The world had already ended once.
No one knew exactly when the old order fell. Some said it was twenty years ago. Others swore it was only ten. But everyone in Apollo agreed on one thing—what came after wasn't peace. It was silence. A silence that hung over the empire like fog over a graveyard.
Boar Mile was born into that silence.
His home, a splintered farmhouse on the edge of a shattered cultivation field, had once belonged to a line of Earth Core cultivators—men and women strong enough to shape stone and bend roots to their will. Now it was just him, his mother, and his younger brothers, living off scraps in a land where even qi avoided the air.
Boar had never even lit a single meridian. At fourteen, he had failed every test of spiritual potential. The local sects wouldn't even look at him. And still, every night before bed, he would step outside, look up at the broken moon, and whisper to the stars.
But this night... the stars whispered back.
He stood in the ash garden, cold dirt beneath his feet, the sky churning above. Smoke rolled in from the nearby fields where raiders had passed through last week, setting everything they didn't steal on fire. His mother hadn't cried—she didn't have the strength. His brothers hadn't eaten since morning.
He clenched his fists. The words came without planning.
"I don't care if I have to bleed or crawl or die trying. I just want the power to protect them. I don't want to be a hero or some shining legend. Just someone strong enough to keep them safe. I know I'm nothing... but if there's anything listening—anything at all—help me."
The wind stopped.
The world held its breath.
One by one, stars began to fall.
No. Not stars.
Figures.
They descended slowly, like feathers through oil, their forms flickering as if the sky itself didn't want to let them go. Seven beings—translucent, weathered, impossibly tall—gathered before him, silent and glowing faintly in the moonlight.
The tallest one stepped forward. His eyes were dim suns, his voice deep and tired.
"Our time is over. We were once Three Tribulation Immortals—warriors who challenged the sky three times and survived. But the fourth was beyond us. For one hundred thousand years, we waited, trapped between glory and death."
Another, her robes flowing like melted silver, added, "And now, we fade. But not without giving back. We heard your voice. Not just yours—but hers. This empire, this land, this dying realm—it cries out. She remembers what she once was. And she chose you."
Boar stared, wide-eyed. "Why? I'm nothing. I'm... nobody."
The third spirit—scarred, hollow-cheeked, voice like gravel—smiled faintly. "That's why. Because you're still young enough to believe the world can be saved. And foolish enough to try."
A low hum filled the air as the seven raised their hands. Light spilled from their palms—streams of knowledge, raw cultivation theory, battle memory, spirit-will compression, legacy techniques so ancient they'd never been recorded.
It poured into Boar, washing over his skin, soaking through bone and blood and soul.
He screamed.
His body convulsed, eyes burning white, vision shattered into a thousand lifetimes of memories not his own. For a heartbeat, he saw through their eyes—felt the crushing weight of tribulation lightning, the roar of ten thousand cultivators charging across the skies, the sound of realms cracking.
Then—darkness.
He collapsed into the dirt, gasping, the seven gone.
Only the wind remained, carrying their final words like an echo through the night.
"Use it well, Boar Mile. If this realm must fall again... let it be after you've given it a reason not to."
Boar lay motionless, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The pain faded, but the weight remained. Not on his shoulders, but in his mind—a storm of knowledge waiting to be sorted. Words, images, techniques, realms, rules.
It would take time to understand it all. Maybe a lifetime.
But some things were already becoming clear.
This world—like many others connected by the Great Ladder—followed a system. A path of power built over countless eras. Boar had known only the names before. Now, he understood them.
The Realms of Cultivation:
Every cultivator walked a path broken into stages. The stronger you got, the more of the world's energy you could command. Each realm unlocked new heights—but also new risks.
Body Rooting – The first step. Strengthening muscles, bones, and senses. Most never pass this.
Qi Stirring – Learning to feel qi in the air. To draw it in and not get sick from it.
Qi Gathering – Storing qi in the body without it slipping away. Like cupping water in your hands during a storm.
Core Forging – Shaping a seed of power in your gut. A spinning orb of energy. If it cracks, you die.
Spirit Climb – The mind opens. You gain a second sense. You start seeing things others can't.
Soul Echo – When your soul starts to vibrate with the realm. Cultivators here can speak across distances and leave echoes of themselves behind.
Heaven Touched – Very few reach this level. Their qi touches the heavens. They can call down lightning, speak to beasts, and split stone with a glance.
But the most feared and admired realm came after Heaven Touched.
The Tribulation Realms.
To rise beyond Heaven Touched, one had to pass a Tribulation—a heavenly test of will, power, and fate. Each one was different. Lightning storms. Soul fire. Time fractures. The higher the Tribulation, the harder the test.
First Tribulation: You're no longer bound to earth. You can fly.
Second Tribulation: You can bend laws—slow time, harden space, steal qi from others.
Third Tribulation: You can shape entire lands, carve canyons with a swing, pull rivers from the sky.
Most die here.
Only a handful in history reached the Fourth Tribulation, and none survived it.
At the top of it all was the forbidden title.
Supreme.
No one knew what it meant exactly. Some said a Supreme was a being who bent reality itself. Others believed it was the first step to leaving this realm entirely and becoming something… more.
Boar now held the knowledge of seven who had gotten close.
He didn't understand it all yet. But he would.
Because one thing was clear: the old world was gone. The rules had changed.
And Boar Mile—boy of the dirt, born without light—now held a key to something bigger than power.
He held the last will of seven legends... and maybe, just maybe, the fate of Apollo.