The first lesson taught in Cloud Origin was not of letters or numbers, but of power. It was a truth etched into the world's very bones: the strong feast, while the weak grovel for scraps. This was not philosophy; it was simple, brutal fact.
They called this world **Cloud Origin**, a realm divided into four vast, warring territories—the North, South, East, and West Divine Origin Regions. Each was a powerhouse of cultivation clans and sects, locked in an eternal struggle for dominion and resources.
But at the heart of it all, a place of converging ley lines and unimaginable power, sat the Divine Martial Origin Kingdom. It was the pinnacle, the apex toward which all ambition strained. To speak of it was to speak of legend. There, it was said, there were no civilians, no weaklings, no pretenders. To earn the right to breathe its rarefied air was to accept the world's core law in its purest form.
It was a place where to hesitate was to die. To show mercy was to fail.
It was eat, or be eaten.