With talisman crafting now part of his daily routine, Luo Yun began to understand why so few cultivators pursued this path seriously.
It was not because talismans were weak.
It was because the process demanded an almost unreasonable degree of control.
Each time he prepared to draw, he would first calm his breathing and steady his spirit sense. Only when his thoughts were clear would he lay out the talisman paper, uncap the ink, and lift the brush. The scripture given by the system emphasized three essential components, and Luo Yun followed them rigidly.
The core rune determined the talisman's function. The stabilizing lines contained and guided the Qi. The activation mark served as the final trigger.
None of these could be rushed.
For a Fireball Talisman, the core rune had to be drawn in one continuous motion. His spirit sense guided the brush, ensuring the line thickness remained consistent. If his hand trembled even slightly, the rune structure collapsed.
Once the core rune was complete, he added the stabilizing lines. These were thinner, more intricate, and far more draining. They prevented the Qi from dispersing prematurely. Most of his failed attempts occurred here—either the lines distorted, or the Qi leaked before sealing.
Only after stabilizing the structure did he move to the activation mark. This final stroke required precision and restraint. Inject too much Qi, and the talisman burned. Too little, and it failed silently.
By the time he sealed his first successful Fireball Talisman, sweat had soaked through his robes.
He did not rush to celebrate.
Instead, he rested, waited for his Qi to recover, and attempted a second one later that day. The result was another success, though barely. His head throbbed faintly, a reminder that his spirit sense had limits.
Two attempts per day remained his limit.
Several days later, he decided to test the talisman's might.
He chose a secluded stone platform on Azure Edge Peak where outer disciples often practiced techniques. After ensuring no one was nearby, he activated the talisman.
A fist-sized fireball shot forward and exploded against the stone wall, scattering fragments and leaving a scorched mark. The power was roughly equivalent to a Third Layer Qi Condensation spell—no more, no less.
Luo Yun nodded quietly.
Alongside talismans, he continued practicing basic spells. Fireball remained his primary offensive spell, while a simple wind-based movement technique helped him adjust footing and evade attacks. He did not pursue many spells—only those that complemented his sword and talisman use.
Azure Edge Peak remained his main training ground.
Sword practice was never solitary here. Disciples gathered in groups, exchanging pointers, sparring lightly, or watching others. Luo Yun practiced among them, rarely standing out but never lagging behind.
Every ten days, a different instructor oversaw the outer disciple sessions.
One such day, a new instructor arrived—a middle-aged man with sharp eyes and a long scar across his jaw. He did not speak much. Instead, he watched.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but firm.
"Sword control is not about force. It is about restraint. Those who overextend die first."
He demonstrated a simple movement, redirecting a practice sword midair with minimal effort. Several disciples attempted to imitate him and failed.
Luo Yun watched carefully.
During paired drills, he sparred briefly with Chen Yao. Their exchange was short—no winner declared—but Chen Yao laughed afterward.
"You're getting steadier. Your sword doesn't waver as much anymore."
Luo Yun acknowledged this with a nod.
Nearby, other familiar faces appeared and disappeared—some talented, some reckless, some overly ambitious. He listened more than he spoke, absorbing how others approached combat and cultivation.
By the end of the session, his arms were sore, his Qi partially depleted, and his mind tired—but not strained.
That night, back in his cave, he brewed a cup of Flowing Spirit Herb tea and cultivated quietly. The faint warmth in his dantian responded smoothly, his spirit sense settling like still water.
...
The steady use of herbs soon began to show results beyond what Luo Yun initially expected.
Clearwater Vein Grass and Flowing Spirit Herb worked together subtly, smoothing his Qi circulation after long cultivation sessions. The Moon-dew Sprout paste, applied every few days, kept his spirit sense clear even after hours of talisman drawing. Iron-root Bud tonic strengthened his body gradually, enough that his sword practice no longer left lingering soreness.
The effects were not dramatic on any single day, but over weeks they accumulated.
His sword stance grew more stable. The unnecessary tension in his shoulders vanished. Each movement of Returning Wind Slash became cleaner, and the transitions between steps flowed more naturally. These fundamentals, refined repeatedly, fed back into Flowing Cloud Edge. Though he had not grasped any new insight, the technique itself grew sharper simply because his control improved.
Cultivation followed the same pattern.
Without forcing breakthroughs, without swallowing pills recklessly, his Qi accumulated steadily. Four months passed almost unnoticed, and one evening, during a calm session of meditation, the Qi in his dantian thickened and rotated more smoothly. With a faint warmth spreading through his meridians, he advanced into the Fourth Layer of Qi Condensation.
By now, such progress no longer surprised him.
Half a month remained before his next sign-in.
During this period, Luo Yun deliberately kept a low profile. He limited unnecessary conversations, declined sparring invitations politely, and avoided crowded areas unless required. He had yet to encounter the true brutality of the cultivation world, but he knew better than to assume safety.
Power changed people.
In his previous life, he had learned how easily greed and envy distorted reason. Here, where strength decided fate far more directly, discretion mattered even more.
That thought led him to a growing concern.
Storage.
At present, he kept everything within his cave—herbs, talisman materials, spirit stones, and tools arranged carefully. It worked for now, but it was far from ideal.
Low-grade spatial pouches were usually only issued to: Inner disciples, Elite outer disciples with outstanding merit, Or purchased at extremely high prices.
For ordinary outer disciples, even a one-cubic-meter pouch was a luxury.
A small spatial pouch typically held: About one cubic meter of space, Could store non-living items and Required spiritual sense to access
Cost anywhere from 30 to 50 spirit stones on the open market
Mid-grade pouches were entirely out of reach, reserved for Foundation Establishment cultivators and above.
Luo Yun possessed neither the contribution points nor the reputation to acquire one through the sect. Buying one openly would only draw attention. That left only one possibility.
The system.
He didn't need a large pouch.He didn't need anything fancy.
Just enough to conceal his growing resources.
With that thought lingering in his mind, he returned to his cave and began his evening routine.
As he stepped into the spirit field, his gaze paused.
The strawberry-like herbs—those strange vines obtained earlier—had changed.
Of the nine plants, two had nearly reached maturity. Small fruits hung beneath the leaves, glowing faintly with unnatural vitality. Their surface shimmered like crystal soaked in moonlight, and the surrounding air felt thicker, richer.
The cave itself had changed.
Spirit Bamboo now stood twice as tall as it had six months ago, its main stalk firm and straight, faint patterns forming along its surface. Several new shoots had emerged at the base—some no taller than a foot, others barely breaking through the soil. The bamboo's presence alone noticeably increased the Qi density in the cave, and Luo Yun could feel his absorption improve whenever he cultivated nearby.
Other than increasing Qi density in area- Spirit bamboo was used for Treasure refinement. But its age must be more than 300 years. So for now it only worked as Qi gathering bamboo.
The other herbs complemented it, their fragrances blending into something serene and nourishing.
He stood there quietly for a long time.
He didn't know what the fruits were used for. They didn't match any herb description he had encountered so far. Still, their vitality was unmistakable, and they did not carry any poisonous aura.
Even so, he did not act hastily.
He marked their condition carefully and resolved to experiment only after observing them a little longer—and only in isolation.
No one else needed to know.
As he sat down to cultivate that night, surrounded by glowing leaves and faintly pulsing Qi, the cave finally felt complete.
Not just a hiding place.
But an immortal abode, in its earliest form.
Fifteen days remained.
And whatever reward awaited him next, he was ready to receive it.