Omari walked out of a clothing store wearing fresh new clothes at night, a nice blackish-grey robe tied at the waist. He threw away his animal skin clothes, leaving only a bead necklace with the yin side of the Taijitu (Yin-Yang symbol) that looked like a six hanging at the centre. It was a gift from his mother and he cherished it the most.
He walked under the night sky;the smell of roasting meat flooded the street, his stomach tightened, saliva pooling in his mouth.
He followed the smell and ended up in a restaurant sitting with three plates filled with food.He slowly ate his food while finishing his Cultivation book. "Since I've started this journey, next I'll have to find the cultivation world."
After he was done,he stood up and walked out sighing, "I'm probably at the first stage of Body Refinement, the Superhuman. I still have a long way to go."
He walked for a while and turned into an inn.He walked in and asked for a room. "Child, this is no place for..."
The lady at the counter withdrew her statement when Omari threw two gold coins.
"Young sir,with this you can stay for two months, let me show you to your room."
Omari followed quietly,observing the inn, and before long he had reached his room, and she gave him his key and left.
Omari opened the door to his room and there was one bed,a built-in wardrobe, and a bucket. He had indeed chosen a low-level inn, trying to save his money. He sat on the bed and took his spatial pouch he got from the cultivator and started pulling everything out. A few minutes later the pouch was empty and on his bed was the book of cultivation, six orange pills that help to heal and mostly stop the bleeding, a small blade with a beautifully designed handle, and four spirit stones.
"For a cultivator,he seems to have been broke," Omari sighed.
He put everything back in the bag,yawning, and drifted into uneasy sleep, the weight of exhaustion pulling him under. Darkness stretched in every direction, thick and suffocating. His footsteps echoed faintly until his legs grew heavy, refusing to move. He crouched, reaching for the ground.
A hand shot up, icy fingers clamping around his wrist. From the shadowed earth, a pale face emerged. It was the cultivator he had killed, eyes empty yet burning with hatred.
More hands burst from below, latching onto his ankles. Two familiar faces rose with them, the hunters he had slain in the forest. Their mouths twisted with fury as they pulled at him, dragging him down.
"You deserve to die!"
"You are cursed!"
"Truly a bad omen!"
Their voices blended into a cruel chorus. The ground swallowed his legs as he thrashed desperately.
"No! I'm not cursed!" Omari shouted, veins bulging, teeth grinding. His voice cracked into a roar. "Let me go, ACCEPT ME FOR WHO I AM!"
The last words tore from his throat as he jolted awake, drenched in sweat, chest heaving. Morning light filtered weakly through the window.
"It's three of them now…" he muttered, staring at the ceiling. His hands trembled as he forced himself to breathe, to remember that it was only a dream.
He realized it was already morning and quickly made his bed perfectly, took a bath and ate, and a few minutes later he was on the outskirts of the city on the other side, away from his clan.
He was next to a river doing push-ups with sweat all over his body.Though his body was sore, he pushed himself hard.
"I need to at least be done with the whole Body Refinement stage before I leave for the cultivation world,if....I manage to find it."
He pulled out his dagger and started swinging,practicing and honing his skills.
After an hour of knife thrusts and swinging,he tied two huge boulders to each end of a long stick. He crouched down with the stick across his shoulders and gritted his teeth, lifting the two huge boulders up and down.
After he was done he would run along the river until he was tired,then come back and run back to that same spot in the river and back.
After a hard day of exercises,he took a bath in the river and went back into the city. Once in the city, he grabbed some food and headed straight to the inn and collapsed on the bed.
The following weeks bled into a grueling cycle of self-imposed torture.His days were a brutal symphony: a thousand push-ups by the river, knife drills until his arms trembled, shouldering a crude yoke laden with boulders until his spine screamed.
He would run until his lungs burned,then collapse at the inn in a world of horrific dreams. His body hardened, muscle layering over bone, his speed and strength growing beyond any mortal knights. At the inn he extended his stay. After three months of this relentless grind, he hit an invisible wall. The explosive progress halted, leaving only the dull ache of stagnation.
"My physical body has gotten stronger,but I don't feel like I've reached the next stage yet. Do I need to keep going like this for the rest of the year?" he pondered, frustration a bitter taste in his mouth, covered in sweat half naked. His muscles had gotten stronger and his abs were now well-toned. The disciplined path was no longer enough.
"Wait,the stories, the storyteller might be able to help me. Maybe there's a hint in his stories; I might even get a clue on how to find the cultivation world."
He quickly cleaned himself in the river and ran to the city.The city square was alive with chatter when Omari arrived. A crowd had gathered, eyes fixed on the handsome middle-aged storyteller who sat cross-legged with his harp beside him. His voice, deep and rich, rolled like thunder wrapped in silk.
"...those were the days of the great disaster, only the strong-willed survived," the storyteller finished his story. Applause erupted, and some women stepped forward with seductive smiles and marriage proposals. The storyteller with the voice that could woo any woman, a voice that made his stories sound a thousand times better.
Omari clapped politely,then stepped closer. "Are we allowed to request stories?"
The storyteller arched a brow,smiling knowingly.
"Only if you show your generosity."He tapped the wicker basket with a long finger.
Omari instantly knew what he meant and threw a gold coin in the basket then asked,
"Since a long time ago cultivators lived together with mortals,I assume some of them began as mortals themselves. How did they begin their cultivation journeys?"
"What kind of boring story are you asking for,kid?" a lot of people started complaining.
But the storyteller lifted his hand,silencing them, "Since the young man was so generous, I will try my best to give you the answers you seek." His gaze settled on Omari with a spark of intrigue.
He began,"A long time ago, cultivators and mortals lived on the same plane. For a mortal to become a cultivator, they had to go through grueling pain or use pills made with plants that have disappeared a long time ago to strengthen their bodies. And to go a step further, their bodies had to be broken to become unbreakable, pushing through unbearable pain to build a vessel strong enough to store spirit energy and wield it."
"Are you satisfied,young man?" the storyteller asked.
"Aye,kid, are you trying to become a cultivator or something?" a man in the crowd asked and the others laughed.
"This kid doesn't know how many people died trying to become immortal cultivators because of these stories;our Tangnia kingdom's storyteller is that good," another man said and they all laughed again.
Omari ignored them,"Why did he stop, this greedy storyteller? That was one gold coin; people would kill for that," he sighed.
He threw another gold coin in the basket,"Where did the cultivators go and is it possible to find that place?"
The storyteller gave Omari a bow,"Thank you for your generosity, young man," and began.
"Young man,there's no need to look for what's right in front of you.
The strong built a wall of illusions;to mortals, it looks a world of their own....but when your spirit awakens, you'll see past the veil."
A lot of people were confused by the storyteller's words.He looked at Omari with a raised eyebrow and continued,
"Young one,for a spirit to awaken here, you must be willing to risk your life."
He grabbed a harp that was next to him to cheer the crowd that was now a bit low,"How about a song, everyone? I call this one the story of the Unfeeling King."
He started playing his harp and ladies screamed and everyone clapped,listening to his tunes and story.
Omari slipped out of the crowd,wrestling with the words of the storyteller.
He went to his room and lay on the bed thinking,"....their bodies had to be broken to become unbreakable," the storyteller's words rang in his head.
"The Unbreakable Body.There are two ways for me to achieve it; the first, I'll push my body to the limits and keep going no matter the pain, but that'll take too long. The second way....." he sighed.
The next day he was back at the river training.This time he had hired a retired knight to help him.
"You're almost done,keep pushing," the retired knight yelled while sitting on top of Omari.
"997,998." Omari felt his muscles tearing, sweat dripping into his eyes, heart hammering as if it might burst.
"999,1000! Well done, one thousand push-ups," the old man praised.
"Now get up, we're not done here, it's time to run."
Omari was lying on the ground covered in sweat,breathing heavily. He gritted his teeth and forced himself up and started his run with the old man.
One month later,the old man was now riding on a horse, unable to keep up with Omari's speed. A few days later, Omari fired his trainer; the old man was now holding him back and pushing himself seemed to not be working for him. He trained for another month and he started to get frustrated. Even though he had gotten stronger, he didn't feel like he had gotten closer to breaking through.
The next day he had hired three strong men and gave them logs."In this cloth I'm hiding in my clothes are three gold coins. Beat me until I can't move and they are yours... make sure that you leave me still breathing."
With a menacing tone,his eyes glowing with a faint, sickly green, he continued,
"I need you to break me.Fail..." he stared each man down "... and I'll break you."
"This kid is crazy,"the men thought.
They exchanged nervous glances.It didn't feel like a job. It was more of a pact with a demon, but gold was gold. The first man swung his log, and Omari met it with his forearm. A sickening crack echoed by the river.
Ngrrrrr!!!
Not wanting to cry out loud,Omari groaned, gritting his teeth, the green in his eyes flaring.
"Again,"he snarled through clenched teeth.
They laid into him with a fearful,brutal intensity. Blows rained down on his back, his legs, his ribs. With both his hands broken, he couldn't instinctively block and simply took the punishment, groaning in pain, his body becoming a canvas of bruises and split skin.
He coughed,spraying blood onto the grass. Finally, a log caught him across the temple, and his world went dark, but he was still awake. He crumpled, a broken and bloody heap.
One of the men walked forward,"This is so fucked up," he thought while pulling out the gold-filled cloth from Omari's tunic.
"So what do we do with him?"one asked.
"The kid said to leave him here,"the other one replied and they made their way back to the city.
Omari lay there,unable to move. Once the men were far away, tears started to flow; the pain was just too much. He moved his tongue and swallowed one orange pill he was hiding under his tongue and passed out.