The morning sun bled through the sparse canopy of the mountain forest, casting long, golden fingers across the rugged terrain. Dewdrops clung to the tips of the wild grass, shimmering like scattered diamonds, while the air was thick with the scent of damp pine and fresh earth. Ye Qian sat atop a large, flat boulder, his legs crossed and his eyes closed, his breathing deep and rhythmic as he circulated the Body Tempering Mantra.
After several days of intense life-and-death struggle with the wild wolves, he had finally stabilized his foundation in the Fourth Stage of Body Tempering. However, true power was not just about breaking through a bottleneck; it was about the endless days of grinding, polishing, and tempering that followed.
The air in the wilderness was crisp and pure, far away from the suffocating, toxic atmosphere of the Ye Clan. Every breath Ye Qian took allowed him to sense the subtle shift of the Qi flowing through his veins. As he moved his hands in slow, deliberate patterns, he felt the newfound harmony between his muscles, his bones, and his joints. He understood a vital truth: strength was not just raw force; it was the absolute, microscopic control over every fiber of his being.
Day after day, Ye Qian pushed his physical limits to the breaking point. He used heavy stones, thick branches, and the natural obstacles of the forest to simulate real combat. He practiced punching from awkward angles, delivering kicks while balancing on uneven ground, and perfected the art of the sudden dodge.
Every time he threw a punch, he concentrated on the resistance of the air, adjusting his speed and force until the movement was as smooth as flowing water. Every time he kicked, he focused on the snap of his knee and the power generated from his core. Here, in the silence of the wild, there were no jeers, no insults, and no one to call him trash. There was only the sound of his own breath and the satisfying crack of his fists hitting the air.
A few more days passed, and the power of the Fourth Stage became a natural part of him. His explosive force had doubled, and his reflexes were becoming instinctive. He could now string together complex chains of attack and defense in the blink of an eye. His transitions—from a low roll to a high strike—were becoming seamless. Yet, despite his progress, a nagging thought began to take root in his mind.
"No matter how fast my hands are or how strong my kicks become, there is a limit," he muttered to himself, looking down at his bruised knuckles. He picked up a fallen tree branch and swung it, trying to mimic the arc of a sword. But the wood was clumsy; it lacked the focus, the reach, and the lethal edge needed for a true warrior. "My fists cannot reach far enough, and they cannot pierce the hide of the truly massive beasts."
He realized that bare-handed combat had its boundaries. Against larger monsters with thick scales or armored carapaces, even a Stage Four punch might not be enough to reach the vitals. To truly evolve, he needed more than just his body.
To bridge this gap, he intensified his training. At dawn, he focused on speed and agility—footwork, rolls, and lightning-fast strikes. In the afternoon, he pushed his endurance, running up steep cliffs until his lungs burned. And at twilight, he would pick up various sticks and stones, imagining them as weapons, trying to channel the power of the Fourth Stage through an external object.
After nearly a week of this grueling routine, Ye Qian's mastery over his power reached a new peak. His kicks were like iron whips, and his punches carried the weight of a falling boulder. Every movement was calm, calculated, and precise. But the realization from before only grew stronger.
"I need a weapon," he decided, his gaze turning sharp and resolute.
It was a cold, logical conclusion. A weapon would not just be a tool; it would be an extension of his soul. It would allow him to project his Stage Four strength over a greater distance and with far more lethal precision. He began to recall the layout of the nearby town—the blacksmith shops, the weapon stalls, and the hidden markets. He needed a weapon that matched his style: something fast, flexible, yet heavy enough to kill.
As night fell, the wilderness was draped in a pale moonlight. Ye Qian built a small, hidden campfire and began to inspect his body. He applied the basic ointments provided by the steward to the small nicks and bruises on his joints. He could feel the Qi flowing slowly, repairing his tissues and soothing his tired muscles.
Every bruise was a lesson; every scar was a badge of his progress. The wilderness had been a perfect furnace for his basic tempering, but to take the next step, he needed a blade.
He sat by the dying embers of the fire, closing his eyes to meditate. In his mind, he replayed his battles and his drills. He could feel the coordination of his body—it was better than it had ever been. His endurance had skyrocketed, and his power was no longer a wild, uncontrollable force, but a steady stream he could direct at will. However, he knew that without a weapon, he was like a tiger without claws.
"Tomorrow, I return to the town," Ye Qian whispered to the darkness, his eyes glowing like embers. "I will find a blade that fits me."
As the night wind whispered through the grass and the leaves rustled in the trees, Ye Qian felt the fire in his blood. He wasn't the scared, broken boy anymore. He was a cultivator who had earned his strength in the dirt and the blood of the wild.
He packed his meager belongings—the remaining herbs, the empty medicine bottles, and the basic manual. He cleared away all traces of his camp, ensuring that no one would find his training ground. After a short, deep sleep to recover his energy, he prepared himself for the journey back to civilization.
At the first light of dawn, Ye Qian stood at the edge of the forest, looking down the long, winding path that led back to the town. The morning dew sparkled on the leaves, reflecting his unshakable determination.
"Whether it's my body or my weapon," he vowed, looking back at the mountain one last time, "I will turn every hardship into power. I will make myself invincibility personified."
The road ahead was long, and the challenges of the town were different from those of the wild, but Ye Qian's footsteps were steady and heavy with purpose. The era of the trash was over; the era of the warrior was about to begin.