing.
Through this invisible intelligence web, Aeron came to understand the world's ruling power—the Empire of Dalenhart, an unchallenged force in the central lands.
And even the Sanctum—respected as it was—bowed before them.
Why?
Because the Empire wielded what few others could:
Six living Martial Grandmasters.
---
To put it in context:
There were perhaps a dozen Martial Grandmasters alive across the known world.
A single Grandmaster could dominate a nation.
And the Empire had half of all known Grandmasters under its command.
The reason?
Their founder—Emperor Kael Dalenhart—had been no ordinary man.
He had reached a realm few dared dream of:
The Great Grandmaster.
---
The difference between a Grandmaster and a Great Grandmaster wasn't strength.
It was essence.
While all prior realms dealt with the body—muscles, meridians, energy channels—
the realm of Great Grandmaster touched the spirit.
Soul power.
A force more elusive than any muscle could flex or blade could pierce.
To touch the soul was to grasp immortality, clarity, and cosmic resonance.
To most, it was impossible.
"Psychic power..."
Aeron pressed a finger to the center of his brow, his expression unreadable.
Within the ancient texts, he had studied descriptions of Great Grandmasters.
Even here, in the Sanctum's vaults, their ways were described only in legend.
Only a single Great Grandmaster had ever emerged from the monastery—Master Elandar, the founder himself.
His soul techniques had been left behind in fragmented notes—texts hidden on the third floor of the Sutra Vault, high above where most dared to tread.
Aeron had spent the last five years understanding those fragments.
And he had done more than understand them.
---
> "Of every 100 Grandmasters," he recited to himself,
"eighty will never feel the soul.
Nineteen will fail in the attempt.
One may rise… or be consumed."
Soul cultivation was dangerous.
A misstep didn't mean injury—it meant obliteration.
Your physical body could recover from a wound. But if your spirit shattered?
There was no coming back.
Aeron had carefully reviewed 162 different soul-breaking techniques from the vaults—each with their own risks.
Most had death rates above 95%.
Even the method left behind by Elandar, the legendary founder, carried a 96% chance of failure.
It was better than the others.
But not good enough for Aeron.
---
So, using his Heaven-Defying Comprehension, Aeron did what no one else had done.
He designed his own path.
After years of study, failure, revision, and insight—
he created his 163rd soul ascension method.
A method that had zero fatality risk.
A method that allowed for interruption and recovery in case of error.
A method that dared to turn legend into process.
---
"Today," Aeron whispered, rising from his meditation,
"I break into the realm of the Great Grandmaster."
---
Meanwhile, across the Sanctum's sprawling complex…
In the Council Hall, the monastery's top elders—Abbott Ravel, Master Alric of the Martial Hall, and the heads of the Inner Court—sat in quiet conversation.
"Brother Vale," Master Alric mused, "hasn't stepped out of the Sutra Vault in over four years, has he?"
"Correct," replied Abbott Ravel with a nod.
"After his induction, he made brief appearances in the first year… then vanished into study."
"To train in solitude for four straight years," Master Cyrus, head of the Archives, added, "is beyond remarkable. Even the most devout monks lose focus."
"And yet Brother Vale—no distractions, no faltering."
There was a moment of silent awe.
"I wonder," said Alric slowly, "what realm he's reached."
"Surely Innate Peak by now," someone guessed.
"Perhaps," the Abbott said cautiously, "though we must remember—his body was still young when he entered the Innate Realm."
"Three years old," Alric nodded. "His energy and blood couldn't match an adult."
"Exactly. He likely spent the last years stabilizing that gap."
---
The room fell into thoughtful quiet.
"Unless…" Master Cyrus chuckled, "he's a Grandmaster now."
There was polite laughter. No one truly believed that.
After all, becoming a Grandmaster was a feat few achieved in their entire lives.
And Aeron was only eight years old.
---
Suddenly—
BOOM!!!
The entire monastery shuddered as an invisible shockwave burst from the direction of the Sutra Vault.
The tea cups rattled. The candles flickered.
The elders stood instantly.
"What was that?!"
A moment later—
A pulse of pure soul energy washed over the entire temple.
Refined. Stable. Sovereign.
Abbott Ravel's expression shifted from curiosity to shock.
"That… that's psychic power!"
Another elder gasped. "A Great Grandmaster's spirit!"
"But where—?"
Their eyes turned as one toward the source.
The Sutra Vault.
And the aura?
It belonged to Aeron Vale.
---
A dead silence followed.
Then, slowly—one by one—their mouths fell open.
"He… he's only eight years old."
"And he's already... broken through."
"This isn't natural. This isn't possible."
One of them finally voiced what they were all thinking.
"Is this still a human being?"
Another whispered, "Is he even mortal anymore?"
---