The forest did not stop Ashen when he walked away from the Immortal Tree.
That, in itself, felt wrong.
He had expected resistance—pressure, warning, maybe even pain. After all, this land had been sealed, hidden from the world, protected by ancient power older than most civilizations. Yet as he crossed the invisible boundary, nothing dramatic happened.
No thunder.
No divine voice.
Just silence.
Ashen paused mid-step and glanced back.
The Immortal Tree stood exactly where it had always been, massive and timeless, its presence calm and distant. From this side of the boundary, it looked… ordinary. Still enormous, still ancient—but muted, like a legend half-forgotten.
"So that's how it is," Ashen murmured. "Hidden in plain sight."
He turned forward again.
The air changed immediately.
The dense spiritual energy that had saturated the sealed forest thinned, becoming uneven and impure. The natural harmony he had grown accustomed to over the past days vanished, replaced by a chaotic mixture of weak life-force, residual emotions, and faint traces of human activity.
Civilization.
Ashen exhaled slowly.
In his previous life, this was the world that had crushed him.
In this life, it would either bow—or burn.
The forest gradually gave way to dirt paths and broken stone markers half-buried in moss. Old roads, long neglected. The trees grew less ancient, their roots shallow, their spiritual presence weak.
Ashen adjusted his pace, deliberately slowing down.
Power without control was stupidity.
He could feel his strengthened body begging to move faster, to leap, to run, to test its limits. But he resisted. Drawing attention now would be dangerous.
Especially when he knew how weak he still was.
Body Tempering, first stage.
In the cultivation world, that was barely above ordinary mortals.
Ashen clenched his fist.
"Doesn't matter," he muttered. "Foundations decide everything later."
By midday, he heard voices.
Human voices.
Ashen instantly shifted into the undergrowth, crouching behind a cluster of bushes overlooking the road ahead. Three men walked along the path, leading a thin donkey laden with sacks.
Merchants.
Their clothes were rough but clean, weapons cheap but functional. One complained loudly about taxes, another about bandits, the third cursed a sect for occupying farmland upstream.
Ashen listened quietly.
Information was power.
"…they say the Azure Cloud Sect's recruiting again," one man said. "Kids from thirteen to eighteen. Anyone with spirit roots."
"Spirit roots?" another scoffed. "As if our village would produce one in a hundred years."
"Still," the first replied, lowering his voice, "they took Old Chen's grandson last time. Gave the family silver. Haven't heard back since."
Ashen's eyes narrowed.
Azure Cloud Sect.
The name stirred faint echoes in his inherited memories. A mid-tier sect. Not righteous, not demonic. Known for pragmatism—and exploitation.
Perfect.
When the merchants passed, Ashen stepped onto the road.
He approached openly, posture relaxed, expression neutral.
The merchants froze when they noticed him.
"A kid?" one said warily. "Where'd you come from?"
Ashen bowed slightly—not too much.
"I was separated from my village," he said calmly. "May I walk with you until the next town?"
The men exchanged glances.
One shrugged. "As long as you don't cause trouble."
Ashen nodded. "I won't."
They walked together.
Ashen kept his senses open, listening, observing. He learned the name of the nearest town—Stonebrook. A minor settlement under the influence of the Azure Cloud Sect. Law was enforced loosely. Cultivators ruled quietly from the shadows.
Bandits were common.
Disappearances more so.
By the time Stonebrook came into view, Ashen had already decided.
This would be his first battlefield.
Stonebrook was ugly.
Wooden buildings leaned at odd angles, patched with mismatched planks. The streets were muddy, crowded, loud. The smell of sweat, livestock, and cheap alcohol hung thick in the air.
Ashen blended in easily.
No one looked twice at a thin teenage boy in worn clothes.
He passed stalls selling dried meat, low-grade talismans, fake spirit pills. He felt faint traces of spiritual energy in a few items—but nothing worth stealing.
Yet.
He stopped near a notice board.
Several papers were nailed to it, some torn, some weathered. One stood out immediately.
AZURE CLOUD SECT – RECRUITMENT NOTICE
Aptitude testing for youths aged 13–18
Location: Stonebrook Outer Hall
Time: Three days from now
Ashen read it twice.
Three days.
Enough time to prepare.
He turned away and headed toward the cheapest inn he could find.
That night, Ashen sat cross-legged on a creaking wooden bed, eyes closed, senses turned inward.
Cultivating here was harder.
The spiritual energy was thin and polluted. Drawing it in felt like drinking muddy water after tasting pure spring.
Still, he endured.
Slow cycles.
Careful refinement.
Not growth—stabilization.
The Immortal Tree's leaf rested against his chest beneath his clothes, warm and steady. Whenever his breathing faltered, the warmth spread slightly, guiding him back.
"You're not helping me grow anymore," Ashen thought. "Just keeping me alive."
It felt… fair.
At midnight, a disturbance rippled through the inn.
Footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful.
Ashen's eyes snapped open.
A scream followed.
Then silence.
Ashen slipped off the bed, moving soundlessly to the door. He pressed his ear against the wood.
"…Room three," a rough voice said. "Kid came in alone."
Ashen's gaze hardened.
Bandits.
Or worse.
He stepped back.
Fighting inside the inn would draw attention. Possibly sect enforcers. Possibly cultivators stronger than him.
But running wasn't an option.
Ashen exhaled.
"I won't kneel," he whispered.
The door burst open.
A man rushed in, blade flashing.
Ashen moved.
Not faster than sight—but faster than expectation.
He stepped inside the man's guard and struck the throat with the edge of his hand. Bone cracked. The man collapsed without a sound.
Another rushed in.
Ashen grabbed the fallen blade and slashed upward, clean and brutal.
Blood sprayed.
The third froze.
Ashen looked at him.
Cold.
Unblinking.
The man ran.
Ashen didn't chase.
He stood there, breathing hard, heart pounding—not from fear, but from realization.
This body… could kill.
He wiped the blade clean and set it down.
By morning, the inn was in chaos.
The dead men were identified as local bandits. No one questioned Ashen. No one suspected him.
Weak towns ignored quiet deaths.
Ashen left before noon.
On the third day, the Outer Hall was crowded.
Dozens of youths stood nervously in line. Parents waited outside, hopeful, afraid.
Ashen stood among them.
Calm.
Still.
When his turn came, he placed his hand on the spirit stone.
The stone glowed.
Dimly.
Then brighter.
Murmurs spread.
A sect disciple frowned. "Low… but stable."
He looked at Ashen. "You'll do."
Ashen stepped forward.
As the gates closed behind him, he felt it.
The path had opened.
Not toward safety.
But toward destiny.
And for the first time, the world began to move around him.