The Iron Body Refinement Method became Eric's obsession.
Every morning, before the sun crested the horizon, he would practice the technique's opening exercises. Breathing patterns that drew qi more efficiently into his meridians. Stances that tempered his muscles and bones. Visualization methods that refined his internal energy circulation.
The scroll described twelve stages, each progressively more difficult. Most cultivators spent months mastering each stage. Eric completed the first three in two weeks.
**"Your foundation is already solid,"** the dragon explained as Eric moved through the second stage's forms. **"And my presence accelerates your comprehension. What would take others months, you achieve in days. But do not let this make you arrogant—the later stages will not yield so easily."**
Eric didn't feel arrogant. He felt desperate.
Because three weeks after receiving the scroll, Master Tobias called all the youth disciples to the main hall for an announcement.
"The annual selection is approaching," the master said, his voice carrying across the assembled students. "In six weeks, officials from the Eastern Jade Sect will arrive to test all eligible cultivators between the ages of twelve and sixteen. Those who pass will be taken to the capital for advanced training. This is the opportunity many of you have been preparing for your entire lives."
The hall erupted in excited whispers. Eric felt his heart hammering. Six weeks. He had six weeks to become as strong as possible.
"The test will evaluate three primary attributes," Master Tobias continued. "Strength, speed, and technique. Your cultivation stage matters, but it is not everything. The sect looks for potential, not just current power. Train hard. Make Greenbrook proud."
That evening, Eric sat with his mother and sister, the remains of their dinner—actual chicken, bought with his recent earnings—cleared from the table.
"Ma," Eric said carefully, "the selection is in six weeks. I need to focus everything on getting stronger. The officials won't just take anyone—I need to stand out."
Lin studied his face in the candlelight. "What are you saying, Eric?"
"I'm saying I should use all the money I earn on cultivation resources. Pills, herbs, anything that can help me improve faster. I know we need the money for food and—"
"No." His mother's voice was firm. "Eric, this is your chance. Maybe your only chance. We'll manage. Wei and I can eat simpler meals. I can take on more sewing work." She reached across the table and took his hand. "You focus on cultivation. Become strong enough that they have no choice but to select you."
Wei nodded enthusiastically. "I can help Ma with the sewing! And I don't need new shoes yet, the old ones still fit."
Eric's throat tightened. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," his mother said. "Your father always said cultivation was the only path out of poverty for families like ours. He died before he could walk that path. Don't let his sacrifice be for nothing."
---
Eric's training intensified to a punishing degree.
He would wake before dawn to practice the Iron Body Refinement Method. Then three hours of meditation, circulating qi and strengthening his foundation. Then hunting—pushing deeper into the forest, seeking stronger prey.
E-rank beasts had become manageable. Not easy, but manageable. So Eric began targeting D-ranks.
His first encounter nearly killed him.
The creature was a Thornback Lynx—a mid-sized predator with crystalline spikes growing from its spine and claws that could cut through stone. It was fast, intelligent, and possessed genuine qi techniques. When it roared, Eric felt killing intent crash over him like a physical wave, freezing his limbs for a crucial second.
A second was all the lynx needed. It was on him before he could react, claws raking across his chest, fangs snapping at his throat. Only a desperate roll saved him from having his neck torn out. He ran, using every technique he knew to escape, while the lynx pursued with terrifying persistence.
He barely made it out alive.
His second through fifth attempts against D-ranks went similarly. Eric would find a target, engage cautiously, then be forced to retreat when the gap in power became obvious. D-rank beasts weren't just stronger—they fought with genuine strategy, used their qi in ways F and E-ranks couldn't, and possessed killing techniques that could cripple or kill in a single strike.
**"You are not ready,"** the dragon said after the fifth failed attempt left Eric bleeding from a dozen wounds. **"D-ranks are typically hunted by adult cultivators who have reached Qi Condensation. You are still in Body Refinement, and a lower stage at that. Do not throw your life away on pride."**
"I need the money," Eric gasped, binding his wounds with strips torn from his already-ruined robe. "D-rank beast parts sell for ten times what E-ranks fetch."
**"What good is money if you're dead? Continue hunting E-ranks. Master the fourth and fifth stages of your technique. When you reach Eighth or Ninth Stage Body Refinement, then consider D-ranks again."**
Eric hated admitting defeat, but the dragon was right. He shifted his focus back to E-ranks, occasionally taking on upper F-ranks when he needed quick earnings.
To make the hunting more efficient, Eric bought a small wooden cart—just large enough to hold multiple beast carcasses. It cost him two gold crescents, but it meant he could stay in the forest longer, hunt more aggressively, and bring back larger hauls.
The investment paid off. Within a week, he was regularly bringing back three or four E-rank beasts per trip. Master Feng's eyes widened when Eric wheeled in the cart loaded with properly butchered parts—cores, pelts, organs, all carefully preserved.
"You've become quite the hunter, Chen," the apothecary said, examining the goods. "These are professional-quality. I can give you twelve gold crescents for everything."
Eric spent eight of those crescents immediately on cultivation pills. Bone Tempering Pills, Meridian Cleansing Elixirs, Qi Gathering Pellets—each one worth its weight in copper but essential for rapid advancement. He consumed them during his meditation sessions, feeling his cultivation surge forward with each dose.
Three weeks before the selection, while incorporating the Iron Body Refinement Method's fifth stage into his training, Eric made another attempt on a D-rank beast.
This time was different.
He'd reached Eighth Stage Body Refinement. The technique had refined his control, sharpened his reflexes, strengthened his body beyond normal limits for his cultivation stage. Most importantly, he'd learned patience.
The target was a lower D-rank Razorspine Bear—smaller than most D-ranks but still massive compared to Eric. It was foraging in a clearing, its armored hide covered in bone-like protrusions that would turn most blades.
Eric watched for an hour, studying its movements, looking for weaknesses. The bear was strong but not particularly fast. Its armor covered most of its body but left gaps at the joints—armpits, inner thighs, the base of its skull.
He struck during the bear's meal, when it was distracted. His dagger found the gap behind its front leg, sinking deep into muscle. The bear roared and spun, but Eric had already withdrawn, circling to its blind side.
The fight lasted twenty minutes. Eric didn't try to overpower the creature—he couldn't. Instead, he used speed, precision, and the environment. He led the bear into trees too close together for its bulk, struck at its vulnerable joints, wore it down with a thousand small cuts rather than attempting one decisive blow.
When the bear finally collapsed from blood loss and exhaustion, Eric stood over it, barely able to stand himself. His arms trembled. His legs felt like water. But he'd done it.
His first D-rank kill.
**"Well done,"** the dragon said, approval evident. **"You fought with intelligence rather than pride. This is the mark of a true cultivator—knowing when to engage, when to retreat, and how to turn disadvantages into advantages."**
Eric sold the Razorspine Bear for eighteen gold crescents—more than he'd earned in the previous three weeks combined. D-rank materials were in high demand. Adult cultivators hunted them regularly, but good harvesting was rare, and Eric's technique had improved to near-professional levels.
He saved every copper. No more purchases except the absolute essentials—a few basic pills, repairs to his equipment. The rest went into a small pouch hidden beneath his sleeping mat. His mother noticed but said nothing, only smiled with quiet pride when she thought he wasn't looking.
As the selection approached, Eric noticed changes throughout the village. Other youth cultivators were training more intensely, their families investing in last-minute resources. The dojo was crowded at all hours. Even cultivators who'd seemed content with their current progress were pushing themselves, desperate for any advantage.
Notably absent from this increased effort were Rorick Vaughn and his friends. They still came to the dojo, still trained casually, but without the desperation others showed. They already knew they'd be selected—their families had wealth, connections, and generations of cultivation experience. The test was a formality for them.
For Eric and most others, it was everything.
---
The day the officials arrived, the entire village transformed.
Greenbrook's main street had been cleaned until the stones shone. Banners in the Eastern Jade Sect's colors—emerald and gold—hung from every building. The village leader's home had been prepared to host the officials, with the finest furniture and foods that most villagers only saw during festivals.
Eric stood with the other candidates in the village square, trying to keep his breathing steady. There were twenty-three youths eligible for testing, ranging from twelve to sixteen years old. Some looked confident. Others terrified. A few had their parents standing behind them, hands on their shoulders in silent support.
Eric's mother had wanted to come, but he'd asked her to stay home with Wei. He needed to focus, and seeing her worried face would only distract him.
Three officials dismounted from spirit horses—magnificent beasts with coats that shimmered like silk and eyes that held unmistakable intelligence. The officials themselves wore robes of deep emerald embroidered with golden thread, and even standing still, they radiated power that made Eric's skin prickle.
Qi Condensation realm, at minimum. Possibly higher.
The lead official was a woman in her thirties with sharp features and calculating eyes. She surveyed the assembled candidates with the expression of someone evaluating livestock.
"I am Senior Disciple Mira Ashford of the Eastern Jade Sect," she announced, her voice carrying effortlessly across the square. "We are here to identify candidates with sufficient potential to join our sect. The test consists of three trials—strength, speed, and technique. You will be evaluated not on your current cultivation stage alone, but on your overall potential and combat ability."
She gestured to her two companions, who began unloading equipment from their horses. "The trials will begin immediately. Candidates will be called in order of registration. There will be no retests, no second chances. Perform to the best of your ability, or do not perform at all."
Eric's heart hammered against his ribs. This was it. Everything he'd worked for, everything he'd suffered through, came down to the next few hours.
The first trial was strength.
A massive stone pillar had been erected in the center of the square—as tall as two men and inscribed with glowing runes that Eric recognized as measurement formations. The candidates were to strike the pillar with their full power. The formations would measure the force and display a numerical result.
"Cultivation stage matters less than application," Senior Disciple Ashford explained. "We've seen Fifth Stage cultivators score higher than Eighth Stage ones due to superior technique and qi control. Do not hold back."
The first candidate, a nervous boy named Thomas Reed, stepped forward. He was Sixth Stage Body Refinement—respectable for his age. He took a stance, gathered his qi into his fist, and struck the pillar with everything he had.
The runes flared, and a number appeared in the air above the pillar: 347.
"Adequate," Ashford said neutrally, making a note on her scroll. "Next."
One by one, candidates approached the pillar. Scores ranged from the low 200s to the high 400s. When Aria Blackwood stepped forward—the village leader's daughter, already at First Stage Qi Condensation—her strike registered 612, drawing murmurs of approval from the officials.
Rorick Vaughn scored 438, looking smug despite it being lower than several others.
Then it was Eric's turn.
He approached the pillar, acutely aware of every eye on him. He could hear the whispers—wasn't he the weakest? How did he even qualify? The boy who couldn't cultivate?
Eric blocked it all out. He settled into the stance from the Iron Body Refinement Method, feeling his qi respond immediately. The technique had taught him to gather energy not just in his dantian but throughout his entire body, to channel it efficiently, to strike with his whole being rather than just his fist.
He breathed. Once, twice, three times. Each breath drew more qi into his arm, compressing it, refining it.
Then he struck.
His fist crashed into the pillar with a sound like thunder. The impact sent shockwaves through his arm, but the pain was distant, unimportant. The runes blazed brilliant azure for just a moment—a color that made Senior Disciple Ashford's eyes narrow—before displaying his score.
521.
The square went silent.
"Interesting," Ashford said, making a longer note on her scroll. "Very interesting. Next."
The second trial was speed.
Two posts had been erected fifty paces apart. Candidates had to run between them, touch each post, and return to the starting position as quickly as possible. Simple in concept, but it tested not just raw speed but qi circulation, body control, and efficient movement.
The times ranged from twelve seconds to eighteen. Aria Blackwood completed it in nine seconds flat, moving so fast she was almost a blur.
When Eric's turn came, he applied everything the dragon had taught him about movement—not just running, but flowing, using qi to enhance each step, to reduce air resistance, to move with minimal wasted energy.
He exploded forward. The posts came and went in flashes. His feet barely touched the ground. Wind whipped past his face.
When he crossed back to the starting position, the timekeeper—one of the officials—looked at his device with surprise.
"Nine point two seconds," he announced.
More murmurs. Eric had matched Aria Blackwood's time, near enough to not matter. For someone supposedly stuck at low stages of Body Refinement just months ago, it was impossible.
But the final trial would be the most revealing.
Technique.
"This trial evaluates your combat ability," Senior Disciple Ashford explained. "You will face an opponent—myself—in a brief sparring match. I will adjust my cultivation to match your level exactly. What I'm testing is not your power, but how you use it. Your form, your decision-making, your adaptability."
She stepped into the marked circle that served as a sparring ring, her movements relaxed but ready. "Do not hold back. You cannot injure me, but you can impress me. Who's first?"
The trials proceeded in the same order. Each candidate faced Ashford for approximately thirty seconds of intense sparring. Some froze under pressure. Others fought well but predictably. A few showed genuine skill.
Aria Blackwood lasted nearly a full minute before Ashford ended the match, nodding with clear approval. "Excellent foundation. Your family's training is evident."
Rorick Vaughn put on an aggressive show, all power and fury, but Ashford ended it in twenty seconds. "Sloppy. Too much reliance on raw strength, not enough control. You'll need to refine your technique if you wish to progress beyond Body Refinement."
Rorick's face flushed red, but he bowed and retreated.
Then it was Eric's turn.
He stepped into the circle, and Ashford regarded him with those calculating eyes. "Eric Chen. Your results so far have been... surprising. Let's see if your technique matches your physical capabilities."
She settled into a ready stance, and Eric felt her qi adjust, suppressing itself to match his Eighth Stage cultivation.
"Begin."
Ashford attacked first—a probing jab to test his reflexes. Eric slipped it easily, countering with a low kick that she blocked without apparent effort. They exchanged strikes, both testing, neither committing fully.
**"She's evaluating you,"** the dragon said. **"Show her your training, but not everything. Reveal enough to impress, not enough to draw dangerous attention."**
Eric shifted his approach, applying techniques from the Iron Body Refinement Method. His strikes became more precise, his footwork more efficient. He didn't try to overpower Ashford—that would be pointless even with matched cultivation—but he demonstrated control, adaptability, the ability to read his opponent's movements.
Ashford increased the pressure. Her strikes came faster, harder, forcing Eric to fully focus. He defended, countered, looked for openings that weren't really there but showed his tactical thinking.
Thirty seconds passed. Forty. Fifty.
Ashford suddenly shifted her stance and swept Eric's legs. He was already moving, having read the attack in the tensing of her muscles. He rolled with the sweep and came up in a defensive position.
"Stop," Ashford said.
Eric immediately straightened, bowing respectfully.
Ashford studied him for a long moment. "Your foundation is unusual. Your technique is refined beyond what I'd expect for someone your age from a village like this. And your movements..." She tilted her head slightly. "They're those of someone who's fought for their life. Multiple times. Where did you learn to fight like this?"
"The forest, Senior Disciple," Eric said honestly. "Hunting spirit beasts."
"Ah." Understanding crossed her face. "That explains much. Practical experience versus pure training." She made several notes on her scroll. "Well done, Chen. You may return to your position."
As Eric walked back to the other candidates, he could feel their stares. Shock, confusion, resentment—particularly from Rorick and his friends. Eric had just lasted longer against a sect official than anyone except Aria Blackwood.
Once all candidates had completed the trials, Senior Disciple Ashford addressed them again.
"The trials are complete. We will evaluate your results and make our selections. You will be informed tomorrow morning. Those chosen will have one day to prepare before departing with us to the capital. Dismissed."
The candidates dispersed slowly, many with their families, discussing how they'd performed. Eric walked home alone, his mind replaying every moment of the trials.
Had he done enough? Had he revealed too much? The azure glow when he'd struck the pillar—that had been the dragon's power leaking through. Would they recognize what it meant?
**"You performed well,"** the dragon assured him. **"You showed strength without revealing your true capabilities. And the official seemed impressed rather than suspicious. Now we wait."**
That night, Eric barely slept. His mother tried to reassure him, saying she was proud regardless of the outcome, but her own anxiety was evident in how she kept glancing at him, in how her hands never stopped moving, straightening things that didn't need straightening.
Tomorrow would bring the answer. Tomorrow he would learn if months of blood, sweat, and desperate training had been enough.
Tomorrow would determine if Eric Chen would remain in Greenbrook, hunting beasts and scraping by, or if he would walk the path to true cultivation.
The dragon's heir lay in the darkness, listening to his mother's quiet prayers, and waited for dawn.