De-Reece wipes the sweat from his brow, his breath still ragged from the gruelling sword practice. His Qi reserves run low, a frustrating reminder of his limits. The flickers of elemental power that dance along his blade had been intoxicating—but fleeting. If he truly wants to build a sword style of his own, he needs more than just strength. He needs resources.
The alchemy books he studied echo in his mind. Ingredients—rare herbs, elemental crystals, and beast parts—can replenish Qi, enhance physical strength, or even fortify meridians. Without them, progress will stagnate. The Heavenly Demon might have left behind knowledge, but not the means to fuel that knowledge.
Finishing the last of the snake meat, De-Reece chews slowly as the faint traces of Qi dissipate into his body. It is a far cry from the surge he had felt the first time—now, it is barely a whisper. Limbs ache, Qi reserves scrape thin, and exhaustion presses down on him. Knowing he needs rest, he leans against the cool stone wall of the cave, allowing sleep to claim him.
When his eyes open again, the sky beyond the cave mouth is a soft, misty gray. His body feels marginally better, Qi still faint but steadier, like a flickering candle. Gathering his sword, De-Reece steps out into the thick forest of red oak trees. The air is crisp, each breath carrying a faint hint of moss and earth. Mist clings to the underbrush, swirling in delicate tendrils as he moves cautiously, senses sharpened.
The more he learns about Qi, the more he notices the pulse of the world around him—the slow, steady thrum of life in the trees, the faint hum of insects, the shifting currents of wind. The forest breathes with elemental resonance. The great oaks hum with earth energy, unyielding and ancient. Moisture in the air pulses with water's gentle flow, while the distant rustle of leaves carries the wind's subtle touch. Even the occasional spark from a distant ember moss hints at fire's restless hunger.
Elemental attunement. The concept from the formation book clicks into place. Everything holds an element: water flows with fluidity and change, earth stands firm and unyielding, fire consumes and transforms, wind carries both freedom and unpredictability, and metal cuts with ruthless efficiency. By attuning himself to these elements, he can better locate ingredients tied to them.
His first find is subtle—a patch of Bloodroot, its crimson-veined leaves almost blending into the undergrowth. The alchemy book describes it as a fire-attuned herb, known to stimulate Qi circulation and aid in minor injuries. Carefully, he uproots a few stems, storing them in his spatial pouch. Even as his fingers brush the roots, a faint warmth buzzes against his skin—the subtle signature of its elemental essence.
Further ahead, a thin, glistening vine spirals around a tree. Silver Thread Vine—an earth and metal hybrid plant, often used to reinforce bones and strengthen Qi pathways. Fingers trailing over the vine, he feels the faint pulse of energy within it, a steady, almost metallic thrum. The book had warned against overharvesting—too much could disrupt the elemental balance in the area. Taking only what is needed, he clips a few strands and moves on.
I can feel them, he realizes. The elements—they're not just theories. They're alive.
As he collects more herbs—Windshade Flowers swaying unnaturally in a still breeze, Ember Moss clinging to a sunlit rock—a distant chittering sound makes him freeze. His gaze snaps upward.
The monkey tribe.
Brown-furred creatures with distinct red-striped markings move with agile grace through the branches. Eyes, encircled by husky-like fur patterns, gleam with sharp intelligence. Some carry crude weapons—sharpened sticks and rocks tied to vines. Others clutch bundles of strange fruits and herbs.
De-Reece presses his back against the rough bark of a red oak, crouching low as he watches the swaying branches above. The monkeys move with an organization that sends a chill down his spine. This isn't random foraging—it's methodical. Calculated.
Each monkey carries something: herbs tucked behind woven vine belts, crude pouches slung over shoulders, and makeshift weapons grasped in nimble hands. Some clutch glowing blue flowers—Moonlit Iris, rare and potent in Qi-enhancing elixirs. Others carefully gather Frostpetal Leaves, their silvery sheen catching the dappled light filtering through the canopy.
They know what they're doing.
His mind races. The alchemy book had been clear—these aren't common plants. Their elemental properties tie directly to the flow of Qi. For the monkeys to target them so precisely, someone must have trained them, or they are following instructions left behind.
Fingers tighten on the hilt of his sword. Qi reserves remain low, a constant reminder of his limits, but strategic instincts roar to life. Rushing after them headlong would be reckless. No—this requires patience.
Observe. Plan. Execute.
Moving carefully, he follows from a distance, weaving through the underbrush and using his growing grasp of formations to mask his presence. Tracing subtle patterns in the air, he channels the remaining Qi into a simple Invisibility Formation—a small, 5x5 meter array that bends light around him. Practice has expanded its range by two meters. It isn't perfect—Qi flickers with instability—but it is enough to blend into the forest's natural shadows.
The deeper they travel, the more the forest shifts. Red oaks thin out, replaced by twisted trees with dark, sinewy bark and long, grasping roots. Patches of glowing fungi cling to rocks, pulsing faintly in hues of purple and green. The elemental resonance distorts—no longer the balanced harmony of earth and wind, but something more chaotic. Unstable.
Finally, the monkeys halt.
Nestled in the heart of a sunken grove lies a crumbling structure—an abandoned alchemist's lab. Vines strangle the stone walls, shattered glass litters the mossy floor. The air buzzes with faint remnants of alchemic energy, the aftershock of Qi-based experimentation. A sickly green mist hovers above the ground, swirling unnaturally, the stench of scorched herbs and decayed matter clinging to the air.
But this isn't just a ruin.
Near the entrance, a small cauldron still smokes, sickly green vapor twisting into the air. A pile of freshly gathered herbs lies beside it, sorted into neat bundles—Ash Bark, Ember Moss, and more Moonlit Iris. Someone has been here recently.
The monkeys chatter among themselves, placing their gathered materials in designated spots. One particularly large monkey—its red stripes darker than the others—tugs at a length of chain anchored to the wall, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside, refined alchemic tools gleam in the dim light—bone-carved knives, crystal phials brimming with liquid, a scattering of gold coins.
But De-Reece's gaze locks onto a small bronze signet ring resting atop the pile. The symbol etched into its surface sends a ripple of recognition through his thoughts—a coiled serpent devouring its own tail.
An Ouroboros.
His heart thuds. The alchemy tome had hinted that certain symbols belonged to sects or factions, but his knowledge is shallow. The Ouroboros—its presence speaks volumes. This lab isn't just a stray hideout. It belongs to someone. Perhaps a dark alchemic sect or a rogue cultivator group.
Then, a sudden flare of Qi resonates from within the lab—faint, but distinct.
Not the wild, chaotic energy of beasts. This is controlled. Deliberate.
Steadying his breath, he edges closer, peering through a cracked window. Inside, two figures move about the lab—both clad in dark robes, faces obscured by hoods. The taller one pours a viscous black liquid from a vial into the cauldron, while the other carefully mixes a powdery substance.
Then he sees it.
A small cage shoved into the corner. Inside, a quivering beast no larger than a rabbit thrashes weakly, its fur matted with blood. Dark runes carve into its body, pulsating with an eerie crimson glow.
Blood alchemy.
De-Reece's grip tightens on his sword. His breath slows.
Whatever this place is, whoever these figures are—this changes everything.
Rage coils in De-Reece's gut. This isn't just alchemy—this is dark magic. These cultivators aren't seeking balance or healing; they are twisting Qi through pain and suffering, using the life force of innocent beasts to fuel their experiments.
His grip tightens around his sword.
But he doesn't move.
Not yet.
He forces himself to stay hidden, his heart pounding against his ribs. Charging in headfirst could mean death—not just for him, but for the caged beast as well. If these cultivators belong to a larger force, eliminating them without understanding their purpose could draw even greater danger.
Think, De-Reece. Think.
He listens closely, honing in on their hushed voices. The taller cultivator speaks first, his tone cold and clinical.
"We need more blood essence," he mutters. "This beast's Qi is too weak. If we can't extract a pure core, the master will have our heads."
The shorter one grunts. "We should've used the crimson moon fox. Its core was stronger—but no, you had to drain it dry last time. We're running out of time. The master expects the elixir by the next moon."
The master.
De-Reece's mind races. There is a chain of command—these aren't rogue alchemists working alone. They serve someone, someone capable of blood alchemy on a level far beyond their skill.
I need to know who this master is.
"Plus," the shorter cultivator mutters, his voice a low growl, "those traces we found—someone's here. They might be onto us."
"I don't believe that," the taller alchemist replies, though uncertainty flickers in his tone. "It could just be some wanderer passing through. Don't stir up trouble we don't need."
The shorter one snorts. "Hmm... the master might want to know either way."
But more than that—he can't let them leave here alive.
They either know of him or suspect him.
If even one of these cultivators escapes, they could report back to their master, painting De-Reece as a threat. Worse still, the traces he may have unintentionally left behind—the faint Qi fluctuations from his formations, the broken twigs along his path—gnaw at his mind. His survival hinges not just on strength but on his ability to remain a ghost—a whisper in the dark, untraceable and forgotten.
Eliminate them. Destroy the evidence. Leave nothing behind.
His gaze locks onto the cauldron. If he can sabotage it—overload the elemental balance within—it could explode, creating a brief moment of chaos. Enough time for him to strike.
Crouching low, he knows he must act now. They are onto him. Without hesitation, he quickly consumes a handful of medicinal herbs and half a Qi-restoring potion. It's not the most efficient way—refining the herbs into a pill or potion would yield far greater results—but this is a life-or-death situation, and he doesn't have that luxury. He still doesn't fully understand the rules of this strange world, but right now, he needs every ounce of strength he can muster.
Drawing a slow breath, he begins weaving his Qi into a small formation—a destabilizing rune, using his limited elemental energy with sharp precision. Though his reserves aren't empty, he remains acutely aware of their limits—every thread of Qi must be placed with care. He doesn't need a grand display—just enough to shatter the cauldron and unbalance the delicate concoction brewing within.
Strike fast. Strike hard.
The moment the formation clicks into place, De-Reece tenses—ready to become a storm.
The cauldron trembles as a silent thread of Qi slices through the alchemic balance within. For a heartbeat, nothing happens.
Then, a violent hiss erupts—the sickly green liquid bubbling over as the delicate elemental alignment collapses. Fire clashes with water essence, wind spirals wildly, and the cauldron shudders before exploding in a blast of corrupted Qi and searing heat.
The taller cultivator staggers back, his robes catching the brunt of the blast, the acrid smoke clinging to him like a living thing. Glass shatters, shelves topple, and the lab descends into chaos.
De-Reece is already moving.
Phantom Shadow Steps carries him forward—his form a flicker in the smoke. Each step is a ghostly whisper, his Qi barely a ripple as he closes the distance, sword gleaming with a faint, elemental sheen. His fear of exposure twists into sharp intent—a desperate need to silence every witness.
The shorter cultivator coughs, waving the smoke from his face, his hand reaching for a talisman hidden in his sleeve. His mouth opens to shout—to call for aid, to alert someone—but De-Reece's blade flashes.
The strike isn't elegant.
His sword cuts deep into the cultivator's arm, severing tendon and bone. A scream dies in the man's throat as De-Reece pivots, stepping into his shadow, and with a brutal twist, drives his blade through the man's ribs. The cultivator chokes, a bubbling sound escaping his lips as blood spills over the stone floor. In the next breath, De-Reece feels it—a sudden, raw surge of Qi flowing from the dying man, an invisible current rushing into his meridians. It is wild, tainted with the cultivator's own corrupted essence, but De-Reece welcomes it, his body drinking in the stolen power. His muscles tighten, his core flaring as if stoked by unseen flames. The sensation is both intoxicating and unsettling—a dark reward for his brutal efficiency.
No time to stop. No time to think.
The taller one, recovering faster than expected, launches a blast of fiery Qi from his palm—a roaring ember that lights the air. De-Reece twists, barely avoiding the flames as they singe the hem of his cloak. His sword arm burns with the heat, but he grits his teeth, pushing past the pain.
I can't let him escape.
The taller cultivator darts for the lab's back entrance—a hidden door now exposed by the blast. Fear surges through De-Reece. If the man flees, his master will know. They will hunt him. He will become a target.
"NO."
Raw, unrefined elemental Qi flares within his blade—a chaotic blend of wind and fire essence, unstable but deadly. He pours his fear into the strike, a savage swing aimed not for precision, but for devastation.
The blade collides with the wall beside the escaping cultivator, sending a shockwave of combined elements rippling outward. Stone cracks and wood splinters, cutting off the man's escape route.
Cornered.
De-Reece doesn't give him a chance to react. Phantom Shadow Steps propels him forward again, his sword carving a brutal arc that slashes across the cultivator's chest. The man stumbles, blood spraying the wall, his Qi faltering as his body sags.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Then, a rush. A surge of Qi unlike any before. It flows from the fallen cultivators, drawn into De-Reece's body like a starving beast devouring a meal. It is raw, unfiltered, and seethes with lingering remnants of their corrupted techniques. His meridians burn as they absorb the stolen energy, his muscles tightening as if reforged in unseen flames.
He clenches his jaw, holding himself steady as the Qi storms through him, flooding into his core. The sensation is intoxicating—a taste of power that threatens to unravel his control. He forces his breathing to steady, grounding himself in the moment.
This is not the time to revel in stolen strength.
De-Reece's mind still screams of danger—of the master the alchemists spoke of, of the traces they may have found of him. He cannot leave a single clue behind.
With cold, mechanical focus, he gathers the bodies, dragging them into the wreckage of the lab. His hands move with practiced efficiency as he rifles through their robes—snatching up unknown pills sealed in jade bottles, talismans charred at the edges, and small pouches clinking with silver and bronze pieces. Everything disappears into his spatial bag. The shattered cauldron still pulses with unstable Qi, a silent threat lingering in the air. He carves another formation into the stone floor—a crude but effective destruction array, designed to collapse the entire structure.
Before activating the array, his gaze sweeps across the ruined lab. Shelves of alchemical ingredients lay scattered—crystals, powders, and herbs he recognizes from the alchemy tome. His fingers move quickly, sweeping vials and pouches into his spatial pouch. His heart pounds, urgency mingling with the sharp realization of what this haul means—pills, reagents, and tools for alchemy. Power.
Then his eyes settle on a small iron cage in the corner, half-hidden by a toppled shelf. Inside, a creature no larger than a fox quivers, its dark fur streaked with faint blue lines of Qi that pulse in rhythm with its shallow breaths. Wiry yet elegant, its claws are slightly elongated, its sharp teeth suggesting it is no mere prey. Tendrils of elemental energy cling to its fur, like mist rising from a cold river. But its eyes—brilliant violet, intelligent and wide with fear—lock onto his.
Another pawn in their twisted games.
Without hesitation, De-Reece shatters the lock with a precise strike of his blade. The creature darts out, circling his legs briefly before slinking into the shadows behind him.
"Come or die here," he mutters, not expecting a response.
The lab is a ruin now—glass shards glimmer like jagged stars, smoke thick as a storm cloud. The array is ready.
He places the last Qi-infused stone into the formation's center. The symbols carved into the floor pulse—once, twice—before the ground trembles. A ripple of energy spreads outward.
As the array activates and the alchemic lab begins to quake, De-Reece steps back into the forest's embrace, his Phantom Shadow Steps already blending him into the night.
No witnesses.No evidence.No escape.The master will hear nothing of this.
The forest is a whisper of shifting leaves and distant calls, the kind of quiet De-Reece has learned to distrust. Each step back to his hidden cave is measured, his Phantom Shadow Steps keeping him a fleeting blur between the trees. Yet, something else lingers—a presence. Not a threat, but a shadow trailing him, silent but constant.
It is the creature.
The black-furred animal with faint blue Qi lines coursing like rivers through its sleek body moves in his wake. Now that he has a better look, it resembles a small tiger—its muscles lean, its fur dark enough to merge with the forest's shade. But those blue lines… they pulse, almost breathing, flowing along its spine and legs like a living formation. A rare beast, one he hasn't seen even in the alchemic tomes. For a brief moment, he allows himself to appreciate its otherworldly beauty.
The creature's deep violet eyes watch him carefully, not with fear, but a quiet intelligence. It keeps its distance yet stays close enough to suggest it has chosen to follow him.
Strange. Why does it follow?
The thought is cut short by his own carelessness. As his fingers itch to rummage through his spatial bag—checking the spoils of his brutal assault—reality hits him like a cold wave. He is still in the open. Vulnerable.
The master could have sent more men. More eyes could be watching.
Jaw tight, De-Reece shoves down the urge to examine the pills and artifacts right then and there. He shifts his focus, scanning the trees, listening beyond the steady thrum of his own Qi. The forest feels too still. His mind, sharp with the lingering fear of exposure, urges him onward.
With a last glance at the strange beast, he picks up his pace, retreating into the safety of his cave.
The cave greets him with its familiar dampness, a jarring contrast to the tense, watchful quiet of the forest. The stale coolness is more suffocating than comforting, as though the stone walls themselves are closing in. Shadows cling to the corners, and the faint remnants of past Qi formations whisper from the floor—a reminder of his desperate attempts at cultivation. Each step inside feels like shedding a layer of the outside world, yet the fear lingers.
Is he truly alone? Has he been followed?
Even here, in the heart of his hidden refuge, the weight of exposure gnaws at him.
The creature slinks in after him, its violet eyes flickering like twin embers in the dim cave light. It pauses for a moment, head tilting as though sensing the turmoil within him—the roiling Qi, the grimace still etched on his face. A low, almost imperceptible rumble escapes its throat, not quite a growl but a sound of muted curiosity or perhaps concern. Then it slips into a darker corner, its gaze never leaving him.
Finally alone, De-Reece empties the contents of his spatial bag onto the ground.
Pills sealed in smooth jade bottles, talismans singed at the edges, small pouches of silver and bronze coins—all spoils from the lab. Alongside them, a small bundle of preserved food: hard biscuits, dried meat, and a tightly wrapped cloth holding what appears to be pickled roots—sustenance the alchemists must have kept for themselves. Near the bottom, a small, crystalline fruit shimmers faintly with a soft azure glow—an ingredient he recognizes from the alchemic tomes, though its exact use eludes him.
His heart thuds with a strange mix of triumph and fear. He has stolen these, killed for these. And now, the real work begins.
He lights a small flame with a spark of Qi, letting it hover over his palm before setting it beneath a battered bronze cauldron. The alchemic tools he took are basic—chisels for carving formations, measuring spoons of various spiritual metals—but they will have to do.
Yet before he can begin, the surge of Qi from the earlier fight gnaws at his insides. It still roils within him, untamed, pressing against his meridians like a caged beast.
His right shoulder meridian throbs, the flow of Qi blocked, pulsing painfully as the stolen energy rages within him. If he doesn't break through, it will fester, slowing his cultivation.
No choice.
De-Reece steadies his breathing, focusing inward. Gathering the storm of Qi within his core, he directs it like a flood toward his right shoulder meridian. The pain sharpens instantly, a burning lance beneath his skin. His muscles twitch, his vision blurs—but he pushes harder.
A sudden crack—a snap of something internal—and the Qi breaks through. His right shoulder flares with a searing heat before the energy flows freely, merging into his network.
He barely has time to catch his breath before the next wave crashes against the meridian running through his spleen. This one is tougher, half-sealed, a barricade of unyielding essence. Biting down hard, sweat beading on his forehead, he drives the Qi forward.
Minutes stretch into an eternity—each push of Qi like knives twisting under his skin. Then—another snap. The meridian opens halfway, and Qi spirals through, wilder and more turbulent than before.
Panting, De-Reece collapses against the cave wall. His body screams, and his mind reels, but the energy within him now flows smoother—stronger.
Yet he knows he cannot let the storm within him rage unchecked. With trembling hands, he folds his legs beneath him, straightening his spine despite the searing ache rippling through his midriff.
The creature's violet eyes flicker from the shadows, unblinking as it observes him.
Only then does De-Reece open his eyes.
He is ready to begin.