Sai sat cross-legged on the cold floor, the red potion flask resting at his side. He inhaled deeply, steadying his breath, and turned his awareness inward.
The air here was different. Not qi, but mana—yet the act of sinking into his body, of feeling the blood flow and bones hum, was the same.
His fingers curled lightly against his knees. A memory stirred.
The technique I could never use…
Empyrean Calamity Art.
A name that carried both grandeur and dread.
It was said to be a path of destruction, a method meant for the highest heavens—born from slaughter and calamity.
He had not found it through luck, but through theft.
Back in Murim, when the Heavenly Demon Cult Leader struck against the Imperial Court, all of Murim rose in defense. Clans, sects, wandering swordsmen—they gathered in a storm of blood.
Sai, then still chasing scraps of survival, had gone for another reason. He slipped into the archives during the chaos, seeking knowledge rather than glory. Fate played its cruel trick: the cult had sent infiltrators as well.
Blades clashed in the shadows of dusty tomes. Sai remembered the struggle—the screams, the fire, the bitter stench of blood in paper halls. When it ended, only he still stood. Dozens of corpses lay cooling, their secrets silenced forever.
He had taken what they sought: fragments of the Empyrean Calamity Art.
That day, the world whispered that the battle was a draw. That the Heavenly Demon Cult retreated only after heavy losses. The truth was more twisted: their losses were light. Their objective failed because a nameless wanderer had stolen it first.
Sai.
And yet, in the end, he had never used the art. His body had been too weak. His foundation too shallow.
But now… in this new world… he could try.
Sai uncorked the flask and drank.
The liquid slid down smoothly, almost anticlimactic. Medicinal, but not bitter—closer to cool water after a summer's march. His chest warmed faintly, a pleasant heaviness settling in his limbs.
He drew another breath.
The potion moved inside him, subtle as flowing mist. He guided it with his breath, shaping it, circulating it, as if it were qi. His body answered, tension loosening. The ache of long fatigue melted into a quiet calm.
Small, he thought. But a beginning.
His pulse steadied, his focus sharpened. Muscles, bones, nerves—each felt fractionally stronger, though the change was barely measurable.
Still, his lips curved faintly. Improvement is improvement. Even if small, it is mine.
He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into meditation.
"…Let's do this."
---
Sai's breathing slowed. His pulse settled into a steady rhythm as the potion coursed through him. His limbs felt heavier, but stronger, a faint warmth settling into the marrow of his bones.
He flexed a hand. A little stronger. Not much, but real. The energy is flowing more freely now.
To him, it felt like mana seeping into his body. He welcomed it, guiding it along his meridians with calm familiarity, as if practicing with qi once again.
But he was wrong.
What threaded through him wasn't mana at all—it was something more primal. Violent, raw, alive.
Spiritual power.
The same energy spirit beasts drew from birth. Unlike humans, they did not wait for ceremonies or awakenings. Their bodies absorbed spiritual energy instinctively, shaping it into strength as naturally as breathing.
That was why spirit beasts grew faster, fiercer, and often became revered as guardians of the elven forests. Their lifeblood itself was steeped in that power.
Sai didn't know any of this.
To him, the faint prickling inside his veins was simply a sign the potion was working. The truth—that his body had already begun adapting to spirit energy—never crossed his mind.
He yawned softly, eyes heavy. The meditation had calmed him more than expected. "Not bad," he muttered. "Not enough, but… a start."
As the training hall dimmed under the flickering mana lamps, Sai lay down on the hard bench, letting sleep take him.
Above him, the air shimmered faintly. Threads of invisible spiritual energy drifted toward him like moths to flame, sinking silently into his chest.
And in the deep quiet of night, the gears of fate began to shift.
---