Han Chen darted through the shadowed streets toward the city gates, each footfall echoing beneath him. His breath came sharp and ragged, every inhale scraping against his chest. The stone pavement blurred—the world narrowing to the pounding of his heart and the harsh demands of Heaven's Footwork.
Behind him, the city guards surged forward: six figures humming with focused qi.
Their boots hammered the ground in a relentless rhythm.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
"Don't let him escape!" one shouted, voice scraping over Han Chen's shoulder.
"He's headed for the gate—cut him off!" barked another.
Han Chen stole a glance back. The guards moved like a tide, chins lifted, eyes burning, matching his speed despite the technique burning through his veins. "I'm not fast enough. They're gaining..." His thighs begged for mercy; spiritual energy drained steadily, a hollow ache expanding inside. "Half of my strength... already gone. Heaven's Footwork can't hold."
A gutter of steam curled around his boots. Han Chen twisted and leapt over a toppled crate, feet skidding. CRACK.
Someone cursed as a guard barely dodged the splintered wood. "Stop running, thief!" the closest spat, qi spinning in his palm.
Han Chen clenched his jaw, pain flashing where exhaustion gnawed. "There's no way out. If I stop, it's over." The city gates loomed ahead, massive iron and glossed wood reflecting lantern light. His vision sparked. "Less than a tenth energy left... Shit!—"
He pulled all the energy he had left into his forehead. As the guards narrowed their gap, Han Chen roared, voice cracking, "HEAVENLY EYE, OPEN!!!"
BOOM.
A jagged line split open on his forehead—an eerie eye staring out, black sclera swirling with purple fire. The air thickened, buzzing with power as purple energy radiated forward. Han Chen gasped; reality twisted.
WHIRRL.
A dark portal spiraled open before him, shadows swallowing the street. Guard boots skidded, shouts tangled in panic.Han Chen dove. Cold wind licked his skin as the world spiraled out, the portal dragging him away.
"Get him!" one guard yelled, but Han Chen was gone—swallowed by the strange darkness.
-
LOCATION : OTHER-WORLD.
Han Chen stumbled out of the swirling darkness and hit the ground hard, rolling through wet grass before coming to a stop. The portal behind him flickered once—then vanished without a trace. He groaned, clutching his shoulder. An arrow jutted clean through, the iron tip glinting faintly in the moonlight. "If that had missed by even a hair... it'd be my head," he thought, jaw tightening.
He grasped the arrow's shaft, counted his breath, and yanked. CRACK. Blood splattered over his black robes, turning cloth into a soaked mix of red and dark. Han Chen leaned back against a rough tree trunk, muscles trembling, before crossing his legs into a steady lotus position. "Circulate," he murmured under his breath. Spiritual energy began to hum faintly around him, threads of greenish-black spiritual energy flickering over his skin as he focused inward.
Minutes bled into hours. The night deepened. Slowly, the torn flesh knitted together; only faint scars remained after two long hours.
His breathing steadied, though his robes were ruined and heavy with dry blood.
He looked down at himself. "No artifacts, no spare clothes," he thought, clenching his hand. "All because I overreached. My realm advanced two stars in one night—too fast, too shallow. If I don't stabilize soon, my dantian may collapse." He exhaled quietly, eyes softening. "Still... without the Heavenly Eye, I'd be dead. Fortune and folly walk together. I can't afford another mistake."
Four days passed.
Han Chen, now perched among the high branches of a massive tree, hidden completely by leaves and the shape of the trunk. The forest below swayed gently with distant bird calls and rustling wind. He hadn't moved much during those days, trapping his qi deep within as he tempered and stabilized the newfound power.
4 Star, Qi Condensation.
When he finally opened his eyes, a calm shimmer passed through his pupils. The aura around him had steadied—no violent surges, no instability. He rose slowly, stretching stiff limbs. His robes were still torn where the arrow had pierced through, but the dried blood had dulled, cracking off like flaking charcoal. Han Chen was just about to leave the forest when a thunderous sound shattered the stillness.
BOOM!
The shockwave rippled through the trees, scattering leaves and bending branches. A second boom followed, then another—each louder than the last. The ground trembled beneath his feet.Han Chen stopped, head tilting upward. The canopy swayed but revealed only clouds and endless blue. "What was that?" he muttered, tense. "I sense no aura nearby…"
He frowned. "Heavenly Eye, open!"
A harsh light split across his forehead. CRACK.
The vertical line formed and widened into the familiar eye of black sclera and violet pupil. The world sharpened instantly—air currents visible, spiritual threads glowing faintly across the horizon. He gazed upward again, narrowing his focus. His sight zoomed, piercing through distance until the clouds parted in clarity visible only to him.
High above, enormous shapes cut through the air. Sleek and metallic, their designs reminded him of birds forged from spirit ore. Each emitted waves of dense spiritual energy, powerful enough to belong to peak Core Formation cultivators. They streaked across the sky in formation—swift, controlled, and menacing. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Han Chen's breath stilled. "Flying artifacts… so efficient, yet their shape... strange. Like nothing, I've seen." His brows knit as he followed their path through the glowing sky. It looked similar to fighter jets. A bird made of steel… running on spiritual energy.
He let the Heavenly Eye fade, the mark on his forehead closing once more. "If they're heading that way," he murmured, gazing in the same direction, "then there must be a city nearby." He adjusted his tattered robe, tightened the cloth at his shoulder, and began walking beneath the trees.
After two days of travel, Han Chen reached the end of the long trail he had followed. The direction matched where the planes had gone before—but what awaited him was not a city of light. It was a graveyard.
[NOTE : It's a ultra mordern world. But, one with spiritual energy, not electricity.]
Collapsed towers leaned at ragged angles. Streets once made of spirit-infused metal now cracked apart, their surfaces flickering with unstable energy. Blue spiritual mist seeped from broken conduits, painting the ruins in ghostly light.Han Chen stood still, watching faint arcs of energy dance in the air. "What a strange place. I've never seen anything like this before." His gaze swept across what remained of vast structures—training halls, towers—all crushed and hollow. "A pity it fell to ruins. If I had come earlier, I might've been curious to explore it." He stepped forward quietly, passing shattered spirit lamps and burned-out vehicles littering the streets.
The air smelled faintly of ash and qi residue.
CRACK.
Something shifted among the rubble ahead. Han Chen tensed. A section of the ground moved, gravel tumbling down the side of a collapsed building. Then, with a low mechanical groan, a metal door forced its way open from beneath the debris.
Han Chen narrowed his eyes. "Someone's alive?" he thought. "If they survived, I can at least learn where I am."
A man climbed out of the chamber below, brushing dust from his clothes. He wore a long-sleeved shirt, torn in patches but still intact. The man looked up and froze. His eyes scanned Han Chen's ancient, bloodstained robe, the faint pressure of foreign qi around him. He immediately took a step back, body stiff. "✶$#@*¥&%" he barked, voice cautious, tone sharp.
Han Chen tilted his head. "A different language…"
He closed his eyes briefly and summoned a thread of spiritual energy. His mind brushed outward—Divine Sense Communication.
A technique he had studied, now his only bridge across the language gap. Through divine sense, his voice reached the stranger. "Who are you? And what is this place filled with such strange, damaged things leaking spiritual energy?"
The man flinched, then responded mentally, his tone edged with disbelief. "You're using divine communication? What are you, a hermit? You dress like an ancient cultivator. Haven't you seen the world?"
Han Chen said nothing. His expression stayed calm. The man looked around the ruins with dull eyes. "I am, Wang Qi. This place... was called MO City. One of Poland's frontier cities." He sighed. "After years of invasion, it couldn't stand any longer. Energy holders destroyed, formations collapsed… the city fell. You have just walked straight into the aftermath of war." Han Chen's gaze lingered on the broken skyline, where smoke still curled from shattered towers. "Who is he calling 'Ancient'." he thought quietly.
The man explained the situation to Han Chen.
-
Planet Ferraxis ran on spiritual energy, not electricity. Every city, weapon, and machine depended on refined qi.
Two Rank 3 cultivation countries stood at the North-East of global power—Poland and the Fire Alliance.
Both controlled vast lands, advanced spiritual industries, and armies led by Nascent Soul masters.
Poland was governed by five major sects.
Combined strength : seven Nascent Soul cultivators.
Strongest : four-star Nascent Soul realm.
Their sects specialized in defense, healing, production, research, and trade, working together to protect the nation. Poland's aerial barriers and flying fortresses were products of these sects.
Opposite them stood the Fire Alliance, a nation born in volcanic lands.
Comprised of six sects.
Combined strength : nine Nascent Soul cultivators.
Strongest : five-star Nascent Soul realm.
Their cultivation and war machines concentrated on fire-element energy, granting them lethal offense and superior destructive capabilities.
Ten years ago, someone invaded Poland. It was the Fire Alliance, led by Aldrof Hizler—five-star Nascent Soul. The assault, led by a three-star Nascent Soul cultivator, was repelled but left the border unstable. Since then, skirmishes and raids have continued without a full-scale war.
Both sides now maintain a fragile stalemate—preparing, expanding, waiting.
Han Chen arrived in this world unaware that the entire continent was one spark away from burning.
-
After the man's long explanation, Han Chen finally understood the nature of this world—its wars, technology, and balance of power. The man's words painted the fragments Han Chen needed; yet as silence grew between them, the man's use was over.
Han Chen looked unemotional. "That's enough."
He raised his right hand slowly and placed it on the man's shoulder. A faint greenish-black Qi pulsed from his palm.
At first, nothing seemed unusual. Then, the man's face twitched. His skin, once firm and youthful, began to pale and sag. Lines carved across his cheeks like cracks in stone. His aura flickered. Han Chen's eyes glinted coldly. "Life Swallowing Scripture—activate."
Until now, Han Chen had used the Life Swallowing Scripture only on mortals. Because their spiritual resistance was low, he needed to crush their hearts by hand to draw out the life force within. The first time he used the scripture, he hadn't understood that the mere act of crushing the heart allowed the energy to flow into him.
Back then, driven by ignorance and desperation, he had consumed the hearts themselves—believing that was how the technique took effect. Through experience, he later learned the truth. Against cultivators whose strength was lower than his own, physical contact alone was enough. A physical touch could do the job.
The man's breath hitched. "What—what are you doing, motherf—"
He stumbled backward, trying to shake off the hand gripping his shoulder. A gush of blue qi burst from his core, lashing out in defense. "You bastard! You're a demonic cultivator! Those like you are supposed to be extinct!"
Han Chen smiled faintly. "There's a difference between reality and what's 'supposed to.' As you can see, I'm not extinct."
BOOM.
Blue qi exploded from the man's fists, swirling into a heavy martial stance. His technique—Mo Martial Arts, a style with seven flowing but deadly moves—focused on overwhelming bursts of spiritual power.
Han Chen stepped back, lowering his center of gravity. His qi flared—greenish-black, dense like smoke and molten iron.
The ground beneath him cracked open from pressure.
CRACK.
Their energies collided, twisting the air like storm clouds.
The man darted forward first, fists glowing bright blue. "First move—Break!" he shouted, slamming his palm down.
Han Chen pivoted aside, letting the attack carve through the empty air. Dust scattered violently. He countered with a broad palm strike—"Devourer's Martial Arts, First Stance: Hollow Rend."
The air vibrated. The green-black qi swirled around his arm like liquid shadow, slicing apart what remained of the man's defense.
The man jumped back, breathing hard. "Demonic filth!"
BOOM. BOOM.
Their clash tore through the ruins—broken walls collapsing, debris flying. For a while, the man pressed the advantage. His seventh and strongest move, 'Final Cycle', landed a blow on Han Chen's shoulder, forcing him back a few steps. But his strength faltered. His spirit flickered. The earlier touch from Han Chen's Life Swallowing Scripture had already drained him.
With every strike, his body weakened—the burst of energy shaving away fragments of his life force.
Han Chen's eyes hardened. "You've already lost."
He stepped forward, releasing the Sixth Stance: Soul Chain, his qi forming long trails of dark light that pierced through the man's attack.
The man roared, veins swelling, then gasped—his qi collapsing all at once. Han Chen pushed his palm through the remaining blue energy, striking his chest directly.
CRACK.
The man's body stiffened. His dantian cracked.
Han Chen lowered his hand. The corpse fell silently onto the cracked pavement.
Without hesitation, Han Chen crouched beside him, pressing his palm over the dantian. "Life Swallowing Scripture, Devourer's Art—Absorb Essence."
A surge of greenish-black aura poured out from the man's body, swirling into Han Chen's hand and vanishing into his meridians. The air dimmed briefly; the leaking energy from the city bent toward him, drawn to his presence like shadow toward night.
Han Chen stood, brushing dust from his sleeves. "Wars, sects, balance—it's all the same. Only power decides who survives."
Han Chen stood over the lifeless body, his greenish-black qi slowly withdrawing into stillness.
The ruins had grown silent again—only the faint hum of leaking energy echoed through the broken city.
Something glinted faintly on the man's right hand. Han Chen knelt and examined it closely.
A spatial ring—crafted from silver metal, shaped into the likeness of a long eastern dragon. The creature's detailed head rested atop the band while its scaled body coiled around to complete the ring's form. Its workmanship was intricate, delicate enough that it looked alive, frozen in motion.
Han Chen took it off carefully, turning it in his fingers. "How convenient," he murmured. With a thread of divine sense, he broke the previous owner's imprint and looked inside.
The space within unfolded like a quiet void—neatly organized and practical. Among the first items floated a small, pen-shaped stick of metal, a faint blue hologram flickering at its tip. The image projected numbers and words in an unfamiliar script that Han Chen could faintly interpret through divine sense.
Name: Wang Qi
Age: 22
Cultivation: 5-Star Qi Condensation
Affiliation: MO City Defense Corps
Han Chen stared at it a moment.
He explored further. There were twenty-eight low-tier, grade one spirit stones, clear and faintly glowing. Several sealed packets of food, compact and dry, probably rationed for long use. A few folded sets of clothing—modern in design.
Among the items laid one familiar object: a thin jade slip engraved with golden runes. Mo Martial Arts, the same technique Wang Qi had used.
Another item drew his curiosity—a smooth rectangular device, metallic black with engravings lined like spirit circuits. Han Chen pressed it gently. Nothing happened. He tried infusing a hint of qi; the surface remained dark.
He frowned slightly. "A spiritual tool? No… something else."
Unable to decipher it, he kept it anyway, sliding it into his sleeve. "Perhaps someone in this world knows."
After collecting the rest, Han Chen placed the ring on his own finger. The dragon shimmered faintly, adjusting to its new owner's energy. "Useful," he said quietly.
He glanced once more at the corpse before turning away. The city stretched endlessly before him—broken towers, buried lights, and dying spiritual threads weaving through the air.
Han Chen paused among the crumbled stones, feeling the weight of his torn robe brush against his legs. The fabric was stiff with dried blood and dust, frayed from battle and travel. He sighed quietly and raised his hand, summoning a set of garments from Wang Qi's spatial ring. The clothes flickered out—a clean dark-blue jacket, fitted pants, and inner layers made of light woven material. They were sleek and foreign in every way.
Han Chen held the jacket at arm's length, examining it with a frown. "No knots? No belt string?" He turned it around twice before finding the hidden fasteners along the side. "What a weird world," he muttered.
Changing took longer than expected. The unfamiliar stitching and tight fit made him pause several times just to understand which piece went where. When he finally managed to wear them properly, he felt faintly constrained but oddly lighter. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a cracked metal panel nearby—his long black hair tied loosely, his form wrapped in sharp, unfamiliar lines. If not for his pitch-black eyes, he barely looked like himself.
Han Chen exhaled, flexing his hands. "Strange… yet efficient."
He glanced once more at the city ruins stretching before him, then adjusted the jacket's collar. The modern world of Ferraxis felt distant yet close—its rhythm beating around him, waiting to be unveiled.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----