The sun had already slipped behind the western ridge by the time Leon Kai reached the edge of his village. His boots were heavy with dust, and the scroll of rejected applications weighed even heavier in his hand. He had spent the day bowing to clan gates, answering arrogant questions, and pretending not to hear laughter when he spoke his name. Now, as the wind rolled over the empty fields, the silence greeted him like an old friend — colder, but far more honest than the smiles he'd faced in the city.
Leon slid the wooden door open and stepped inside, the warm scent of simmering stew welcoming him. His parents were already seated at the low table, their faces lined with fatigue from a day's work in the fields. "You're late again," his mother said softly, though her eyes betrayed concern. Leon dropped onto the bench opposite them, pushing the scrolls aside. "It's always the same," he muttered, voice tight with frustration. "The clans favor those born into power, into wealth. Talent doesn't matter, effort doesn't matter… just your family name." His father's hand rested on his shoulder, silent, steady, while his mother's eyes glimmered with both worry and a hint of pride.
Before Leon could respond, the wooden door creaked again, and his grandmother shuffled into the room, leaning slightly on her cane. Her eyes, sharp and steady despite her age, met his with a quiet resolve. "How about you go to the capital and register your own clan?" she suggested, her voice calm but firm. "Even if it's only you, the registration will last for five years. In that time, you can make a name for yourself… perhaps even recruit a few members. It's not the easiest path, but it is yours." Leon stared at her, the idea settling like a spark in dry tinder. The weight of the day's rejection suddenly felt different, lighter.
She settled into the chair across from him, her cane tapping lightly against the wooden floor. " My mother and father worked in the capital," she continued, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. "High up in the court. I never knew exactly what they did, but their work was secret enough that our family name appears nowhere in the records. Still, there is a law that allows a lone cultivator to register their own clan — free of charge. It only lasts for five years, unless you manage to recruit others. By then, if your clan grows, your registration becomes permanent." Her eyes softened as they met his. "It won't be easy Leon, but it is possible. And you… you have the chance to make it happen."
Later that night, Leon sat cross-legged in his small room, the faint glow of his nascent spiritual energy swirling around his hands. The air hummed with power as he refined his spiritual core, each pulse steadying his mind. Yet, even amidst the familiar rhythm of cultivation, his thoughts kept returning to his grandmother's words. Register my own clan… just me… five years to prove myself. The idea stirred something deep within him — a mixture of doubt, excitement, and the sharp thrill of defiance. For the first time, the endless rejection of the clans didn't feel like a wall; it felt like a challenge, one he was determined to meet on his own terms.
The morning sun had barely stretched over the horizon when Leon stepped into the main courtyard. His mother, father, grandmother, two uncles, and aunt were all there, gathered around a simple travel box brimming with supplies. The Kai family was small, but they supported one another with unwavering loyalty, and today their unity shone brightest. Seeing Leon prepared to leave for the capital, they had collected what little they could offer — tokens of care and hope for the journey ahead.
Inside the box were basic cultivation manuals, worn alchemy booklets, and a few low-class Qi Nourishing Pills. Nothing grand, nothing rare, but each item was chosen carefully, a small seed meant to sustain him until he could plant his own legacy. His mother pressed a hand to his shoulder, his father gave a rare smile, and his grandmother's eyes gleamed with pride. "It's not much," his aunt said softly, "but it's all we have. Go make them know the Kai name." Leon nodded silently, the weight of their faith settling on him like a mantle he could not yet carry, but would soon learn to bear.
Leon hoisted the travel box onto his back and began walking along the dusty path leading out of the village. A few neighbors waved from their doorways, calling out wishes for safe travels, and even the children he had once played with shouted encouragement. As he neared the outskirts, the village chief emerged from his small office, hurrying to catch up. "Leon," the chief said, holding out a small carved token, dark wood etched with intricate markings. "When you face trouble with officials you cannot handle, use this. But do not show it openly unless it is truly necessary." Leon accepted it with a nod, and then continued down the road, the wind carrying the voices of his village behind him.
As Leon approached the towering treeline that marked the entrance to Milan's Pass, the air seemed to thicken with a strange energy, faintly humming against his skin. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in jagged streaks, casting moving patterns over the undergrowth and the narrow, winding path ahead. He paused for a moment, taking it all in — the sheer size of the forest, the distant cliffs of Grey Rock Canyon, and the eerie quiet that seemed to hum with unseen power. It was awe-inspiring, but he could feel the invisible rules of the place pressing down: here, only the strong set the law, and the Imperial Court had little sway. Leon tightened his grip on the travel box, eyes sharp, senses alert. Every step forward would demand caution, but the thrill of entering a realm ruled by cultivators rather than common law stirred something in him he had never felt before.
Leon moved carefully through the forest, the sound of rustling leaves and distant birdcalls filling the air. The deeper he went, the denser the trees became, their roots twisting like serpents across the ground. Then, the forest fell silent. From beyond a thicket ahead came the sharp crack of splintering wood, followed by a deep, guttural roar. Leon crouched low and peered through the brush. In a small clearing stood an old man in tattered robes, his hands glowing faintly with spiritual light. Before him snarled a massive boar, its tusks blackened and steaming, its eyes burning with a crimson haze — a beast consumed by demonic energy. The ground quaked as it pawed the earth, preparing to charge.
Without thinking twice, Leon dropped his travel box and sprinted into the clearing. The old man's eyes widened in surprise as Leon positioned himself between him and the charging beast. The ground trembled under the boar's weight, its roar echoing through the forest like thunder. Leon didn't have time to form a plan — his body moved on instinct, drawing upon the faint spiritual energy he had refined the night before. The old man leapt back to safety, his expression shifting from shock to cautious curiosity as he watched the young cultivator stand his ground. The demonized boar lunged forward, tusks gleaming, and Leon met it head-on, the pulse of raw spirit power flaring in his veins for the first time in battle.
The boar charged, its hooves tearing furrows through the soil. Leon twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding the beast's tusks, and slammed his fist into its flank. The impact sent a shudder through his arm, but to his surprise, the creature staggered back with a grunt of pain. He pressed forward, each strike sharper, more precise. The beast's corrupted energy lashed out like waves of heat, but Leon's body endured it with uncanny resilience. His muscles tensed, his breathing steady — his physique holding firm against the monstrous strength before him. Every movement he made carried instinctive rhythm, as though his body already knew the dance of combat.
From a few paces away, the old man watched with narrowed eyes, the glow of his own spiritual aura dimming as he studied the boy. "What an impressive physical cultivation," he murmured to himself, stroking his chin. "However, his spiritual power… it's unusually potent and hot — that's an alchemist's trait." The boar bellowed again, crashing forward, but Leon's stance shifted fluidly, his hand movements graceful, deliberate. The old man's lips curved into a faint smile. "Interesting," he whispered, his gaze sharpening. "Very interesting indeed."
Just as Leon prepared to counter the boar's next charge, a surge of power swept through the clearing. A hand seized his collar and pulled him aside with effortless strength. The old man stepped forward, his tattered robe fluttering as spiritual energy condensed around his palm. With a single strike, he slammed his hand against the demonized beast's skull. The air cracked like thunder, and the boar collapsed instantly, its corrupted aura fading into mist. Before Leon could even catch his breath, a warm flow of spiritual energy coursed through his body — the old man's power, gentle yet immense, restoring the strength he had spent in battle. The old man threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing through the forest. "Hah! Bold, reckless, and still standing. I like that!"
The laughter faded, replaced by a calm, knowing smile. "You should know, boy," the old man said, turning his gaze to the clearing, "this battle was never real." His hand moved in a subtle motion, and the air shimmered as a faint formation revealed itself around them — intricate lines of light and shifting sigils, hidden until now. "I staged this," he continued, "a formation that can only be seen and entered by someone fated to meet me. I have been fighting this boar for twenty-one days, waiting for that person to appear. And now… here you stand." His eyes gleamed with quiet amusement, as if he already knew far more about Leon than he was willing to say.
The old man's gaze turned distant, his voice lowering to a grave tone that carried the weight of countless years. "There is a war brewing, boy — one greater than the world has seen in an age. The Titans are stirring again, growing bolder by the day, and the great sects and noble clans are too entangled in pride to act wisely. Unorthodox clans rise to challenge the old powers, and chaos follows their wake. The balance that once kept heaven and earth apart is cracking." His eyes shifted back to Leon, sharp and searching. "In times like these, new heroes must rise — those unbound by the rules of the old world."
He stepped closer, resting a hand on Leon's shoulder. "I have wandered for years, waiting for someone worthy to inherit my teachings. My arts cannot be given to just anyone… and yet, you, boy — you are not just anyone. Your fate aligns with mine, your spirit with my formations. You possess the rare harmony of an alchemist's heart and a warrior's body. The world will need that balance." The old man's tone softened, a faint smile curling his lips. "For now, I shall give you only my name — call me Master Yun. But do not speak it lightly, nor call me your teacher until you have carved your own place in this world. When that time comes, should you still wish to stand as my disciple… then the bond shall be sealed."
Leon stood still for a long moment, the forest strangely quiet around him. His heart pounded, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of the old man's words. The offer stirred something deep within him—an unspoken yearning for purpose, for a path that was truly his own. Slowly, he stepped forward, then dropped to one knee, bowing low until his forehead touched the ground. He said nothing—no grand declaration, no loud oath—only silence and reverence. Yet within that silence burned a fierce determination. He vowed in his heart that he would rise, forge his name through his own strength, and one day return with the right to call the old man his master.
Here he was—no noble lineage, no grand resources—yet already, he had found a guide in the vast cultivation world. Leon was not one to smile often, nor one to celebrate easily, but for the first time in years, warmth stirred quietly in his chest. On their journey toward the capital, Master Yun handed him a storage ring filled with formation techniques and personally demonstrated several quick arrays and talisman arts. Everyone has to start somewhere, Leon thought, memorizing every word and movement. The old man walked beside him, teaching patiently until the towering gates of the capital came into view. There, Master Yun finally stopped and said with a faint smile, "Should you ever find yourself in need, call for me—and I shall lend you a hand." Then, just as he appeared, the old man vanished, leaving Leon to face the capital's boundless horizon on his own.