The sun had sunk below the hazy horizon, casting long, distorted shadows across the ragged paths of Thornhide Outpost. A chill wind, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth, whispered through the flimsy shacks. Most scavengers, Ren included, would usually be hurrying back to their meager shelters, eager to escape the encroaching darkness and the dangers it brought. But not tonight. Tonight, Ren walked with a strange, almost buoyant energy, their new senses tingling with an unfamiliar awareness. The ruins, once a place of oppressive silence, now hummed with faint spiritual echoes, and Ren felt a subtle connection to it all, a secret power that warmed them from the inside.
Their mind buzzed, replaying the system notifications. 0.25 Cultivation Essence. 97 Salvage Points. [Iron Skin] (Rudimentary). The numbers were etched into their memory, a tangible sign of the impossible. The notion of activating a skill, of hardening their very flesh, was both thrilling and terrifying. Could they truly do it? And more importantly, could they survive the consequences if they failed, or if their secret was discovered?
Ren kept to the quieter, more overgrown paths, intending to slip back into the outpost unnoticed. Their enhanced Perception picked up details they'd always missed: the loose stone that could trip a weary foot, the subtle shifts in the wind that carried distant sounds, the faint, almost imperceptible tremor of heavy footsteps approaching from the main thoroughfare.
Heavy footsteps. Too heavy for a common villager. Ren's breath hitched. Their newfound senses, usually a blessing, now served as an early warning. The scent of unwashed robes and the faint, irritating tang of poorly refined spiritual energy grew stronger. It was them. The Stone-Skin Sect apprentices.
Just as Ren reached the narrow entrance to an alley, three figures emerged from the gloom, blocking their path. Grisel, the lanky one with a perpetually sneering lip and a cruel glint in his eyes; Borin Jr., a thick-necked brute who moved with a clumsy swagger, the son of Elder Borin himself; and Spike, the smallest but arguably most vicious, whose gaze always lingered on the few coppers Ren occasionally managed to find. They were barely in the first stage of Body Tempering, their cultivation laughably weak to anyone of true power, but to the uncultivated peasants of Thornhide, they were demigods of minor cruelty.
"Well, well, look what the rat dragged in," Grisel drawled, stepping forward, his voice a low, mocking rumble. He cracked his knuckles, a sound that usually sent a shiver down Ren's spine. Tonight, it just sounded… hollow. "Little scavenger Ren, out late. Got any treasures for your betters tonight? Or just more of that dust you call 'scrap'?"
Borin Jr. grunted, a sound that could have come from a starved hog. "He looks thin, Grisel. Probably ate his 'treasures' already. Or hid 'em. Let's make sure he ain't hidin' nothin' good."
Spike, always quick to action, snaked out a hand, grabbing the tattered bag Ren carried, yanking hard. "Taxes, scavenger. You know the drill."
Ren stumbled, but their newly boosted Stamina kept them on their feet, surprising even themselves. Usually, that yank would have sent them sprawling into the mud. A cold defiance, unfamiliar and exhilarating, began to bloom in their chest. They looked at Spike's hand, then at his smug face. The system's interface, visible only to Ren, flickered.
[Skill Activation Prompt: [Iron Skin] (Rudimentary)? (Costs 0.05 Cultivation Essence)]
Ren's heart hammered. Now? Is this it? The cost was small, but Ren only had 0.25 Cultivation Essence. If it failed, if it didn't work… But the thought of another beating, another humiliation, fueled a sudden, fierce resolve. Yes.
A faint, almost imperceptible warmth spread beneath Ren's skin, a subtle tightening of muscle and sinew. It wasn't a visible transformation, no glow or grand aura, but Ren felt it. A sensation of quiet resilience, like their very flesh had become denser, more resistant. It was a strange, empowering feeling, like wearing an invisible, perfectly fitted armor.
"What are you lookin' at, peasant?" Borin Jr. snarled, his patience thin. He stepped forward, raising a beefy fist, aiming for Ren's jaw – a favorite target. "You think you're tough? You think you don't gotta pay your respects to the Stone-Skin Sect anymore?"
The fist swung, slow to Ren's now heightened Perception. It was clumsy, telegraphed. Ren didn't move much, only instinctively tensed, allowing the blow to connect with their cheek.
CRACK!
The sound was sharp, echoing in the narrow alley. Grisel and Spike exchanged smug looks. Borin Jr. smirked, expecting Ren to collapse, clutching their face, perhaps whimpering.
But Ren didn't fall. Ren barely even stumbled.
A dull ache resonated through their cheekbone, far less sharp than it should have been. It felt like being hit with a soft mallet, not a solid fist. The impact barely stung. Ren's eyes, wide with shock, fixed on Borin Jr.'s fist. It worked!
Borin Jr.'s smirk faltered. He stared at Ren, then at his own hand, then back at Ren's unmarked face, confusion wrinkling his brow. "What in the…?" he muttered, shaking his fist slightly, as if he was the one who'd hit something unexpectedly hard.
Grisel's eyes narrowed. "What was that, scavenger? You got a rock hidden in your cheek now?" He advanced, faster than Borin Jr., aiming a swift kick at Ren's shin. This was a move designed to bruise, to send a jolt of agony straight up the leg.
Ren tensed again, focusing on the faint, internal hum of the [Iron Skin] skill. The kick landed with a dull thud. Ren swayed, but their leg didn't buckle. A sharp discomfort, yes, but not the searing pain, not the bone-deep ache that usually followed. It was like their shin had suddenly gained the density of seasoned oak.
"Ouch!" Grisel yelped, hopping back, clutching his own foot. He stared at Ren's leg, then down at his scuffed boot, a look of genuine bewilderment replacing his arrogance. "What'd you do, peasant? Grow scales?"
Spike, seeing his companions' confusion, decided to resort to brute force. He lunged, attempting to grab Ren's collar and slam them against the wall. Ren's Perception flared, noticing the clumsy angle of his charge, the slight imbalance. Without consciously willing it, their body subtly shifted, a fractional movement to the side. Spike's grab missed its mark, his fingers merely brushing Ren's shoulder instead of latching on. His momentum carried him forward, stumbling past Ren and nearly face-planting into the crumbling alley wall.
WHUMP!
He bounced off the rough stone, looking dazed.
The three apprentices stood in a ragged semicircle, staring at Ren, who was now breathing a little heavily, but standing tall. No broken bones, no whimpers, no sprawling in the dirt. Just Ren, standing there, subtly defiant.
"What's wrong with this guy?" Spike mumbled, rubbing his head.
"He's gotten… solid," Grisel muttered, his usual sneer replaced by a frown of genuine irritation. "Did he eat a rock or something? Or is he trying to pull some peasant trick?"
Borin Jr. scowled. "Enough of this. He's just lucky. Come on. Elder Borin ain't gonna be happy if we waste time on this lump of dirt." He stomped past Ren, giving them a wide berth. Grisel and Spike, still muttering confusedly and rubbing their sore limbs, followed him, casting wary glances over their shoulders at Ren.
As they vanished into the dimming light of the outpost, Ren let out a long, slow breath. The [Iron Skin] skill flickered, its warmth fading as the minute amount of Cultivation Essence activating it was consumed. A quiet, fierce triumph welled up in Ren's chest. They hadn't fought back, not really. They hadn't revealed anything. But for the first time, they hadn't been helpless. They had absorbed the blows, stood their ground, and subtly turned the tables. The confusion on the apprentices' faces, Grisel's yelp, Spike's bewildered stumble – it was better than any outright victory. It was a secret, personal vindication.
The scent of damp earth and stale fires still hung in the air, but to Ren, it now carried a faint, almost imperceptible hint of possibility. The Sky Palaces still felt light-years away, but the distance no longer felt utterly insurmountable. The journey had truly begun.