Roman sat beneath the oak, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. Then, a thought struck him with the force of a revelation. Hunting snakes wasn't just about collecting materials; it was a form of cultivation. Cultivating within the sect's walls provided structured training but yielded limited resources. Here, in the wilderness, he could cultivate and acquire resources simultaneously. The hunt itself was a form of training, forging his strength, skill, and spirit simultaneously. It was a far more efficient and dynamic approach than the structured regimen within the sect walls.
This realization spurred him into action. He decided to continue his hunt, seeking out more challenging prey. He had mastered the basic techniques, but he needed to push his limits. He needed to test himself against stronger opponents. His eyes fell upon a colossal serpent, its scales shimmering like polished obsidian, its body thicker than any tree trunk. The creature was at least the size of a bear. This would be a true test.
The ensuing battle was brutal. The serpent's strikes were swift and deadly, its fangs dripping with potent venom. Roman dodged, weaved, and countered, utilizing every technique he'd learned from Piccolo. He used the Flying Dance of Sky to evade the serpent's attacks, using his agility to his advantage, and employed Tiger's Slash to deliver devastating blows. It was a grueling fight, pushing him to his absolute limits. But Roman persevered, his spirit unbroken, his resolve unyielding. He fought not just for survival, but for growth, for self-improvement.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he prevailed. The serpent lay still, its massive body a testament to his victory. The triumph filled him with both exhilaration and a profound sense of accomplishment. He had faced his fear, conquered his doubt and emerged stronger. This wasn't merely a kill; it was a rite of passage.
Over the next three days, he hunted relentlessly, facing increasingly challenging serpents, each encounter sharpening his skills, testing his resolve. He fought a venomous viper with scales as hard as steel, a constrictor that could crush stone, and a giant serpent with the ability to control the very earth itself. Each encounter was a lesson, shaping him into a stronger, more experienced cultivator.
Then, it happened. While battling a particularly aggressive serpent, a breakthrough occurred. He felt a surge of energy coursing through his veins, a profound shift within his very being. He had broken through to the Foundation Establishment Stage, a crucial milestone in the path of cultivation. He had become a true cultivator. He'd reached the first stage of his cultivation journey. He had proven himself. He had achieved something he'd never dared dream of in his past life. The thrill of victory washed over him, a wave of emotion so powerful it nearly brought him to his knees. He was no longer the neglected, bullied boy. He was a cultivator, forging his own destiny in a world that had once seemed determined to crush him.
He had reached his first stage. Now, he needed to rest and regroup, to gather more resources to power his ascent to the next level. He would return to the sect, not as the weak, talentless boy they had dismissed, but as a skilled hunter, a formidable cultivator, and a warrior ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. His journey was far from over; it had, in fact, only just begun.
Roman Rakrak stood in his sparsely furnished room, the rough-hewn wooden floorboards groaning slightly beneath his weight. The air hung heavy with the scent of dust and sweat, a familiar aroma that spoke of long hours spent in rigorous training. Yet, today, the familiar scent was overlaid with something new: the subtle, almost intoxicating fragrance of wealth. Before him, meticulously arranged on the worn wooden table, lay the spoils of his recent hunting expedition. It wasn't merely a collection of materials; it was a testament to his perseverance, a tangible representation of his journey from neglected youth to capable cultivator.
The sheer volume of materials was overwhelming. Shimmering crystals, their facets catching the weak sunlight filtering through the small, barred window, were piled alongside oddly shaped stones that pulsed with barely perceptible inner light. Vials filled with a viscous, iridescent venom, carefully extracted from the numerous serpents he had slain, were arranged in neat rows, their potent contents hinting at significant alchemic potential. Dried herbs, carefully harvested and preserved, released their earthy fragrance, promising potent medicinal properties. Each item held a story, a memory of grueling battles, narrow escapes, and the relentless pursuit of self-improvement.
He'd initially been hesitant to unleash the full extent of his gains on the sect marketplace. The fear of being cheated, a deep-seated insecurity stemming from his past experiences, had lingered at the edge of his thoughts. But Piccolo's unwavering support and the confidence he had gained during his recent hunting expedition had finally dispelled those lingering anxieties. He was no longer the helpless boy, easily manipulated and exploited. He was a cultivator, capable of navigating the complexities of the Azure Serpent Sect, confident in his ability to protect his hard-earned resources.
He began the meticulous process of appraising his materials, his fingers tracing the contours of each crystal, his eyes scrutinizing the subtle variations in color and texture. He knew the value of each herb, the potency of each venom, the rarity of each stone. His knowledge wasn't merely theoretical; it was forged in the crucible of experience, honed by the harsh realities of his hunts. He remembered the deadly panther, the viper with scales like steel, the earth-controlling serpent; each encounter served as a grim reminder of the dangers he'd overcome. Each challenge had left its mark, transforming him into a more resilient and more capable cultivator.
His initial assessment revealed a sum far beyond his wildest expectations. Even without selling the more unique or potentially high-value materials, the readily marketable items alone were worth an astonishing 3,989 sect points—a fortune by any standard. The snake venom, in particular, had proven more valuable than he'd anticipated, fetching a premium price due to its purity and potency. He smiled grimly, recalling the countless hours of training, the agonizing pain, the relentless pursuit of self-improvement. He had earned this.
The sale of the remaining materials, those more unique and potentially valuable items, sent another thrill of anticipation through him. He carefully packaged each item, ensuring their safe transport and presentation. He was acutely aware of the risks involved, the potential for theft or deception. But he had learned to trust his instincts, to gauge the character of those around him. He would be cautious, but he would not be afraid.
After the final transactions were completed and the accounts settled, he stared at the final sum on his sect card, the number flickering in disbelief: 800,989 sect points. The sheer magnitude of the number was almost overwhelming. It wasn't just wealth; it was power. It was the ability to acquire rare resources, advanced training, potent elixirs—the tools to elevate his cultivation to unprecedented heights. He was no longer simply surviving; he was thriving.
A small, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips. He had come a long way from the days of being deemed worthless trash by his own family. This wasn't just about accumulating wealth; it was about proving them wrong. It was about forging his own path, establishing his own identity, and claiming his rightful place in this world. The road ahead was long, and undoubtedly fraught with peril, but he faced the future with a new sense of confidence, a newfound strength born of hardship and tempered by success. He had earned this fortune, and he would use it wisely, not just to enhance his personal cultivation, but to secure his future and to shape his destiny. He was Roman Rakrak, and he had just begun to claim his rightful place in the world. The weight of his fortune was not a burden, but a promise – a promise of power, of independence, and of ultimate triumph.