Time did not wait. It trudged forward, merciless and indifferent.
Days bled into weeks. Weeks into months. Months into years.
By the end of the second year, only half of their original group remained. The rest had either broken through and moved on to the second stage of martial cultivation, or they had given up, their spirits worn down by the endless grind of fruitless meditation and grueling physical training.
By the third year, the training grounds were filled with new faces. Younger trainees, fresh blood from the village and even some neighboring settlements.
Some of them—gifted, energetic, and brimming with potential—managed to sense dark matter in mere months. A few of them even surpassed Adam in rank, quietly moving up to the higher ranks of instruction.
Adam, however, remained rooted in place. A stone in the stream, unmoving while the current flowed around him.
Each time someone else advanced, it carved another line into his heart. He didn't envy them. Not truly. He didn't hate them, nor wish they failed.
But every breakthrough he witnessed was a reminder of his own stillness. Of how the path he desperately chased still refused to open for him.
Zhao Yun, his friend since the first months of training, had already joined the elite hunting party. His aura now carried the weight of someone who had absorbed dark matter and refined his body far beyond what was human. His swings were fluid and deadly. His presence, grounded and confident.
Lin Yao was even further ahead. She had long since advanced to the vety limit of Tier 3. There were rumors that she was nearing Tier 2. Her calm presence had grown distant, like a star high above, barely visible to those on the ground.
Adam often stood at the edge of the training grounds in the evenings, watching the hunting party return from the forest. They carried fresh game, furs, and sometimes scars. He watched them from afar, recognizing familiar faces that once stood beside him in the cold, struggling to find that first hint of power.
They had moved on. While he had not.
By the time the fourth winter arrived, Adam's body was starting to show the toll of his obsession. Bones ached with every movement. His hands were perpetually wrapped in cloth, blistered and torn from daily sword drills. His muscles, though strong, trembled when he lay still. The bags under his eyes were permanent, and his sleep was shallow at best.
But he did not stop.
"I won't give up," he repeated like a mantra, each swing of his sword driving the words deeper into his bones.
Instructor Lin approached him more than once. "Adam, this path… it may not be yours to walk. You've endured more than most already. There is no shame in choosing a new direction."
Adam only bowed and returned to swinging.
Old Bai sat him down after inviting him for dinner one night. "Even the hardest stones can shatter when struck too many times. Sometimes letting go isn't weakness—it's wisdom."
Adam lowered his head but didn't reply. He just stared into the flames, then excused himself to resume his training.
Zhao visited occasionally. "I miss having you as a training partner," he said once. "But I hate seeing you like this. You've done more than anyone. You've earned respect, even if you never break through."
Adam smiled weakly. "I'm not after respect."
Lin Yao found him once near the river, meditating until his knees bled on the frozen earth. "You're chasing a shadow," she told him. "Sometimes in order to achieve something we must let go first. The more you try to force something the further it'll run from you."
Adam opened his eyes. "Then I'll force it, I'll keep chasing relentlessly until I catch it or my body break apart while trying."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then left without another word.
Winter deepened. Snow blanketed Bai Village in silence. The wind howled at night, and even the strongest of the martial artists took longer to rise in the morning. The training ground became emptier by the day, but Adam remained.
And then came the day.
The five-year mark loomed like a mountain peak—too far to turn back from, too steep to climb. If he passed it without success, the label of "untalented" would become permanent. He would be seen as someone whose path had ended before it even began.
The night before that day, Adam stood alone in the training ground.
The cold bit deep into his bones, his breath steaming like fire from his cracked lips. He clutched his wooden practice sword, its grip worn smooth by years of use, and began to swing.
One. Two. Three.
Again and again.
Each motion burned. His shoulders screamed. His arms shook. His spine felt like it would snap in two. He had already trained through the day, and still he continued. Long past sunset. Long after even the instructors had gone home.
He swung until the stars wheeled overhead. Until frost coated his lashes.
His thoughts grew quiet. Pain faded into the distance.
The only thing that existed was the sword.
One thousand. Two thousand. Three thousand...
He moved on instinct. The weight of the blade, the rhythm of the motion—it became a part of him. A dance performed in silence. His breath no longer shuddered. His heart beat slow and steady.
Time stopped meaning anything.
Eight thousand. Nine thousand. Ten thousand...
The sun began to rise, casting golden light over the snow-covered ground. The sky turned orange, then blue, but Adam didn't stop. His body moved on its own, past exhaustion, past pain.
Villagers who passed by paused, whispering in concern.
"He's been training all night…"
"Why doesn't he stop?"
"He's going to kill himself…"
Old Bai came and stood at a distance, silent, his hands folded behind his back. He didn't interrupt. He didn't speak.
Adam's movements slowed. His eyes narrowed.
He could feel it.
Something different.
Something beyond the air, beyond the wind.
It was subtle at first—like a tremor in the world around him. Like cutting through water instead of air. Each swing of his sword felt… heavier. Not in weight, but in consequence. As if it was cleaving through more than space.
He never stopped.
His chest rose and fell slowly. The sky above was bright, the sun nearly overhead. He had been swinging for nearly twenty-four hours.
And then he saw it.
Not with his eyes, but with something deeper.
All around him… energy. Invisible threads, like waves of water flowing around and through him. As if the entire world was submerged and only now had he learned to breathe beneath the surface.
His knees buckled, but he didn't fall. His heart thundered in his chest.
He reached out—not with his hand, but with his will.
And the moment he did… it flooded into him.
It was as if a dam had broken.
Dark matter surged through every pore in his body, crashing through muscle and bone like a tidal wave. His broken muscles stitched themselves back together. The burning in his joints faded. His spine straightened. Even the dull ache of old injuries vanished.
His body was healing at an unnatural speed.
No—it was reborn.
Every breath felt richer. Every heartbeat stronger. His vision sharpened. His hearing expanded. The cold no longer stung as much.
It wasn't just physical.
He felt… connected. Aware of things he hadn't noticed before. The whisper of the wind. The hum of tension in the earth. The presence of life around him.
He had done it!!
He had finally sensed and absorbed dark matter!
He finally opened his eyes regaining awareness of the environment surrounding him.
Old Bai was standing nearby, his eyes filled with a strange mix of pride and sorrow.
Adam swayed where he stood, his sword falling from his hand.
"I did it," he whispered, smiling through cracked lips.
You did it," the old man said softly. "You've walked a longer road than anyone else. And you walked it alone."
Adam closed his eyes. His body, finally released from the torment of expectation, collapsed into the snow. But there was no pain, only warmth.
"You can rest now," Old Bai murmured, kneeling beside him.
Adam slept.
Not the restless, shallow sleep of the past years, but a deep, dreamless slumber.
And for the first time in nearly five years, he felt at peace.