The lecture hall was enormous. Its ceiling soared high above, supported by massive stone pillars, and the floor was filled with many cultivation mats, each a meter apart. As Damian stepped inside, the sheer scale of the place made him feel like a single drop of water in a vast ocean. Nearly seven hundred disciples were already present, their hushed conversations creating a low hum that filled the space. They all wore the simple grey and blue robes of the outer sect, a sea of uniformity.As Damian searched for an empty spot, he felt their eyes on him. A wave of whispers rippled through the hall as heads turned in his direction. He saw it clearly in their expressions—pity. They were looking at him as if he were already a ghost, a dead man walking. He felt a flash of irritation. Their pity was for the boy who had already died, the one who had given in to despair. He was someone else entirely. Someone who doesn't require their pity. Shaking his head, he found an empty woven mat on the floor and sat, ignoring the stares.He didn't have to wait long. A man who looked to be in his early thirties walked onto the raised stage at the front of the hall, his presence commanding a sudden, respectful silence."Greetings, students," the teacher said, his voice warm and friendly, instantly putting many at ease.As his fellow disciples rose to formally greet the teacher, Damian's mind wandered. In a world of cultivation, age was a fluid concept; this man could be thirty or three hundred."This is my first lecture for you all," the man continued with a polite smile. "My name is Thoran Nactos. I will be guiding you through the basics of cultivation, as I have for the past two years."The name 'Nactos' sent another wave of whispers through the crowd."The Young Master of the Nactos family! One of the Four Great Families!" a young man said in awe."I heard he's a waste, though," another disciple countered in a hushed, sneering tone. "Stuck at the fifth stage of Qi Refining for a decade. He's hit a wall he'll never break.""Do you call a Qi Refiner a 'waste'?" a deep voice boomed from right beside Damian, startling him. "How many Qi Refiners does your family have, that you can afford to be so arrogant?"Damian turned to see the speaker. It was a disciple with a tall, muscular physique, built like a small mountain. A massive, broad-bladed sword rested across his thighs, radiating a dangerous aura. His presence was intimidating, but his words were in defense of their teacher. Damian's eyes widened as the original host's memories supplied a name: Raven Hazelwood. A member of the very clan that wanted him dead.The disciple who had called the teacher a waste went pale. "Who is so bold—" He started to retort, then visibly shrank back as he recognized Raven. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and he immediately fell silent.Another disciple a few rows back chuckled, a look of amusement on his face. "Looks like the Hazelwood clan will be taking the heads of two disciples this year," he whispered to his friend, loud enough for Damian to hear. He was referring to Damian and the fool who had just offended Raven Hazelwood."Enough!" Thoran's voice, now stripped of its warmth and filled with stern authority, cut through the chatter. "It seems I must remind you of the rules of this sect. Perhaps your memories have grown short."The hall fell into a dead silence."Rule one: No fighting within the sect premises. Rule two: No fighting between disciples is permitted, even outside the sect. Rule three," Thoran's eyes seemed to sweep over both Damian and Raven as he spoke, "the power your family represents in the outside world will have no effect here. I do not care if you are from the Nactos clan or the Hazelwood clan. Here, you are all simply disciples of the Green Valley Sect."That last rule was the pillar holding up Damian's entire plan. A wave of relief washed over him, so potent it almost made him dizzy. As long as he was here, he was protected. Thoran continued to iterate every rule in the sect's thick rulebook. To most, it was a boring recitation. To Damian, it was a study in survival; every regulation was a potential shield he might one day need."Well, that's it for now," Thoran finally concluded. He cleared his throat, his friendly demeanor returning. "Now, let's begin the lecture."Damian leaned forward, listening with an intensity that bordered on desperation. He knew next to nothing about cultivation. His current strength was a fluke, a result of his body passively absorbing Qi due to his mediocre talent. He needed knowledge."The first realm, Body Refining, does not require exceptional talent," Thoran explained. "Even a person with poor-grade roots can, with enough effort, reach the ninth stage. However, breaking through to the Qi Refining Realm is where talent and fate play a greater role. Since you have all passed the entrance exam, you possess Average or High-grade talent. With diligent work, the Qi Refining stage is within your grasp."Damian felt a familiar sting of disappointment in his chest. Average. In a world where prodigies existed, he was merely average.As if reading his thoughts, Thoran's expression softened. "But do not let your perceived talent define you. I have seen disciples with average roots surpass those with high-grade talent. I have seen them change their own fate, breaking through realms that should have been impossible. The foundation of cultivation is not talent alone." He paused, his gaze sweeping over every single student. "All you need to do is work hard."The simple statement struck Damian like a thunderclap, shattering his self-pity. Hard work. That was something he understood. In his past life on Earth, he had been a diligent student, always performing his duties to the best of his ability. He had that, and he had his rebirth. A blessing or a curse, it was his greatest secret.'Hopefully, I still have the blessing,' Damian thought, the ever-present fear resurfacing. If he knew for certain his revivals were infinite, he'd already be at the Beast Mountain, honing his skills through a brutal cycle of death and rebirth.'Why are you thinking of dying, you fool?' he chided himself. But as soon as the thought formed, a cold dread washed over him. It was an unnatural feeling, a sense of external influence that made the hairs on his arms stand up. It felt like something was whispering in the back of his mind, encouraging him toward a reckless end.This chilling feeling was broken as his teacher's voice pulled him back to the present. "So, students, focus. This set of movements is the 'Foundation Breathing Technique'," Thoran said. He moved to the center of the stage. "Perform this set four or five times a day while maintaining your breathing rhythm. Your body will naturally absorb and refine the Qi from the surroundings. But be warned: any wrong move, any lapse in concentration, and you could be severely injured by the technique's backlash."Thoran began to demonstrate. His movements were graceful and precise, each posture flowing into the next like a gentle river, yet Damian could feel the immense power being gathered and circulated. This was it. His first real tool on the path to power. He watched, memorizing every single detail, his future depending on it.
