Kael Draven limped out of the ruin like a man crawling from a drunken brawl with the universe. His robes were charred, his boots were half-melted, and his dignity had officially filed for spiritual divorce.
Behind him, the collapsed gateway to the Ancient Ruins still pulsed faintly with stardust. The Astral Forge—now nestled somewhere in his soul—hummed like a smug parasite. Kael swore it giggled.
"You call that surviving? I've seen beetles come out of void cracks with more grace."
The voice of Master Veyrix, the ancient soul bound to the Forge, echoed inside his mind.
Kael groaned. "Do all soul imprints come with sarcasm and a superiority complex?"
"Only the effective ones."
Kael took stock. His shattered Astral Veins no longer ached—no, they throbbed with unfamiliar energy, like someone had replaced his blood with molten stardust. He focused, and for a moment, his breath froze. Threads of red and black mana—swirling, unstable, yet undeniably powerful—snaked around his fingers.
"…I have an aura now," he muttered, awe clashing with disbelief. "A red-and-black one. That feels mildly evil."
"Or cosmically awesome." Veyrix chuckled. "It's unstable, but you'll grow into it. Or explode. Fifty-fifty."
Kael sighed. "Of course."
—
The journey back to Silverbranch Outpost—the last town before the edge of the wildlands—was uneventful, unless you counted Kael getting chased by a wild Qi-boar and falling into a swamp.
By the time he staggered through the outer gates, the guards looked at him like he'd crawled out of a disaster novel. One kid with a spear whispered, "Is he naked again?"
Kael flipped his singed cloak over himself and marched toward the tavern, trying to ignore the pain, the hunger, and the fact that he smelled like burnt herbs and disappointment.
He needed food. Answers. And a plan.
—
"So you survived the ruin… and gained a soul-bound artifact?"
The tavern keeper—Old Ryn, an ex-cultivator with one arm and zero patience—leaned forward across the counter.
Kael nodded. "And also trauma, a voice in my head, and a glowing chest vein that won't stop pulsing."
Ryn chuckled. "Sounds like cultivation's finally saying hello."
As Kael devoured three bowls of spirit rice and a suspicious-looking stew, he explained what happened. Well, most of it. He left out the part where he accidentally blew up a temple ceiling by sneezing during a breathing technique.
"So what's next?" Ryn asked, cleaning a mug with spiritual-grade cloth.
Kael stared into his bowl. "I'm heading to the outer sect trials in seven days. I'll need a recommendation, or a miracle."
Ryn raised a brow. "You planning to register for the Skystone Sect trials?"
Kael nodded. "Why not aim high?"
Ryn looked at him like he'd declared war on a dragon while armed with a spoon.
"You'll be competing with noble brats and rich disciples who train with spirit stones stuffed in their pillows. They'll crush you like a worm."
Kael smirked. "Good. I've been looking for someone to return the favor."
—
Outside the tavern, a small crowd was gathering near the dueling square. Kael wandered over and saw the usual: two junior cultivators showing off while their entourages cheered.
One was shirtless, with flaming palm techniques. The other was a tall girl with wind-step footwork and twin spirit fans.
Kael recognized her. Seris Vaelwyn.
Sky Shard Sect heiress. Cold beauty. More dangerous than she looked—which was saying something.
Kael admired her footwork for exactly three seconds before a loud voice broke his thoughts.
"You there!"
He turned. A smug teen with a jade medallion and two bodyguards pointed at him.
"Your aura… red and black? What sect teaches demonic mana control to trash like you?"
Kael blinked. "Sorry, I don't speak 'privileged meathead.' Try again in a complete sentence."
The crowd chuckled. The noble's face darkened.
"You dare insult me? I am Ren Zai of the Crimson Petal Pavilion!"
Kael shrugged. "Oh, that sounds very… flowery."
Gasps.
Ren Zai sneered. "Then how about a wager? Duel me in the square. If you win, I give you a spirit coin and shut my mouth. If you lose, you crawl like a dog and kiss my boots."
Kael tilted his head. "Can I kiss your boots first and duel you after?"
The crowd laughed harder. Even Seris, from across the square, raised an eyebrow.
Ren Zai roared, "I'll end you!"
The Duel
Kael stepped into the square. His body screamed in protest, his aura unstable, his stomach still full of stew.
But the Forge pulsed.
"Let the power flow," Veyrix murmured. "Call the Astral Pulse."
Ren Zai launched forward with a flaming strike—classic Blazing Palm technique. Kael barely dodged, stumbling back.
His instincts screamed. Mana surged. And suddenly—Kael's body glowed. Black-red mist coiled around his fists.
Astral Pulse: Phase One – Internal Burst
Kael stepped in, drove his palm into Ren's side, and released a sudden pulse of compressed mana.
BOOM.
Ren flew ten feet into a crate of spirit melons. Unconscious. Possibly reconsidering life choices.
The crowd was silent.
Then: cheering. Whistling. A single voice shouting, "What the hell was that?!"
Kael looked at his glowing hand, still steaming. "I… might have a technique now?"
"Technically yes," Veyrix said. "Congratulations. You're now 2% less pathetic."
—
Seris approached him after the duel.
She stopped inches away, eyes cold, voice like falling snow.
"You're reckless, unrefined, and your aura is dangerously unstable."
Kael smiled. "Thanks. You have really intense eyebrows."
She blinked. "…You're an idiot."
He winked. "A lucky idiot."
—
That night, Kael sat alone under the moon, meditating. The stars above shimmered—and in his mind, the Astral Forge opened again, revealing nodes of power, paths unexplored, and memories not his own.
"Seven days," he whispered. "I'll pass those trials. And if the heavens don't like it…"
His aura flared—red and black, swirling like a storm.
"…they can deal with it."