The land stretched dry beneath the hazy skies of Ashenreach, a province where spiritual energy trickled rather than flowed. Once lush valleys were now faded husks, and the whisper of qi was thin in the air. A place forgotten by most cultivators—too barren, too slow, too empty to matter.
But to Shen, it was perfect.
He staggered through overgrown trails, every step a struggle. His body still bore the bruises and breaks from his escape. Each breath rasped through healing ribs. The robes he wore were torn, stained with dried blood and dirt. He was a ghost of a cultivator—unrooted, hollow, and alone.
Still, he walked.
From a distant continent, across ports and provinces, Shen had fled with no plan but one: get as far from the sect as possible. The memories that weren't entirely his burned at the back of his mind—discipline, humiliation, the taste of bitter herbs, and cracked ribs that never healed quite right. Panic had fueled his journey. A strange instinct—or perhaps the last whisper of the soul before him—had urged him to leave.
So he had run. Found work along the way. Helped move crates, repair carts, and dig ditches to earn passage. It wasn't enough for anything grand, but when he passed through the dusty town of Willowreach, a tired magistrate had sold him a plot of untended land for almost nothing.
"South of Ashreed Village," the man said, waving his hand as if swatting a fly. "Nothing grows there. No one wants it. Even the weeds gave up."
Shen took the deed anyway.
Now, as dusk fell, he stood at the edge of that land.
Mudvale.
It wasn't much to look at. Dry grass. Cracked soil. A thin river that looked more like a scar in the earth than a water source. Dead trees leaned like old men about to fall. No fences. No paths. Just open, unclaimed space.
Perfect.
His legs gave out near a crooked patch of shrubs. He set down his bag, just a small bundle of foraged roots, dried meat, and a wooden cup. As the last of the sunlight faded, Shen stared at the stars—unfamiliar constellations against a foreign sky.
He hadn't seen a bed in days. Or a smile. Or anything resembling kindness. But here, with only silence and a faint breeze, something inside him finally… exhaled.
"I made it," he whispered. "Somehow."
He drifted to sleep with dirt beneath his fingers and the scent of dust in his lungs.
In the darkness, a dream took form.
No voice. No system screen like in a game. Just the weight of presence.
A feeling of being… watched.
Then, something bloomed.
[System Task Registered]
Save a spirit beast from death.
Reward: Mystery Seed.
Shen jolted awake. The night air was cold, and his breath misted. The dream's memory clung to him—sharp, unreal. He looked around. Nothing but the dry hush of the land.
"A dream," he muttered. But the sense lingered. The strange… pull.
He looked toward the forest edge beyond the river, half-hidden in the moonlight.
And though he didn't know why—he moved.
✧ End of Chapter – The Path Begins ✧
A broken soul reaches barren soil.
No sect. No guidance. Just a plot of earth, and a whisper in the dark.
Before peace, before purpose… one life must be saved.