No.441 walked with steady steps, his eyes scanning every movement in the trees around him. His time in the forest taught him how to move quiet, how to listen. Every crack of a branch or rustle in the leaves set him on edge, but nothing attacked him that morning.
Eventually, after climbing a gentle rise in the terrain, the forest began to thin. He slowed down as sunlight poured more freely through the leaves, and then—
Open space.
He blinked at the sight.
The trees finally broke apart, revealing a wide stretch of plains. Grass rolled gently with the wind. There were no beasts in sight, no sounds but the low hum of wind and the chirping of distant birds.
Further out, past the first rise of the hills, he saw something else.
Buildings.
Small ones.
A town.
He froze. His heart beat faster. For a moment, he didn't know what to feel.
Hope?
Worry?
He didn't even know if it was safe.
"...System," he said quietly. "What is this place? This world. I don't know anything."
[Query registered.]
Beginning general knowledge overview...
[You are currently in the Astral Chain Realm.]
A vast continent ruled by multiple sects, clans, and unaffiliated factions.
Cultivators, merchants, and ordinary people coexist—though not always peacefully.
Power dictates status. Cultivation determines survival.
No.441 frowned.
"So... are towns like that safe for someone like me?"
Some are neutral.
Some are sect-controlled.
The one ahead is likely an open-neutral settlement. Safe for merchants, wanderers, and travelers. However...
[Caution.]
You are still marked with a Slave Imprint.
This brand, located on your lower back, may be detected by certain cultivators, bounty seekers, or sect officials.
Risk level: Moderate.
He touched the back of his shirt without thinking. "Is there a way to remove it?"
Yes.
Options include sacred healing flames, high-tier artifact cleansing, and advanced system override (unlocked at later system levels).
Until then, you must avoid exposing it.
He stayed quiet for a moment, staring out at the town.
"So that town... might be the start. Or another trap."
Correct.
No.441 looked down at his hands. Then at the faint movement of Oathlink's chain, gently coiled along his forearm.
"System. Do regular people live out here? Or is everyone a cultivator?"
Most towns contain both. Farmers, laborers, traders—all exist. However, cultivators are above them.
Some sects recruit from these areas. Some hunt in them.
You must blend in until you're strong enough to stand out.
He nodded once, quietly.
The wind pushed softly through the plains ahead.
A real town.
No.441 walked with slow, careful steps.
The streets were packed with movement—men unloading crates from wagons, women dragging carts behind them, merchants shouting out prices. The smells of cooked meat, smoke, and fruit mixed with the noise of footsteps and talk.
He kept to the side, eyes watching for anyone too curious.
But nobody looked at him twice.
The town was used to travelers. Used to strangers. That helped.
The system gave him a quiet nudge.
[Recommend: Basic Trade.]
Nearest vendor with beast crystal knowledge: 120 meters northeast.
Classification: Low-risk trader. Low likelihood of deception.
He followed the marked path, keeping his head low. Eventually, he saw a short stall set up under faded canvas. Behind it stood a short man with thick hands and a crooked tooth, counting coins into a small box.
Two knives hung at his waist, dull and chipped—but real.
No.441 stepped up quietly. "I have some crystals to sell."
The man looked up. "You a hunter?"
No.441 didn't answer.
"...Right," the man said, squinting. "Let's see what you've got."
No.441 reached into his pocket and pulled out the first one.
[Star Crystal – Lesser Grade]
Beast type: Razorhide Boar
Value estimate: 12–18 Silver
The man held it up to the light, turned it in his hand, then grunted. "Decent clarity. Faint pulse. Boar-type?"
No.441 nodded once.
The man checked the other two crystals. "I'll give you 50 silver for all three."
No.441 paused. Looked down at the coins on the table. He had no idea if that was fair. He kept his voice calm. "System. Fair price?"
Price is within acceptable market range for this region. 54–57 silver is ideal, 50 is average.
He nodded. "Fine."
The man handed him a small leather pouch. Coins clinked inside. "Pleasure doing business."
No.441 left the stall, tucking the pouch deep into his shirt.
He had been paid.
He had been awarded for him effort.
Not stolen from, forced, beated.
He didn't spend it yet. He walked more. Listened. Watched.
He passed a blacksmith hammering at a dented blade, a child chasing a bird across the street, a half-drunken man sitting on the side of the road trying to fix his sandal.
It was all so normal.
He saw a small shop tucked behind the main road with a wooden sign that said:
[Rest, Eat, Sleep – 2 Silver a Night]
He stepped inside.
And for the first time in his life, he paid for a place to sleep.
No.441 sat at the edge of the bed for a long time before he touched it. He pressed down on the blanket. Soft. Too soft.
He checked the door again.
Locked.
He glanced at the window.
Closed.
Still… he didn't lie down. Not yet.
He stood under the wash basin in the corner of the room, scrubbing himself with the bar of rough soap they gave him at the desk. The water was cold, but it didn't matter. It peeled away the dried blood from his neck. The sweat. The dirt from the forest.
He scrubbed his arms until they stung. Washed his hair twice.
He leaned forward and looked at his reflection in the dented mirror.
The same face. But clearer. Sharper. He looked… alive.
He sat cross-legged on the bed to eat. The food came in a small basket: bread, dried fruit, some meat wrapped in paper.
He didn't eat fast.
There was no rush. No kicks. No yelling. No one yanked it away halfway through.
He chewed slow. Swallowed slow.
And then leaned back into the pillow.
The bed creaked under his weight. He tensed.
It felt wrong—too soft, too loose, too unguarded. He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall.
His body wanted to drop to the floor.
But his mind didn't.
He stayed on the bed.
And eventually, without even realizing when—
He fell asleep.
The light from the window stretched across the wooden floor by the time No.441 opened his eyes.
He didn't jolt awake. There was no shouting, no whip crack, no boots.
Just a warm ache in his muscles.
He sat up, legs crossed.
[Passive Cultivation detected.]
Would you like to claim accumulated progress?
He blinked. "How much?"
[Stored Energy: 1.2% Overload]
Progress toward Astral Tier: Stardust Initiate – Peak (100%+)
Conversion in progress...
He felt it before he saw it.
That steady hum in his chest—it jumped, swelled, then shifted. His breathing slowed on instinct. The warmth behind his sternum thickened, then expanded.
[Tier Ascension Complete.]
Astral Heart Tier: True Shardweaver – 2%
Astral Heart Core Strength: Moderate
Cultivation Efficiency: +12%
He opened his eyes.
The world looked the same.
But something inside him felt... clearer. Like his limbs moved more easily, like his heartbeat had synced with something deeper than blood.
He stared at his hands.
No sparks. No glow.
But there was strength. A sliver of it.
Something earned.
"System," he said after a while. "What does that actually mean? True Shardweaver? Where do I even stand?"
The reply came quickly.
[Astral Heart Tiers:]
Stardust Initiate
Shardweaver
Comet Soul
Celestial Bloom
Nova Pulse
Eclipse Ascendant
Starforge
Nebula Crown
Eventide Monarch
Origin of the Stars
(Each tier: Lesser, True, Greater, Peak)
Your current tier: True Shardweaver
Most townspeople: non-cultivators
Local guards: Lesser Shardweaver (average)
Sect scouts: Greater–Peak Shardweaver, possibly higher
No.441 leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
So he wasn't at the bottom anymore.
But still nowhere near strong.
"Guess that's fine," he said softly. "As long as I'm moving."
The streets weren't as loud this time.
Maybe it was earlier. Or maybe he wasn't as overwhelmed.
No.441 walked with his hands in his pockets, eyes steady. His clothes were cleaner now, and though they didn't fit well, they no longer clung to dried blood and sweat.
People still didn't look at him.
That helped.
[Public Combat Registry – 120 meters ahead.]
The system's mark hovered in the air faintly, invisible to anyone else.
He passed a small merchant row, some carpenters loading planks, a man repairing a wheel, and then reached a plain wooden building with a faded sign:
[Tasks. Trials. Training.]
He stepped inside.
The air was dry. A few voices echoed in the back. A tall man behind the front desk looked up, gave a slow nod.
"Here to register?" he asked.
No.441 nodded once.
"Beginner tier?"
Another nod.
The man slid over a small form. "Name?"
No.441 paused. His mouth stayed shut.
"…You can leave it blank," the man said, not unkindly. "We'll just list you as an unranked entry."
That worked.
The man took the slip, stamped it, then handed him a rough bronze badge.
"Badge means you're cleared to take F-tier jobs," he said. "Hunt, retrieve, guard work, arena practice. Board's behind you. Turn in completed tasks here, and don't die."
No.441 took the badge. It was cold in his hand.
Not heavy.
But not weightless either.
He walked to the task board in the back. Each paper had a rank in the corner. Most were out of reach for now. But the bottom row was all F-tier.
He scanned the options.
One caught his eye:
Task: Forest Rat Nest – Elimination
Rank: F
Reward: 3 Silver
Notes: Nest located near outskirts. Target: basic forest rats. Confirmed infestation.
Simple. Low threat.
But just dangerous enough.
He took the paper, tucked it into his sleeve, and stepped back out into the street.
He had a direction now.
Tomorrow, he'd fight for coin.
And this time, it would be his fight.