Chapter 1
"Tony, wake up."
"What?"
"It's already 4 p.m."
"That's why you're waking me up?"
"Did you forget? Today's the day Lucien Mordy, the youngest cultivator in history to reach Rank 4, is visiting our school!"
I had only been pretending to sleep — out of boredom. But at those words, I jumped to my feet.
"Where is it happening?"
"Chill. Room 3B, third floor."
Without a second thought, I sprinted off. When I got there, the hallway was already packed — girls holding up signs saying "I love you Lucien", guys buzzing with anticipation at the chance to see a real-life cultivator. And me? I was waiting for this moment to decide whether or not I'd start cultivating.
I've won everything in combat sports. I'm not looking for an easy win. I crave a challenge — something fun, intense, and hard-earned. That feeling, that rush, I only find it in the heart of a real fight.
Then the door opened.
"Hello everyone."
The room erupted in screams:
"Lucien! Lucien!"
I stared at him. And instantly, I knew… I didn't stand a chance.
"It's always a pleasure to meet my fans. Feel free to ask me anything," he said with a smile.
The crowd calmed down.
"Is your goal to reach Rank 6?" someone asked.
"Reaching Rank 6 isn't easy," Lucien replied. "Ather, the energy needed to rise through the ranks, is scarce on Earth. But some people have done it. So why not me?"
Then came the question everyone was waiting for:
"How do you become a cultivator?"
Lucien nodded.
"To become a cultivator, you have to go where ather is most concentrated. Then, you have to feel it. Most people need a month to sense it. But sensing alone isn't enough. You must also break through the Three Walls. Ather will help, but your main strength will come from your body and mind. That's why mastering a martial art before cultivating is highly recommended."
Time flew. Then someone asked:
"Do you think a normal human can stand a chance against a cultivator?"
Silence. The entire room froze. Some chuckled. Others looked at the guy with pity.
"No," Lucien answered. "A human can't beat a cultivator. With every rank, we get stronger, faster, smarter. To give you numbers — a regular human has about 60 strength points. A Rank 1 cultivator has 150. But if anyone disagrees with me, I invite them to come up here for a sparring match."
Everyone looked around.
And I… stood up.
All eyes were on me. "This guy's insane," I heard them whisper.
I walked toward the stage, fully aware I was going to lose.
But I didn't care. I wanted to see. To feel what it meant to fight a cultivator. I wasn't nervous from fear — it was excitement.
Lucien gave me a surprised look, like he wasn't sure if I was brave or just stupid.
"Very well, young man. What's your name?"
"Tony."
"Alright, Tony. This spar will last one minute. Try to hold on. Everyone — give us a countdown!"
The whole room shouted in unison:
"3… 2… 1… 0!"
I immediately raised my guard. Boxing stance. I closed in, watching his every move.
Then… nothing.
He was four meters in front of me. In the blink of an eye, he was behind me.
A punch to the gut. Devastating.
I dropped to the floor, clutching my stomach. The crowd judged, criticized, laughed. But none of that got to me. I stood back up.
20 seconds left. I just wanted to land one hit.
I threw everything I had: jabs, hooks, high kicks, feints — jab to body kick, jab to knee.
He dodged them all. Effortlessly. And with a smile.
Then, with 5 seconds left, he used my own feint — the one I'd used on him.
But instead of aiming for my liver, he struck my ribs.
I collapsed.
The bell rang.
Applause. Laughter. Disappointment.
I wanted to hear what Lucien would say next.
But darkness swallowed everything.
—
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a bench in the infirmary. My ribs burned. My stomach felt like it had been torn apart.
Yet… I was smiling.
Not because I'd lost.
But because, for the first time in my life, I had felt it.
That gap.
That overwhelming speed. That crushing power.
Lucien hadn't beaten me with technique.
He had beaten me with something else.
Something I didn't have.
Yet.
I clenched my fist.
If that was what cultivation could do to a human body…
Then I didn't want to watch from the sidelines anymore.
I wanted it.
No matter how long it took.
No matter how hard it was.
I would step into that world.
And one day—
I would stand where he stood.
Chapter 2
When I woke up, I was back in my room.
For a split second, everything felt normal. Too normal.
Then the pain hit.
Bandages wrapped tightly around my stomach, my ribs screaming the moment I tried to move. The memory of that fight rushed back to me — the speed, the pressure, the way Lucien had vanished from my sight as if space itself bent for him.
I exhaled slowly.
That wasn't skill.
That was cultivation.
I clenched my teeth and forced myself to sit up.
I wanted it.
But wanting something didn't change reality.
The place where aether was most concentrated was in Australia. Everyone knew that. And I didn't have anywhere near enough money to get there — let alone survive once I arrived.
I stared at the ceiling, frustration simmering beneath the pain.
Then, out of pure boredom, I grabbed my phone.
That's when I saw it.
The Canou Gérard Selection Tournament.
My breath caught.
Canou Gérard. Rank 6. A living legend. One hundred and fifty years old — and still standing at the peak of human cultivation.
The tournament rules were simple.
Three hundred fighters.
Three matches each.
One loss meant elimination.
Only one hundred would be selected to travel to Australia and begin cultivation training.
Weapons allowed. Non-lethal only.
My heart pounded.
This wasn't just a chance.
It was my only chance.
I didn't hesitate.
I signed up.
—
The days that followed were hell.
My injuries hadn't fully healed, but stopping wasn't an option. Every punch pulled at my ribs. Every kick sent a dull ache through my core. Still, I trained.
Harder than I ever had before.
Joseph trained with me.
Unlike me, he used a sword — precise, efficient, and merciless. The first time we sparred, I barely lasted ten seconds before the blunt edge of his blade tapped my throat.
"You're dead," he said flatly.
I laughed, even as I gasped for air.
"Again."
Each session was the same.
I rushed in.
He cut me off.
I adapted.
He adapted faster.
That familiar gap stared me in the face again.
Speed. Timing. Distance.
So I stopped trying to overpower him.
I started watching.
I studied how his weight shifted before a strike. The angle of his wrist. The moment his balance faltered after a swing.
Slowly — painfully — something began to take shape.
Not a technique.
A way of fighting.
One built around movement, feints, and attacking the instant an opening appeared.
By the end of the week, I was bruised, exhausted… and smiling.
"This is insane," Joseph muttered one night, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You're changing the way you fight."
"Good," I replied. "Because what I had wasn't enough."
—
Two months passed faster than I expected.
Too fast.
The day of the tournament arrived.
The venue was massive — hundreds of fighters gathered in one place, each radiating their own kind of pressure. Some looked confident. Others nervous. A few stared ahead with empty, dangerous eyes.
Joseph stood beside me, unusually quiet.
"You nervous?" I asked.
He exhaled slowly. "No… but look at them. Somewhere in there are the three we each have to beat."
"So what?" I said. "Do you think they're thinking about you?"
He glanced at me.
"They're here for the same reason we are. Strength. Purpose. A way forward. So stop worrying about them."
I met his gaze.
"Focus on winning. Make it real."
Joseph closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.
"…Alright," he said. "You and me. Top hundred."
I nodded.
A loud voice echoed through the arena.
"All contestants, prepare for your first match."
My heart slammed against my chest.
This was it.
The path to cultivation started here.
Chapter 3
After entering the arena, we were invited to take our seats in the stands.
On the sides, I noticed TV reporters, social media influencers, and cameras everywhere. That's when I realized the event would be broadcast on television.
So much for keeping my techniques a secret…
Now the whole world would see them.
Once I sat down, Canou Gérard appeared on stage.
"Welcome, everyone. Today is a special day — a day that could change your life. One hundred of you will join me in Australia to become cultivators. So give it your all, and good luck!"
After his speech and the wave of applause, the referee stepped into the arena and called the first fighters.
"The first combatants are Tony Morga and Antonio Sinastra."
Upon hearing my name, I stood up and walked toward the center. I sized up my opponent. He looked experienced, but I judged I wouldn't need to use my new technique. Still, I stayed cautious.
Anything can happen in a fight.
As we faced each other, Antonio smirked.
"You've got guts showing up here after what you did to the great Lucien Mordy. Don't worry — I'll set things straight."
His words only boosted my confidence.
There's nothing better than knocking down someone who thinks they're above you.
The referee raised his hand… then gave the signal.
Antonio charged immediately, swinging his wooden sword. His confidence came from the fact that he was armed and I wasn't. But his sword technique was sloppy — every strike aimed straight for my head. Easy to dodge.
Still, dodging alone doesn't win fights.
He feinted, pretending to target my stomach, then redirected toward my chin. I deflected the blow, ducked, and countered instantly.
A kick to the liver.
An elbow to the solar plexus.
A rising elbow straight to the chin.
He collapsed on the spot.
Unless you're a cultivator, a combo like that would drop anyone — even me.
"This match is over. The winner is Tony Morga by knockout."
I returned to my seat. My breathing was steady, but I stayed alert. Joseph, on the other hand, was fired up after my fight.
To conserve my energy, I decided to rest.
Thirty minutes later, Joseph shook me awake. It was his turn. He wanted me to watch.
His opponent was a woman named Tonia. Just one look was enough to tell — she was strong. This wouldn't be easy.
The match began.
Tonia rushed forward, katana in hand, delivering fast, precise strikes aimed at Joseph's vital points. He did nothing but parry at first. Then, finally, he drew his wooden sword.
One diagonal slash.
So fast we barely saw it.
The second strike landed under Tonia's chin. She remained standing… but didn't move.
The referee approached and declared the match over. Another knockout.
The entire arena stared at Joseph. His slash had been so sharp it even sliced through Tonia's sweater.
I had underestimated him.
An hour later, the first round ended. My turn came again.
This time, my opponent was someone named Mox.
The fight started. I raised my guard, making him think I was going to box. He rushed in with a punch — a feint — and went for a takedown.
I saw it coming.
Still, he managed to bring me down.
He grabbed my left arm and started twisting into a submission. Pain shot through my shoulder. If this continued, I'd lose.
I tensed every muscle in my right arm, extended my fingers, and struck with a sharp, precise motion just below his jaw, forcing him to release me.
Before standing up, I snapped a quick punch to his chin — not enough to knock him out.
But it was enough.
I got up first.
A spinning back kick.
Then a Brazilian kick.
Both landed cleanly on his head.
His body couldn't handle the combo. He collapsed.
The referee ended the match.
That one had been close. Too close.
As I returned to my seat, I noticed the looks around me. Some people watched me with worry, hoping they wouldn't face me. Others stared with burning determination.
I stayed awake this time, watching the following matches. Most weren't very impressive.
Then it happened.
Joseph's name was called again.
His opponent was Martin Gasto — a cocky rich kid.
They entered the arena. Joseph carried his sword loosely, only drawing it to strike or block. Martin wielded two sharp wooden daggers.
The referee gave the signal.
They charged.
Joseph drew and slashed diagonally. Martin parried and kicked him backward. As Joseph stumbled, he noticed Martin's weapons had vanished from his hands.
That split second was all Martin needed.
He dashed forward and threw a punch.
Joseph caught his wrist, twisted it into a lock, and shifted his hips to break his balance.
Then a kick came from Joseph's left.
Full impact to the head.
That madman had sacrificed his own hand to create an opening.
As Joseph began to fall, he swept Martin's leg — the one he was standing on.
Both crashed to the ground.
Joseph didn't hesitate.
Four rapid strikes.
Left ribs.
Intestines.
Right ribs.
Then a final blow to the jaw.
Both fighters lay motionless.
Five seconds passed.
Then Joseph stood up.
The referee ended the match.
The crowd was unanimous — that was the best fight so far.
Joseph returned to his seat… and collapsed, falling asleep instantly.
Chapter 4
My final match had finally arrived.
As I stepped onto the stage, my gaze met Alice Griphia's. She was smiling at me — a twisted, unsettling smile that sent a chill down my spine. I didn't know her fighting style, but I was about to find out.
The referee started the match.
I raised a standard guard and slowly approached her. When I was only a meter away, she was still smiling. The same smile.
I threw a quick jab. She blocked it effortlessly with her left hand.
Then everything happened at once.
She placed her left foot on my leg and suddenly jumped, twisting her body mid-air. Her right leg whipped toward my head. I tried to block — too late. My right hand was still trapped.
She hadn't let go.
The back of her foot slammed into my skull, followed immediately by a brutal elbow to my face.
I crashed to the ground.
Pain exploded through my head. A metallic taste filled my mouth as I struggled to focus. She stood over me, staring down without a word.
I spun my body and launched a sweep kick.
She jumped, dodging it perfectly.
But that was what I had been waiting for.
Using my hands, I pushed myself up from the ground and snapped a kick just under her chin. Another followed instantly, straight to her jaw.
Even then… she remained standing.
I forced myself back to my feet. Our eyes locked. My vision was blurred, but I smiled.
She was bleeding too.
And she was still smiling.
She suddenly sprinted toward me.
I lowered my guard. She leapt high, raising her leg for a devastating strike. Using her momentum, I lifted my own leg toward her head — but she was still too high.
At the last second, I grabbed her right arm and shifted my head aside.
Her kick crashed into my shoulder.
Agony tore through me. If that had landed on my head, I might've blacked out.
I dragged her down with me, twisting her arm as we fell. She screamed.
She struck my back again and again. Her raw strength was terrifying. I forced my grip tighter, feeling something give, then shifted my leg to trap her other arm and pin her down.
She hit the ground hard.
Her face was completely exposed.
I didn't hesitate.
Left.
Right.
Again.
Again.
A relentless barrage.
When I finally stopped, my arms felt heavy, numb. I looked up at the referee.
He instinctively stepped back.
"The match is over," he declared.
I had won.
The arena was completely silent.
The stage was stained from the fight. I turned and walked toward the medical room. The pain wasn't limited to my head — my shoulder burned, my back throbbed with every step.
I focused on staying upright.
I didn't make it.
Darkness took me.