The room was quiet again.
The soft blue glow of the system window hovered above him, casting a cool sheen across the ancient wooden desk. Outside, the world still hadn't stirred. No birds. No servants. Only silence, thick and unmoving, like the house itself had stopped breathing.
Andras sat cross-legged on the floor, his spine straight, breath slow and even. One hand rested lightly over his heart, the other on his knee.
The System pulsed faintly at the edge of his vision, a waiting presence—watchful, unblinking.
System Interface OnlineFunction Access: Cultivation (Limited), Core Body View (Available)
With a single thought, he opened the Core Body function.
A holographic image shimmered into view, shaped in the outline of his own form. It hovered in the air before him—translucent, ghostly. Inside the image, a web of silver-blue lines twisted through his limbs and torso, branching like roots. Dozens of the channels were broken. Splintered. Some ends frayed like torn wires, others fused shut as if scorched.
Qi Pathways Status: 67% SeveredSpiritual Core: Inactive / DormantRecommendation: Meditate to reconnect initial channels
He exhaled slowly.
This wasn't optional. Not anymore.
No hesitation. No dread. Just necessity. If this world demanded strength to survive, then he'd claw it back—inch by inch—even if it meant peeling himself apart in the process.
He closed his eyes.
The world dimmed.
Down, into himself—into the roiling chaos of broken energy and fractured memory. The old Andras had destroyed these channels through reckless overtraining, trying to ascend before he was ready. He had pushed until the pathways ruptured, until his spirit core collapsed under the weight of ambition and pressure.
Because in this world, cultivation wasn't just strength—it was identity, bloodline, value, worth.
If you were weak, you were nothing.
Andras knew that now. And he hated how much it made sense.
The pain came fast.
White-hot, like metal rods being hammered through his chest. Each thread of Qi he reconnected felt like it was sewing him together with fire and wire. He clenched his jaw, his fingernails digging into his thighs.
One breath.
Then another.
A spark. A thread of light.
A single channel hummed into place, then another. The system pulsed with each success:
Qi Pathways Reconnected: 22%... 38%... 51%...
And when the final thread clicked into place, something inside him shifted.
His breath hitched.
For a brief second, he felt the heat of life flow through him—not the raw panic of pain or the numbness of survival—but a living current.
Initial Channel Loop RestoredMinor Healing Function Unlocked
A new window flickered open:
Skill: Minor Healing Function (0/9)Consume Qi to rapidly heal small injuries, bruises, and fatigue.Efficiency: 32% — Warning: Excessive use may cause Qi depletion and nerve fatigue.
He opened his eyes.
The room looked the same, but something was different.
The air was sharper, clearer. He flexed his hand—the ache in his joints faded. A thin cut on his palm—a splinter he hadn't even noticed—closed before his eyes. He watched the skin knit back together like rewinding film.
For the first time since waking in this cursed body, he felt alive.
He let out a short, shaky laugh and leaned his head back against the edge of the bed.
"Okay," he muttered. "That's… actually cool. It works. I'm not insane. Probably."
His eyes returned to the System.
"But what's this '0/9'?" he mumbled. "A skill level? Is this like an upgrade tree? Can I train this?"
The interface offered no response. Just silence, glowing softly with its pale light.
"I've never seen anything like this before in this world," he said, voice low. "It's like… a game. Like an actual game."
And for a moment—a brief, foolish, comforting moment—he felt something like happiness. Or maybe nostalgia...
But the moment shattered with a soft chime.
New Quest Available
Title: Bloodroot Arena – Initiation TournamentObjective: Compete in the regional cultivation tournament of Bamboo SanctuaryReward (if survived): +1 Cultivation Rank, Access to Celestial Archives
Details: Tournament begins in 9 days. Victory is survival. Defeat is death.
Note: All types of participants are allowed. Good luck.
His smile faded.
"…Tournament?"
The word felt like bile in his mouth.
Old memories—sharp and cruel—rushed in.
A towering coliseum of black stone. The roar of a thousand voices. The stench of blood-soaked sand. Judges in white robes with expressionless faces. Children dragged out under golden banners. Some shaking. Some grinning with bloodlust.
This world didn't do "friendly competition."
In Verdant, a tournament was just a ritualized massacre.
Andras stared at the quest window.
He didn't speak.
Just thought.
I'm not ready. I just reconnected my damn Qi. I don't even know what rank I am. What if they put me up against someone with an active core? A real cultivator? I'll be torn in half before I even raise a hand.
He ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall over his face.
Maybe I can delay. Maybe I can hide. Maybe—
But even as he thought it, he knew the system was watching.
His gaze drifted to the far wall where a map of Verdant once hung, burned into his memory by old lessons. Four great regions, like puzzle pieces on an endless continent:
Lotus Grove to the west—lush, wet, teeming with spiritual energy.
Celestial Peak to the north—jagged mountain spires, the domain of sages.
Whispering Meadows to the east—plains that stretched so far even the wind forgot where it was going.
And here, in the center, Bamboo Sanctuary—green, serene, suffocating.
They called it a continent.
Andras frowned.
But John remembered oceans. He remembered maps. Real maps. Ones with longitude and latitude. One look at Verdant and you'd see it—surrounded by water on all sides.
It was an island.
A massive one, yes. But an island nonetheless.
And yet no one here knew that. Or cared.
No one had tried sailing out. No one had asked if there was land beyond. The oceans were considered cursed, unknowable. The edge of the world.
Andras had realized something horrifying since waking in this world again:
The cultivators of Verdant were powerful. But they were also incredibly stupid.
Not in combat. Not in technique. But in the most basic ways. They memorized spirit formations and alchemy recipes passed down like religion… but couldn't identify a simple compass. The Le family had scrolls filled with treatises on Sword foundations which could break thought land with ease but didn't know what and why the sun glows in the morning...
Strength had become its own religion here.
Why learn about the world when you could crush it?
A soft ding pulled him back.
[Quest Accepted Automatically.]
"...Huh?"
He sat upright, stomach dropping.
[System Note: User failed to respond in time.][Timer Expired: 00:00]
His eyes widened. "Wait—what timer?"
Another line appeared:
[Please review System notifications more carefully in the future.]
He stared at the floating window for a long, long moment.
Flatly: "Did you just auto-enroll me into a deathmatch because I was busy thinking?"
The system, of course, said nothing.
Just hovered. Quiet and merciless.
He threw his hands in the air. "Great. Fantastic. Love that for me."
He stood, brushing dust from his knees. "Next time I die in a park, someone remind me to stay dead."