Long ago, before stars learned to shine and Heaven learned to judge, the world was born from Chaos. From that endless storm, men and beasts alike crawled forth, eyes blazing with hunger — not for food, but for power.
They learned that the world itself breathes — that the air hums with an unseen rhythm, a pulse that could be felt by those mad enough to listen. Some called it the breath of gods. Others named it the will of the world. But those who truly grasped it… called it Chaos Energy.
To cultivate was not to follow Heaven — it was to defy it. Every breath drawn in training, every blade swung in silence, was an act of rebellion against fate. To cultivate was to seize the right to exist beyond the sky's command — to carve one's own law from the bones of creation.
In this world, swords are not mere weapons. They are vessels of will — reflections of the heart's storm and the soul's fire. When one sharpens a blade, they are not forging metal… they are refining themselves. When one cuts through an enemy, they are cleaving through their own weakness.
Here, strength is not measured by what one destroys, but by what one dares to build within. Every cultivator carries a world inside — a silent cosmos shaped by battle, will, and madness. And within that inner chaos lies the seed of divinity… or ruin.
The strong walk paths that split mountains. The wise gaze inward and find galaxies. And the mad — they reach for Heaven's throat and laugh as thunder answers their challenge.
To cultivate in this world is to dance on the edge of eternity — to walk where gods once fell, and dare to rise higher still. For in the end, all seek the same forbidden dream:
To master chaos. To defy Heaven. To become one's own world.