The forest became Eric's second home over the following days.
Each morning, he would tell his mother he was gathering herbs—which wasn't entirely a lie—and disappear into the trees. But the herbs were secondary now. His true purpose was the training, the meditation, the slow but steady transformation happening within him.
On his second session, Eric found the same clearing and sat with purpose. The memory of yesterday's breakthrough still burned in his mind, fueling his determination. When he closed his eyes and began to breathe, the connection came faster this time. Within minutes, he felt the dragon's presence, the azure energy flowing through his newly opened meridians.
**"Good,"** the dragon rumbled approvingly. **"You learn quickly. Now, focus on your lower dantian—the energy center below your navel. Feel the qi gathering there, forming a pool."**
Eric did as instructed, his awareness turning inward. He could sense it now—a small reservoir of power, growing drop by drop as he pulled in ambient qi from his surroundings.
**"Circulate it through your meridians. Slowly. Like water flowing through channels. Do not force it—guide it."**
The hours passed unnoticed. Eric fell deeper into the meditation, his control improving with each circulation of energy. The dragon's guidance was constant but never overwhelming, correcting his mistakes before they became habits, showing him the proper pathways, teaching him techniques that Master Tobias had never mentioned.
By the third day, Eric could enter the meditative state in mere seconds. His awareness of qi had sharpened dramatically—he could sense the life force in the plants around him, feel the subtle currents of energy that flowed through the forest like invisible rivers.
**"You have progressed to Fourth Stage Body Refinement,"** the dragon announced on the fourth day. **"Your foundation is solidifying. But you are still untested in real combat."**
"I know how to fight," Eric protested. "Master Tobias taught us forms—"
**"Forms are not fighting. Forms are dance. Fighting is chaos, pain, and survival. You must experience it firsthand."**
Eric wanted to argue, but the memory of the Stone Wolf chasing him through the ruins was still fresh. He'd run then. Would he always run?
On the fifth day, he had his answer.
Eric sat in meditation, his breathing deep and even, when his expanded awareness detected something approaching. Movement through the underbrush, heavy footfalls, the distinctive scent of a spirit beast.
His eyes snapped open.
Thirty paces away, a creature emerged from between the trees. It was similar to the Stone Wolf that had chased him before—lean and predatory, with matted brown fur and yellow eyes that fixed on him with clear hunger. Another F-rank beast, lower tier. The weakest kind of spirit beast.
But Eric's instincts screamed at him to run.
He ran.
**"STOP!"** The dragon's voice thundered in his mind, but Eric was already sprinting through the forest, his basket abandoned, his heart hammering. The beast gave chase immediately, its snarls echoing behind him.
**"You fool! Stand and fight!"**
"I can't!" Eric gasped, leaping over a fallen log. The beast was fast, faster than him despite his improvements. He could hear it gaining ground, its claws tearing into the earth with each bound.
A thick oak tree appeared ahead. Without thinking, Eric jumped—and soared higher than he'd ever imagined possible. His hands caught a branch twenty feet up, and he scrambled onto it, pressing his back against the trunk.
The beast circled below, growling and snapping.
"How did I—" Eric stared at his hands in shock. He'd never jumped that high before. Never moved that fast.
**"Because you are no longer as weak as you were,"** the dragon said, his voice calmer now but edged with disappointment. **"But strength means nothing if you lack the courage to use it. You must fight this beast, Eric. It is weaker than you now—yes, you heard correctly. YOU are stronger than IT. This is your test."**
"I can't," Eric whispered, gripping the branch. "I'll die."
**"You will die eventually if you continue to run from every challenge. This beast is nothing—a mere stepping stone. If you cannot defeat it, you will never defeat the true enemies that await you. Now FIGHT."**
Eric looked down at the circling beast. His hands were shaking. Five days of meditation, of improvement, and he was still the same coward who ran from everything.
No. That wasn't true. He'd felt the power inside him, felt himself growing stronger. The dragon was right—this beast wasn't the unstoppable monster it had seemed before.
*But what if I'm wrong? What if I'm still too weak?*
**"The only way to find out is to try, young heir. Master your fear, or it will master you."**
Eric took a deep breath. Then another. His hands stopped shaking.
He jumped.
The beast looked up just in time for Eric's feet to crash onto its head. The impact drove the creature's skull into the ground with a satisfying crunch. Eric leaped away as the beast staggered, shaking its head and snarling with renewed fury.
His eyes darted around. There—a large stone, roughly the size of his fist. He snatched it up, weighing it in his hand.
The beast charged.
Eric sidestepped—barely. Claws whistled past his ribs as the creature overshot. He spun, bringing the stone down on the beast's flank. The impact made a solid thunk, and the beast yelped.
It was working. He was actually hurting it.
The beast recovered faster than Eric expected, whirling with snapping jaws. Eric tried to dodge, but the creature's claws raked across his side, tearing through his robe and opening three burning lines of pain.
"Ah!" Eric stumbled back, his free hand clutching the wound. Blood seeped between his fingers.
**"Focus!"** The dragon's command cut through the pain. **"Pain is information, not defeat. Use it. Learn from it. FOCUS!"**
Eric gritted his teeth and raised the stone. The beast stalked toward him, sensing weakness, preparing for the killing blow.
But Eric watched this time. He observed the way the beast tensed before lunging, the slight shift in its weight, the bunching of muscles in its haunches.
When it pounced, Eric was ready.
He threw himself forward instead of back, sliding beneath the beast's leap. As it passed overhead, he twisted and drove the stone into its exposed belly with all his strength. The beast howled, landing badly. Before it could recover, Eric was on top of it, straddling its back, bringing the stone down again and again.
The beast thrashed. Claws scored his legs. Teeth snapped inches from his arm. But Eric didn't stop. Couldn't stop. The stone rose and fell, rose and fell, until finally, mercifully, the beast went still.
Eric rolled off and crawled several paces away, then collapsed onto his back, chest heaving. His side burned. His legs throbbed. His hands were scraped raw from gripping the stone.
He'd done it. He'd actually defeated a spirit beast.
**"Well done, young heir,"** the dragon said, and Eric could hear approval in that ancient voice. **"Your first kill. It will not be your last, but remember this moment. Remember that you are stronger than you believe."**
Eric lay there for several minutes, just breathing, letting the reality sink in. Then, slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. His side still bled, but not badly—the claws hadn't gone deep. He tore a strip from his already-ruined robe and bound the wounds.
The beast's corpse lay where it had fallen. Eric had no tools for proper butchering, but he couldn't just leave it. Even a lower F-rank beast's parts could be sold. His family needed the money.
Using the sharp edge of his stone and sheer determination, Eric managed to extract the beast's core—a small, cloudy crystal that held a trace amount of qi. It wasn't much, but it was something. He also carved away some of the better fur, though his crude work left much of it unusable.
The walk back to the village took longer than usual. Eric's legs protested every step, and he had to carry both his basket of herbs and the beast parts. But when he finally reached the apothecary shop, Master Feng looked up from his counter with surprise.
"Eric Chen? What happened to you, boy?"
"Ran into a beast while herb gathering," Eric said, setting his bundle on the counter. "Managed to kill it. I have the core and some fur."
Master Feng examined the materials with a critical eye, then shook his head. "The core is intact, that's good. But this butchering..." He clicked his tongue. "The fur is practically ruined, and lower F-rank beasts aren't worth much to begin with. I can give you five silver crescents for the lot."
Five silver crescents. It wasn't much—barely enough to buy rice for a few days. But it was more than Eric had earned from herb gathering in the past week.
"I'll take it," he said.
The coins clinked into his pouch with a satisfying weight. Eric left the shop trying not to grin like an idiot. Five silver crescents. Money he'd earned not through charity or his mother's work, but through his own strength.
**"This is merely the beginning,"** the dragon said as Eric walked through the village streets. **"Continue to follow my guidance, and you will have more wealth than you can imagine. Power and riches beyond your wildest dreams. But only if you commit yourself fully to the path."**
"I will," Eric murmured, too quietly for passersby to hear.
He was so focused on the coins in his pouch and the dragon's words that he didn't notice the three figures until they'd already blocked his path.
Rorick Vaughn stood in the middle of the street, flanked by two other disciples from the dojo—Marcus Thorne and Derrick Swift, both Sixth Stage cultivators who followed Rorick like loyal hounds. All three wore their training robes and expressions of casual superiority.
Eric's moment of happiness evaporated like morning dew.
"Well, well," Rorick drawled, his lips curling into a smirk. "If it isn't the village embarrassment. Haven't seen you at the dojo lately, Chen. What's wrong—finally learned your place? Finally accepted you're not cut out for cultivation?"
Eric's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He tried to step around them, but Marcus shifted to block his path.
"I asked you a question," Rorick said, his voice hardening.
"I've been busy," Eric said flatly.
"Busy." Rorick laughed, and his friends joined in. "Busy with what? Begging for scraps? Your mother take on more sewing work to afford your useless training fees?"
Eric's fists clenched at his sides. The coins in his pouch suddenly felt very heavy.
Rorick's eyes tracked the movement, his gaze sharpening. "What's that? Is that a money pouch?" He stepped closer, genuine surprise crossing his face. "Did someone actually pay you for something?"
"It's none of your business," Eric said, his hand moving protectively to his side.
"Let me see it." Rorick held out his hand expectantly.
"No."
The smirk vanished from Rorick's face. "What did you just say?"
"I said no." Eric's heart hammered, but he kept his voice steady. "It's my money. I earned it."
Rorick's expression darkened. Marcus and Derrick moved closer, forming a loose circle around Eric. A few villagers walking by quickened their pace, not wanting to get involved.
"Give. Me. The pouch." Rorick's qi flared slightly, a Seventh Stage cultivator's aura pressing down on Eric like a physical weight. "If you want to walk away from this alive, you'll hand it over right now."
The dragon's presence stirred in Eric's mind, waiting, watching. Eric knew what would happen if he refused again. Rorick wouldn't let this slide, not in front of his friends, not when his authority had been challenged.
But Eric thought of the beast's body growing still beneath his stone. He thought of his mother's disappointed face, of five silver crescents that could buy actual meat for dinner instead of just watery soup. He thought of every time he'd backed down, every time he'd let others take from him because he was too weak to stop them.
"No," Eric said again, meeting Rorick's eyes. "I'm not giving you anything."
For a moment, genuine shock flickered across Rorick's face. Then rage replaced it.
"You little—" Rorick's hand shot forward, grabbing Eric by the collar. His qi surged, and Eric felt the gap between them like a chasm. Fourth Stage versus Seventh Stage. There was no contest.
But Eric didn't look away.
Rorick pulled back his fist, power gathering around it. Marcus and Derrick watched with anticipation, already knowing how this would end.
The confrontation hung in the balance, violence coiled like a snake ready to strike.