The wait was agony.
Eric threw himself into training with even greater intensity, as if every additional hour of practice might somehow tip the scales in his favor. Dawn to dusk, he moved through the Iron Body Refinement Method's forms, feeling his understanding deepen with each repetition.
The sixth stage came easier than expected. The seventh required three days of concentrated effort before something clicked, and suddenly the qi flow pattern made perfect sense. By the time a week had passed since the trials, Eric had reached the eighth stage—a level most cultivators took months to achieve.
**"You have mastered the technique,"** the dragon announced one morning as Eric completed the final form of the eighth stage with perfect precision. **"Or at least, mastered it as far as your current cultivation allows. The remaining stages are designed for Qi Condensation and beyond. You cannot progress further until you break through."**
"Then it's time to focus on that breakthrough," Eric said, already planning his next moves.
With the technique mastered and his foundation rock-solid, Eric returned to hunting D-ranks. But this time, he approached it systematically. He started with the weakest lower D-ranks he could find, learning their patterns, understanding their capabilities. Each kill became a lesson, each fight refined his understanding.
A Steelback Boar—slow but incredibly tough—taught him patience and precision striking. A Shadowmane Panther—fast and vicious—forced him to perfect his defensive techniques and counter-timing. A Crystalline Serpent—cunning and venomous—showed him the importance of environmental awareness and never assuming a fight was won until the enemy stopped moving.
Within the week of waiting, Eric killed seven lower D-rank beasts. He harvested them with professional efficiency, sold the parts to Master Feng, and watched his savings grow. Forty-three gold crescents. Sixty-one. Eighty-five.
Money that would have seemed impossible three months ago.
Then, on the eighth day after the trials, a messenger came to the village square where a crowd had already gathered in anticipation.
Senior Disciple Ashford stood on the raised platform, her emerald robes immaculate despite a week of travel and evaluations. In her hand was a scroll bearing the Eastern Jade Sect's seal.
"The following candidates have been selected for admission to the Eastern Jade Sect," she announced, her voice carrying across the silent square. "When I call your name, step forward."
The first name was Aria Blackwood. No surprise there—she was the strongest youth in the village.
The second was Rorick Vaughn. He smirked as he stepped forward, his family's influence evident in his confident stride.
Then came others: Marcus Thorne, Derrick Swift, Thomas Reed, Sarah Chen (no relation to Eric, though they'd sometimes joked about being cousins), and more. Each name brought cheers from families and friends.
Eric's name was called fourteenth.
Relief crashed over him so suddenly his knees nearly buckled. He stepped forward on unsteady legs, joining the line of selected candidates. Behind him, he heard his mother's joyful sob, quickly muffled. He didn't turn around—couldn't, not without losing his own composure.
In total, twenty students from Greenbrook were chosen. Some Eric knew well from the dojo. Others he'd barely spoken to. But they all shared one thing now—they were going to the capital, to the Eastern Jade Sect, to a future that had seemed impossibly distant just months ago.
"You have one day to prepare," Ashford continued. "We depart tomorrow at sunset. Bring only what you can carry on your person. The sect will provide training equipment, robes, and basic necessities. Inform your families, settle your affairs, and be ready. This is a great honor—do not waste it."
---
Eric walked home in a daze. The village around him seemed both incredibly familiar and suddenly distant, as if he were already halfway gone. Children ran past playing games he'd played just a few years ago. Neighbors called out congratulations. Everything was the same, and nothing would ever be the same again.
His mother and Wei were waiting at the door. Lin pulled him into a fierce embrace the moment he stepped inside, and he felt her tears soaking into his shoulder.
"My boy," she whispered. "My brave, wonderful boy. I'm so proud of you."
Wei hugged him around the waist, her small arms squeezing tight. "You're going to be the strongest cultivator ever! I know it!"
They sat together at their small table—the same table where they'd shared countless thin soups, where Eric had counted his first earned coppers, where his mother had mended clothes by candlelight to pay for his failed training.
"I have something for you, Ma," Eric said. He reached into his robe and pulled out a cloth sack, setting it on the table with a heavy clink.
Lin looked at it, confused. "What's this?"
"Open it."
She did, and her eyes went wide. Inside were ninety gold crescents—more money than she would normally see in five years of work.
"Eric, this is—I can't—" Her hands shook as she tried to push the sack back toward him. "You'll need this in the city. Cultivation resources are expensive, and I've heard the capital—"
"Ma." Eric gently pushed the sack back. "I have more. This is for you and Wei. For food, for clothes, for repairs to the house. For anything you need." He leaned forward, his voice intense. "But you have to promise me something. Don't tell anyone about this money. Not neighbors, not friends, no one. Hide it somewhere safe. If people know you have this much, they'll ask questions, make assumptions, maybe even try to steal it."
Lin stared at the money, then at him. "How did you earn this much? Eric, you didn't do anything—"
"I hunted D-rank beasts," he said simply. "And I got good at it. Everything here was earned honestly, I swear on father's memory."
His mother's eyes filled with tears again. She reached across and cupped his face in her work-roughened hands. "When did you grow up? When did my little boy become..." She trailed off, shaking her head in wonder.
"Promise me, Ma. Promise you'll hide the money and not tell anyone."
"I promise," she whispered, pulling him into another embrace. "I promise, my precious boy. And I'm so, so proud of you."
They spent the rest of the day together. Lin cooked a feast with some of the money—real pork, fresh vegetables, rice that wasn't mixed with cheaper grains. Neighbors stopped by to offer congratulations, and Eric accepted them with as much grace as he could muster while his mind raced with preparations.
That evening, Wei fell asleep with her head on Eric's shoulder while he told her stories about what the capital might be like. His mother sat across from them, her needle moving in her lap out of pure habit, her eyes red but her smile genuine.
"Your father would be so proud," she said quietly. "He always said you had potential. Even when others doubted, even when..." She paused. "Even when I doubted sometimes, he never did. I'm sorry I didn't have his faith."
"You never gave up on me, Ma. That's what mattered."
"No," she agreed. "I never did."
---
The next day passed in a blur of final preparations. Eric visited Master Tobias to thank him for the technique scroll, and the old master gave him a letter of recommendation sealed with his personal chop.
"Give this to the sect administrators," Tobias said. "It won't guarantee special treatment, but it might help. And Eric? Remember where you came from. Remember the struggles that brought you here. They'll make you stronger than any noble-born genius who's never known hardship."
Eric bowed deeply. "Thank you, Master. For everything."
He stopped by Master Feng's apothecary to settle his accounts, and the merchant surprised him with a small package. "Basic healing salves and antidotes. The forest near the capital has different beasts than here. These might save your life until you learn what's poisonous and what's not."
By the time sunset approached, the entire village had gathered at the main square. The selected students stood together, wearing their best clothes, carrying simple packs with their few possessions. Parents clustered around their children, offering last-minute advice, adjusting robes, fighting tears.
Eric stood with his mother and Wei. He'd changed into his cleanest training robe and carried a pack containing his dagger, some dried provisions, the healing salves from Master Feng, Master Tobias's letter, and the remaining thirty gold crescents he'd kept for himself. Everything else—everything that mattered—stayed here.
Village Leader Hadrian Blackwood mounted the platform where the officials waited. He was an imposing man in his fifties, with silver-streaked hair and the bearing of someone who'd once been a cultivator of some renown before an injury forced his retirement.
"Young disciples," he began, his voice carrying across the square. "Today you embark on a journey that few from our village have had the privilege to take. You go not just as individuals, but as representatives of Greenbrook. Your success reflects on all of us. Your failures..." He paused. "Your failures will be your own to bear, but know that we believe in you. We have faith in your strength, your character, your potential."
He swept his gaze across the assembled students. "The Eastern Jade Sect is not like our village. It is vast, complex, and unforgiving. You will meet cultivators with resources you cannot imagine, training you've never experienced, and advantages you'll never possess. Some of you may feel overwhelmed. Some may feel inadequate."
His eyes found Eric in the crowd, and the village leader nodded slightly. "But remember this—you earned your place there. Through blood, sweat, and determination, you proved yourselves worthy. That is not something resources can buy or privilege can grant. Hold onto that truth when times grow difficult."
"Now go. Make us proud. And remember—no matter how far you travel or how powerful you become, Greenbrook will always be your home."
The families surged forward for final goodbyes. Eric hugged his mother tight, feeling her trembling as she struggled not to break down completely. Wei clung to him, making him promise to write, to visit if he could, to come back someday.
"I will," he promised. "I swear it."
"Be careful," his mother whispered. "Be strong, but be careful. The world beyond our village is dangerous in ways we can't imagine."
"I know, Ma. I'll be careful."
One by one, the students began boarding the carriages—large, elegant vehicles pulled by spirit horses that stamped impatiently. Eric found himself assigned to the third carriage along with five other students.
The first to board was Thorren Locke, son of Greenbrook's wealthiest merchant. He was fifteen, powerfully built for his age, with the kind of confidence that came from never knowing real hardship. He'd scored well in the trials—not exceptional, but solid—and he carried himself like someone who'd already planned his path to the top.
"About time," Thorren said as Eric climbed in. "I thought we'd be waiting all night for the farewells to finish. As if the servants don't know to write letters for us."
Eric said nothing, taking a seat by the window. Two more students entered—identical twin sisters named Lira and Kira Storm. They were fourteen, with matching features and an uncanny way of moving in perfect synchronization. Both had scored respectably in the trials and specialized in dual-combat techniques that their family had developed over generations.
"Don't mind Thorren," Lira said quietly, taking the seat across from Eric. "He's nervous, so he's being more of an ass than usual."
"I heard that," Thorren said without heat.
"You were meant to," Kira replied, settling beside her sister.
The fourth student to enter made Eric sit up straighter. Aria Blackwood, the village leader's daughter, climbed into the carriage with effortless grace. She was the strongest among them, already at Qi Condensation, and she carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly where they stood.
She caught Eric's eye and offered a small nod. "Chen. Good to see you made it."
"Miss Blackwood," Eric replied respectfully.
"Just Aria is fine. We're all sect disciples now—or we will be soon enough. Village hierarchy means nothing there."
The last to board was a boy Eric recognized but had never spoken to—Finn Ashford, a quiet sixteen-year-old who'd spent most of his life helping his family farm rather than training at the dojo. He'd barely qualified for the trials and had scored near the bottom of those selected, but there was something determined in his eyes that suggested he wouldn't give up easily.
Senior Disciple Mira Ashford—Finn's distant cousin, apparently—checked each carriage before giving the signal to depart. The spirit horses began moving, and the carriages rolled forward.
Eric pressed his face to the window, watching as Greenbrook slowly receded into the distance. He could see his mother and Wei standing at the edge of the crowd, waving. He waved back until they became too small to distinguish, until the village itself was just a collection of lights against the darkening sky.
"First time leaving the village?" Aria asked from her seat.
"Yes," Eric admitted.
"It's strange, isn't it? I've been to the capital twice before with my father, but it's different when you know you're not coming back. At least not for a long time."
"Years," Kira said. "The training period is minimum five years, more if you advance quickly enough to be worth keeping."
"Five years," Eric repeated softly. By the time he returned, Wei would be almost grown. His mother would be older. Everything would change.
**"Everything has already changed,"** the dragon said quietly. **"You are no longer the weak boy who could barely defend himself. You are a cultivator now, walking the path to power. The village is your past. The sect is your future."**
"No regrets?" Thorren asked, watching Eric's face. "Some people get cold feet once they're actually leaving."
Eric thought about the question. Three months ago, he'd been the village's greatest failure. Two months ago, he'd died in a forgotten cave and been reborn as something more. One month ago, he'd defeated Rorick Vaughn and shocked everyone who'd ever looked down on him.
And now he was in a carriage heading to the capital, to the Eastern Jade Sect, to opportunities that had once seemed as distant as the stars.
"No regrets," Eric said firmly.
Lira smiled. "Good answer."
The carriage rolled on through the night, carrying its passengers away from everything they'd known toward an uncertain future. Eric watched the landscape change outside his window—familiar forests giving way to unfamiliar hills, small streams becoming wider rivers, the world expanding beyond the boundaries he'd known his entire life.
Aria began explaining what she knew about the sect from her previous visits. Thorren bragged about the cultivation resources his family had secured for him. The twins discussed training strategies in their private twin-speak that seemed to require half as many words as normal conversation. Finn sat quietly, occasionally asking questions but mostly just listening.
And Eric sat by the window, one hand resting on the dagger at his belt, feeling the dragon's presence coiled in his core, and thought about how impossible this would have seemed just months ago.
**"This is only the beginning,"** the dragon reminded him. **"The sect will be filled with geniuses, prodigies who have trained since birth with resources you cannot imagine. You will be tested. You will be challenged. You will face opponents who make Rorick Vaughn look like a child playing at cultivation."**
"I know," Eric murmured, too quietly for the others to hear.
**"But you have something they do not—you have known true weakness, true desperation, true fear of death. You have climbed from the bottom with nothing but determination and my guidance. That foundation, that hunger, that refusal to ever be weak again... that will carry you further than any noble bloodline or wealthy family's resources."**
Through the window, Eric caught a glimpse of lights in the distance—not a village, but something far larger. The others noticed too, pressing against their windows to see.
"There," Aria said, a note of excitement entering her usually composed voice. "That's the capital. That's where we're going."
The lights spread across the horizon like a fallen constellation, vast and bright and impossible. Somewhere in that sprawl of civilization was the Eastern Jade Sect, and whatever trials awaited them there.
Eric Chen, once the weakest disciple of Greenbrook, now heir to an ancient dragon, watched those distant lights and felt something burning in his chest that might have been fear, or excitement, or determination.
Probably all three.
The carriage rolled on toward the capital, carrying six young cultivators into their futures.
And in the darkness of the night, hidden from all but the most perceptive observers, Eric's eyes briefly flashed with an azure glow before returning to normal.
The dragon's heir was going to war.
Not the kind fought with swords and armies, but the eternal war of cultivation—where the only enemy was one's own limits, and the only victory was transcendence.
The journey had only just begun.