Master Jin's footsteps faded down the hallway. Kael let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Archives. Third floor, back corner. Red lacquer box. Don't open it.
His System panel still shimmered at the edge of his vision. The new skill, COILED DRAGON STRIKE, blinked invitingly. But the Archives called.
This was the real quest. The main story.
He didn't waste a second. He changed out of his sweat-soaked t-shirt, pulling on a faded hoodie that swallowed him a little. He snagged a bottle of lukewarm water from a shelf, chugged half of it, then made his way through the labyrinthine corridors of The Serpent's Coil.
The dojo wasn't just a training hall. It was a crumbling, multi-story building crammed between a pawn shop and a laundromat, a forgotten relic in a city that had long since moved on. Each floor was a hint to slow decay. The ground floor held the main training space and reception. The second floor, dorms for the few remaining students. The third was mostly storage, old practice weapons, broken meditation cushions, and what Jin called "The Archives." Kael called it "The Dust Trap."
The air grew thicker with every step up the creaking stairs. Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight piercing through grimy windows. The third floor was a cavern of forgotten things. Shelves groaned under the weight of ancient scrolls, brittle books, and odd artifacts – dented ceremonial gongs, chipped jade figures, rusted incense burners. The scent of aged paper and something vaguely metallic hung heavy.
Kael navigated the maze of overflowing shelves, his memory, sharpened by two years of System-enhanced awareness, easily recalling the layout. Back corner. He remembered a narrow aisle, barely wide enough for one person, leading to a forgotten nook.
He pushed aside a tattered tapestry depicting a five-clawed dragon – an old Thorne family symbol. Behind it, half-hidden by more stacks of decaying paper, was a small, recessed alcove. And there, on a high shelf, nestled amongst a pile of cracked ceramic bowls and a moth-eaten silk robe, was the box.
Red lacquer. Faded, chipped. But unmistakably the one. It was about the size of a shoebox, with intricate gold-leaf serpents coiling around its edges, their eyes tiny flecks of what might once have been polished onyx.
Kael reached for it. His fingers brushed against the cool, smooth wood. He felt a weird static charge, like touching an old TV screen. Not Qi, not exactly, but… something.
He carefully lifted the box. It was surprisingly light. He took it to a dusty, abandoned writing desk near a window. Moonlight spilled across its surface, illuminating a thick layer of grime. He blew a careful puff of air, clearing a small circle, then set the box down.
A single scroll, Jin had said. Do not open it.
Kael's gaze lingered on the lid. The temptation was a physical pull, a low hum beneath his skin. This wasn't just a scroll; this was the next step, the answer to what he'd been chasing. The true power. Why wait for Jin?
KAELEN THORNELEVEL: 12
HEALTH: 85/100
ENDURANCE: 70/100
QI: 60/100
NEW TECHNIQUE UNLOCKED: COILED DRAGON STRIKE (CLICK TO VIEW)
The System panel floated, a silent enabler. It was always there, pushing him, rewarding him. What if opening the scroll now gave him some kind of "First Discovery" bonus? Or just sped up the process?
His fingers twitched towards the latch. Then he paused. Jin's warning. Prove your understanding of the foundational principles. This wasn't a video game where he could just brute force every secret. Jin was testing him. Testing his discipline. His respect.
And he needed Jin. At least for now. He was the guide to this world, the key to unlocking the true Murim. Pissing him off on the first step to true power was a bad play. A really bad play. The anti-hero knew when to play by the rules, just long enough to get what he wanted.
He picked up the box again, careful not to disturb the faint scent of old wood and something vaguely herbal that clung to it. He tucked it under his arm, a silent promise to himself that he'd be back to raid this place once he had the proper clearance. Or didn't need it.
He moved quickly, silently, down the stairs. The dojo was still dark, peaceful. Too peaceful. He pictured Jin, waiting for him at Dragon's Peak temple ruins at dawn. An old, forgotten place, probably crumbling like the dojo, full of ghosts and secrets. Perfect.
He didn't go back to his room. Instead, he slipped into the main training hall. The dummy stood silently, a battered sentinel in the moonlight that streamed through the high windows. Kael set the box down carefully by the dojo entrance.
Then, he clicked the COILED DRAGON STRIKE notification.
A burst of familiar information flooded his mind: diagrams, stances, muscle movements, Qi flow patterns. It was a more advanced form of the Serpent's Fang, but with a unique twist. Instead of direct, piercing strikes, the Coiled Dragon Strike focused on internal rotation, building kinetic energy, and then unleashing it in a devastating, sweeping motion. It wasn't just about impact; it was about disruption. Breaking a target from the inside out.
COILED DRAGON STRIKE: LEVEL 1 (0/1000)
It looked deceptively simple. He could probably get the basic movements down quickly. But mastery? That would take time. And Qi.
He started, mimicking the diagrams in his head. The movements were fluid, graceful, almost like a dance. He rotated his hips, coiled his torso, his arm spiraling inward before snapping out. The Qi in his meridians pulsed, responding instantly, flowing along the prescribed paths. It felt right. Natural. Like his body had been made for this, even if he hadn't.
He moved faster, harder, pushing the Qi. The air around him seemed to thicken, subtly disturbed by the power he was generating. The phantom outlines of a serpentine aura seemed to flicker at the edges of his vision. This was what his father, Old Man Thorne, had been known for. The unique, almost supernatural Qi manipulation of the Thorne family.
With each repetition, a jolt of energy, a whisper of understanding.
COILED DRAGON STRIKE: LEVEL 1 (15/1000)COILED DRAGON STRIKE: LEVEL 1 (30/1000)COILED DRAGON STRIKE: LEVEL 1 (48/1000)
The progress was intoxicating. He was getting the hang of it, faster than he ever had with Serpent's Fang. Maybe the mastery of Serpent's Fang provided a baseline for this.
He kept going. The graceful flow turned into a ferocious whirlwind. His movements became sharper, more explosive. He could feel the power building, swelling within him, just waiting to be unleashed. He imagined an enemy, a Crimson Veil thug, or an Iron Talon brute, and put all his focused intent into the next strike.
He twisted, coiled, and exploded a kick that slammed into the air itself. A faint ripple, almost visible, emanated from his foot.
CRITICAL HIT!COILED DRAGON STRIKE: LEVEL 1 (99/1000) → LEVEL 2 (1/2000)STAT BONUS: STRENGTH +1, ENDURANCE +1
He gasped, sweat plastering his hoodie to his back again. His muscles burned, but it wasn't just physical fatigue. It was a deeper, more profound exhaustion. His Qi felt drained, his internal furnace sputtering.
KAELEN THORNELEVEL: 12HEALTH: 80/100ENDURANCE: 45/100QI: 10/100
He frowned. That was a serious Qi drain. He usually only saw numbers like that after a full-blown sparring session with Jin. But this was just practicing a form. The Flowing Serpent Meridian Art, whatever it was, clearly wasn't for casual use. It guzzled resources.
A new sensation hit him, swift and brutal. Not fatigue, not just muscle soreness. A gnawing, ravenous emptiness in his stomach. It wasn't the kind of hunger you got from missing a meal. This was primal, urgent, a deep, unsettling ache that radiated from his core. It made his head swim, his hands tremble. He felt like he could eat the training dummy, chains and all.
"Damn it," he muttered, clutching his stomach. This was the cost, wasn't it? The hunger. He remembered the vague whispers in the Under-City, the legends Jin had hinted at. Tales of cultivators who chased power too fast, who lost themselves, becoming obsessed with one thing, one need. The "Knight Madmen" of the source novel, the people who ate their own family. Here, it would be the "Qi Devourers" or "Shadow-Hollows" – people whose pursuit of power had twisted them, making them insatiable, dangerous.
He looked around the empty dojo, his gaze lingering on the red lacquer box by the door. This was just Level 1 of the initial technique. What would happen when he truly started cultivating the Flowing Serpent Meridian Art? Would he need to eat whole cattle? Would the hunger consume him?
A cold wave of calculation washed over the primal urge. He needed food. A lot of food. And not just any food. He needed nutrient-dense, high-energy fuel to replenish his Qi and endurance. The ramen and leftover rice in the dojo kitchen wouldn't cut it. He needed real sustenance. Meat. Protein. Carbs. Calories he could burn.
And he didn't have money for that kind of food. Not consistently.
He walked over to the box, picked it up, and placed it back on the dusty table where he'd found it earlier. He wouldn't risk Jin's trust. Not yet.
He needed a plan.
He glanced out the window. The city was still asleep, a dark, sprawling beast of concrete and shadows. But some parts of it never truly slept. The markets, the back alleys, the places where goods changed hands without questions.
His mind worked quickly. He had skills. Shadow Step. City Navigation. Basic Street Fighting. All highly leveled. He'd used them before, mostly for scouting, for avoiding trouble, for getting around without being seen. Now, he'd have to use them for something else. Something less… heroic.
He thought of the Crimson Veil Syndicate. They dealt in everything. Illegal Qi enhancers, stolen goods, street food vendors who paid protection money. They were organized, but sloppy. And they always had stashes. Goods, cash, sometimes even food from their protected vendors.
He didn't want to steal from honest people. That wasn't his style. But the Syndicate? They were parasites. Taking from them wasn't stealing; it was redistribution. Or so he told himself. It was a pragmatic choice. A necessary evil for a greater good – his own greater good. His survival. His path to power.
The hunger rumbled again, a low growl in his stomach. It urged him on, pushed at the edges of his self-control. This wasn't just about getting strong for the dojo anymore. It was about feeding the beast within.
He had to move fast. Before the sun came up, before Jin woke, before the hunger became overwhelming.
He quickly retrieved the red lacquer box, hid it under a loose floorboard in his room, then grabbed his backpack. He stuffed a few empty plastic containers, a small, dull utility knife, and a worn map of the city's lesser-known underbelly into it.
He paused by the door, his hand on the cold metal. Jin's warning echoed: be careful what you seek in the darkness. Sometimes, it finds you first.
What if this hunger was a part of that darkness? A symptom of the Flowing Serpent Meridian Art, twisting him, just as Jin had warned? He felt a flicker of unease, but it was quickly overridden by the cold, calculating resolve that had driven him for two and a half years.
He wouldn't let the darkness find him. He would master it. He would use it. And if he had to become a monster to defeat monsters, then so be it.
He opened the door, stepped out into the pre-dawn quiet, and locked it behind him. The city waited. And Kael, a hungry anti-hero with a system in his head, was ready to take what he needed.
He moved through the sleeping city like a phantom, using Shadow Step to melt into alleys and navigate rooftops. His heightened senses, a product of his Qi cultivation, picked up on distant conversations, the scent of stale cooking oil, the subtle vibrations of power lines. The Crimson Veil territory wasn't far. He knew their main distribution hub, a rundown warehouse disguised as a closed auto repair shop. They always had a late-night crew, always something worth taking.