The golden light faded. Valerius Thorne lay on the straw, the phantom glow of the Aether-Weaver's Loom still imprinted on his inner vision. The fever, a relentless fire just moments ago, seemed to recede, replaced by a cool, almost clinical clarity.
He felt the Loom now, not as a physical object, but as an extension of his consciousness. It hummed, a silent, intricate mechanism, woven into the very fabric of his nascent spiritual core. It was subtle, potent, and utterly under his command.
His new body, a weak vessel, still trembled. Yet, he could sense the ambient spiritual energy in the air around him, a faint, almost imperceptible mist. The Loom, even in its dormant state, seemed to draw it in, a gentle, continuous whisper.
Efficiency. That was the immediate thought. This artifact wasn't about brute force. It was about refining the raw material, about building an unshakeable foundation. A true strategist understood the value of groundwork.
He closed his eyes, focusing inward. The worried murmurs of the woman and the old man faded into background noise. Valerius began to experiment.
He willed the Loom to activate its "Enhanced Absorption" function. Immediately, the faint spiritual mist in the hovel seemed to thicken, drawn towards him. It wasn't a violent vortex, but a steady, deliberate flow, like a river finding its path to the sea.
He felt the energy enter his body, cool and invigorating. Then, the Loom began its work. It didn't just absorb; it purified. Impurities, subtle and unseen, were stripped away, leaving behind a pristine, potent essence that flowed directly into his nascent spiritual root.
This was the "Energy Refinement" at work. His foundation, even at this rudimentary stage, would be flawless. Others might rush, might accumulate quantity over quality. Valerius would build a core of pure, unblemished power.
He tested the "Aura Concealment." He focused, willing the Loom to mask his spiritual fluctuations. The gentle hum of absorption seemed to dim, becoming almost undetectable. He could project an image of weakness, of normalcy, even as his internal cultivation surged. A perfect shield for a rising predator.
Excellent. The tool functions as described. Its utility is immense, despite its lack of direct combat applications. It grants me an unparalleled advantage in foundational growth and strategic deception.
He opened his eyes. The woman, his new mother, was still watching him with concern. He offered a weak, childlike smile, a practiced gesture of innocence. He needed to maintain this façade. For now, he was just a sickly child recovering from a fever.
"Mother," he rasped, his voice still thin, but with a newfound strength that surprised even him. "I… I feel better."
Her eyes widened, hope flickering. The old man approached, touching his forehead again. "The fever has broken! The Ancestors have blessed us!"
Valerius allowed a small, grateful nod. Ancestors. Convenient scapegoats for unexpected recovery. And convenient credit for future 'lucky' breakthroughs.
He spent the next few days in a state of controlled observation. He learned their names: Elara, his mother, and Borin, his grandfather. They were subsistence farmers, living on the fringes of a small, struggling village called Oakhaven. Life here was brutal, short, and dictated by the whims of nature and the distant, powerful cultivators who rarely deigned to notice their existence.
He listened to their conversations, absorbing the local dialect, the customs, the whispered legends of powerful cultivators and fearsome beasts. His mind, like a sponge, soaked it all in, categorizing, cross-referencing. He learned about the basic cultivation stages: Body Tempering, Qi Condensation, Foundation Establishment. Each stage a stepping stone to greater power, longer life, and more control.
His own body was in the Body Tempering stage, barely. A weak, underdeveloped frame. But with the Aether-Weaver's Loom, that would change. Rapidly.
He began his cultivation in secret. At night, while Elara and Borin slept, Valerius would sit cross-legged, drawing on the ambient spiritual energy. The Loom worked tirelessly, absorbing and refining, pouring pure essence into his meridians.
His progress was astonishing. Within a week, his frail body began to harden. His skin gained a healthy glow, his muscles subtly strengthened. He felt a nascent power stirring within him, a warmth that spread from his core.
He made excuses for his rapid recovery. "The mountain herbs, Grandfather. They were truly potent." He would occasionally "find" a common, but slightly rarer, herb in the nearby woods, attributing his newfound vitality to it. His family, desperate for hope, readily believed him.
His mind, however, was already looking beyond Oakhaven. This village was a cage. These people, while kind in their way, were too weak, too limited. He needed resources. He needed knowledge. He needed power.
The Daily Providence System continued its daily draws. After that initial, incredible pull, his luck plummeted.
Day 2: A rusty nail. Day 3: A single, half-eaten berry. Day 4: A pebble. Day 5: A dead beetle.
Valerius observed these "useless" items with a detached amusement. Divine Fortune, indeed. A fleeting anomaly. He didn't despair. He analyzed. Could the rusty nail be sharpened? Could the beetle's carapace be ground into a rudimentary pigment? Every item, no matter how worthless, was a puzzle.
He continued his cultivation. The Loom was his constant companion, his silent engine of growth. He pushed his Body Tempering to its limits, then broke through to Qi Condensation with an ease that would have shocked any master. His spiritual energy, refined by the Loom, was denser, purer, more potent than that of cultivators many stages above him.
He kept his breakthroughs hidden. He maintained the façade of a diligent, talented, but not overtly miraculous, young cultivator. He learned to subtly suppress his aura, making his cultivation appear a stage or two lower than it truly was.
His dominance wasn't expressed through overt displays of power, but through an aura of quiet confidence, an unnerving calm in the face of adversity, and eyes that seemed to see far more than they let on. When a minor dispute arose in the village, Valerius, though a child, would offer a solution so logical, so perfectly balanced, that even the elders would find themselves nodding in agreement, wondering how such wisdom came from one so young.
He was not yet a recognized force. But the architect had begun to lay his foundation. The first thread of his grand design had been woven. And the world, still oblivious, was about to feel the subtle, inexorable pull of Valerius Thorne.