The whispers that had followed Amrit from his sickroom to the throne room now became a silent, palpable wave of shock. As he departed the audience hall, the guards, the servants, the courtiers lingering in the corridors—they all saw him not as a convalescent prince, but as something new and unsettling. He had not only stood before the King and his powerful brothers, but he had walked away with the King's blessing and resources that were, by all rights, reserved for the kingdom's prized geniuses.
This change was a fever, and Amrit was patient zero. It was a fever of ambition, a burning need to seize the impossible advantage the system had granted him and twist it into real, undeniable power. It was an ailment for which this world had no cure, because it had no diagnosis. The gods of his small world—his father, his brothers—saw a symptom, a miraculous recovery. They could not possibly fathom the disease was a complete rewriting of natural law.
Amrit ignored the stares. His destination was the beating intellectual heart of the palace: the Royal Library.
The library was a hallowed space, a circular chamber rising three stories high, with walls made not of stone, but of intricately carved mahogany shelves. The air smelled of old paper, cedarwood, and the faint, dusty scent of forgotten knowledge. Sunlight streamed in from a high, domed glass ceiling, illuminating the motes of dust dancing in the air like tiny, lazy spirits. This was a place of quiet contemplation, a sanctuary for scholars and sages. It was a place the frail Prince Amrit had never had the strength to visit.
An old man with a back bent like a willow branch looked up from a thick, leather-bound tome as Amrit entered. He was Archivist Pundir, a man who had served the library for sixty years and was said to know the location of every scroll by heart. His cloudy eyes widened in recognition, then confusion.
"Your Highness? Prince Amrit?" Pundir's voice was a dry rustle of parchment. "It is… good to see you on your feet. Do you require a comfortable chair? Some warm tea?"
The archivist's concern was genuine, but it was the concern one showed to an invalid. "Thank you, Archivist, but I am here for a text," Amrit said, his voice resonating with newfound strength in the quiet hall. "I require the complete, unabridged scroll of the Lotus Breathing Compendium."
Pundir's brow furrowed. "The complete compendium? Your Highness, that is a profound spiritual text. Its later stages are only suitable for those nearing the Spirit Sea Realm. Perhaps the introductory volume would be more… appropriate? It details the first three stages beautifully."
He was trying to be helpful, to steer the known cripple away from something that could hurt him. It was a kindness Amrit no longer needed.
"I am aware of its complexities," Amrit replied calmly. "Nevertheless, that is the one I wish to study. The original manuscript, if possible."
Pundir hesitated, then saw the unyielding resolve in the young prince's eyes. This was not a request; it was a quiet command. With a sigh that seemed to stir the dust of decades, he shuffled towards a special, climate-controlled section of the library. A moment later, he returned, carefully carrying a long, jade-green scroll tied with a silken cord. It hummed with a faint aura of Prana.
"Handle it with care, Your Highness. This was penned by the founder of our kingdom himself."
Amrit took the scroll. It was cool and heavy in his hands. He gave a nod of thanks and found a secluded reading table in an alcove overlooking the royal gardens. For a moment, he simply looked out the window. He could see Bhim, his second brother, practicing his axe forms in the distance. Each swing was powerful, displacing the air with a dull whoosh. It was the product of a decade of relentless, grueling effort.
Amrit looked down at the scroll in his hands. He was about to attempt to surpass that decade of effort in a single afternoon. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.
He untied the cord and unfurled the scroll. The text was written in an elegant, archaic script, flowing across the preserved papyrus like a river. It was beautiful, but also dense and filled with esoteric concepts. The basic version he'd been taught was a child's primer compared to this. The full compendium detailed nine distinct stages of breathing, each building on the last, designed to refine Prana, expand the dantian, and eventually, nourish the soul to form a Spirit Sea.
His eyes scanned the first few lines, absorbing the words. Then, he focused his intent.
System. Analyze and comprehend this text.
The familiar blue glow lit up his mind's eye.
[Advanced Action: Studying a Profound Cultivation Technique.]
[Target: Lotus Breathing Compendium (Original Manuscript).]
[Crit Chance detected…]
[…Triggering a 1,000x Crit!]
The world didn't explode. There was no vortex of energy. The change was entirely internal, and it was more earth-shattering than any physical phenomenon.
The archaic script on the page ceased to be mere symbols. In an instant, the intent of the author, the founder-king of Kshirapura, flowed directly into Amrit's mind. He didn't just read the words; he experienced them. He felt the King's own struggle to control Prana, the moment of epiphany when he conceived of the first stage, the painstaking process of refining it through the subsequent eight.
He saw the flow of energy not as a diagram on a page, but as a living, three-dimensional river of light moving through a phantom body in his mind. He understood the philosophical underpinnings—how the "Lotus" represented purity blooming from the murky waters of the mortal world. He saw the flaws, the minute inefficiencies in the later stages where the founder-king's own understanding had reached its limit. He even saw potential pathways for a tenth, hypothetical stage that the author had never dared to imagine.
In the span of a single breath, the entire Lotus Breathing Compendium, a text that would take a genius years to master, was not just learned, but assimilated into the very core of his being. He possessed a level of understanding that surpassed even the man who had written it.
Amrit slowly rolled the scroll shut, his expression placid. His mind, however, was a raging storm. The system wasn't just a multiplier for physical effort. It was a multiplier for comprehension. This was infinitely more terrifying. He could learn anything, master anything, in a heartbeat.
Knowledge without the power to enact it was useless. He now had the perfect blueprint. It was time to build the engine.
He stood and walked out of the library, leaving a very confused Archivist Pundir in his wake. His destination was the Royal Cultivation Chambers, a cluster of small, pagoda-like buildings in the most secluded part of the palace grounds. These chambers were built atop the kingdom's primary spiritual vein, a natural convergence of the world's Prana. Cultivating here for an hour was equivalent to a day of effort outside. They were a jealously guarded resource, typically only used by the King and his two eldest sons.
The guard at the entrance, a stern-faced captain of the Royal Guard, moved to block his path. "Your Highness. These chambers are reserved…"
"By order of the King," Amrit said, his voice cutting through the captain's protest. "He has commanded me to begin my training. Are you going to defy a direct royal decree?"
The captain's eyes widened. He had been in the throne room and heard the pronouncement, but to see the third prince actually act on it so boldly was another matter. After a moment of hesitation, he bowed stiffly. "My apologies, Your Highness. Chamber Three is available."
Amrit nodded and entered the chamber. The room was spartan, a ten-foot-by-ten-foot space with a single meditation cushion in the center. The walls, floor, and ceiling were carved with intricate, glowing runes—a formation designed to gather and concentrate the ambient Prana. The air within was thick with energy, so much so that a normal person would feel a heavy pressure on their skin. To Amrit, it felt like diving into a cool, refreshing lake.
He sat on the cushion, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. The world went silent. He let go of the shock, the ambition, the memory of his past life. His mind became a perfect, still surface.
Then, he began to execute the First Stage of the Lotus Breathing Technique, armed with his 1,000x-crit understanding.
[Advanced Action: 'Nine-Stage Lotus Breathing' performed with Perfect Comprehension.]
[Crit Chance detected… High probability due to perfect theoretical mastery.]
[…Triggering a 10,000x Crit!]
If the first crit that healed him was a river, this was an ocean.
The Prana-gathering formation of the chamber didn't just activate; it overloaded. The runes on the walls blazed with a light so brilliant it would have blinded a normal person. The thick Prana in the room was instantly devoured, creating a vacuum that began to violently pull energy from the spiritual vein beneath the palace.
A massive, invisible whirlpool of Prana formed with Amrit at its epicenter.
From his perspective, it was sublime. The golden energy that flowed into him was not just a hundred times greater, but ten thousand times. It was incredibly pure, potent, and vast. It flooded his newly repaired meridians, which expanded painlessly to accommodate the deluge. His dantian, which had held a small pond of energy, became a lake, then a sea, then a boundless ocean.
His cultivation level, the measure of his power, began to skyrocket at a speed that would shatter the sanity of any cultivator in Viraatkshetra.
[Host is breaking through the Body Tempering Realm.]
[Stage One: Skin Toughening… Achieved.]
[Stage Two: Muscle Weaving… Achieved.]
[Stage Three: Sinew Hardening… Achieved.]
Outside the chamber, the world was thrown into chaos.
King Vikram was in his study, reviewing reports on grain yields. Suddenly, the jade cup in his hand trembled. The air grew heavy. He shot to his feet, his Spirit Sea churning within him. He felt the spiritual vein of the palace—the very foundation of his kingdom's power—surging like a wild beast. All of its energy was being drawn to a single point.
"An attack? Or is a heavenly treasure being born?" he whispered, his face a mask of alarm. He burst out of his study, his royal robes flying behind him, and shot towards the cultivation chambers.
In the main training yard, Arjun and Bhim were sparring. Arjun's sword was a blur of silver light, while Bhim's heavy axe created gusts of wind with every swing. Suddenly, they both stumbled. The Prana in the air around them thinned, becoming difficult to draw upon. It felt like they were trying to breathe at the top of a high mountain.
"What is this?" Arjun snarled, his technique faltering. "The energy… it's being stolen!" He turned his head, his senses pinpointing the source of the terrifying suction. The cultivation chambers. His eyes narrowed with fury. "Bhim! Come!"
Vaidya Bhaskar was in his apothecary, grinding herbs. The lid of a clay pot rattled and fell to the floor. The old physician froze, his spiritual sense tingling. He felt the colossal, pure wave of Prana gathering, and at its center, a familiar, nascent aura growing at an exponential rate. His eyes, wide with disbelief, stared in the direction of the chambers. "A sage's birth… A divine awakening…" he muttered, dropping his pestle. "This is not a miracle… this is a genesis."
Back in the chamber, Amrit was oblivious to the commotion he was causing. He was lost in the ecstasy of growth.
[Stage Four: Bone Forging… Achieved.]
[Stage Five: Marrow Cleansing… Achieved.]
[Stage Six: Organ Fortifying… Achieved.]
[Stage Seven: Meridian Tempering… Achieved.]
[Stage Eight: Dantian Expansion… Achieved.]
[Stage Nine: Spirit Sea Foundation… Achieved.]
In the space of ten minutes, he had traversed the entire Body Tempering Realm, a journey that had taken his genius brother Arjun fifteen years of painstaking effort. The Prana in his body stabilized, consolidating at the absolute peak of the realm. His body was now a fortress, his dantian a vast sea of energy, and his soul was already beginning to form the foundation of a Spirit Sea, ready to step into the next major realm of cultivation at a moment's notice.
The whirlpool of Prana slowly subsided. The glowing runes on the walls dimmed, some of them sputtering and cracking from the overload. The chamber was quiet again, but the air crackled with residual power.
Amrit opened his eyes. They glowed with a faint, golden light. He felt… powerful. He could hear a butterfly's wings beating in the gardens outside. He could feel the intricate web of Prana that made up the world.
So this is the Peak of the Body Tempering Realm, he thought. It felt like he could shatter a mountain with a single punch.
BOOM!
The heavy stone door of the cultivation chamber was blasted inward, shattering into a dozen pieces. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the bright afternoon sun, were the King, Arjun, and Bhim. Their faces were a portrait of utter, absolute shock.
They stared at Amrit, who sat calmly on the cushion, untouched by the explosion. But it was his aura they were staring at. The weak, flickering candle flame was gone. In its place was a blazing sun, an aura that was every bit as powerful and deep as Arjun's, yet possessed a purity that made the Crown Prince's energy feel like muddy water in comparison.
King Vikram took a step forward, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and fear. "Amrit… What have you done?"
Arjun's face was pale, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his side. The sneer was gone, replaced by a look of horrified disbelief. This was impossible. This broke every rule of cultivation he had ever known.
Amrit rose to his feet, the movement utterly silent and fluid. He met his father's gaze, his expression unreadable. The fever of his ambition had produced its first undeniable symptom. The frail prince was not just healed.
He was a monster.
"I did as you commanded, Father," Amrit said, his voice calm and clear, echoing in the stunned silence. "I began to cultivate."