Rain drifted down the window like slow-moving glass tears, distorting the city lights into smears of yellow and blue. Night had settled over the world with the weight of something unspoken, pressing against the chest rather than the sky. Ren Delanero sat on the edge of a quiet café table, elbows resting on his thighs as a woman across from him tried to steady her breathing.
Aria sniffed once, barely audible, but the tremor in her hands gave her away. Ren didn't reach for them. Not because he didn't want to—his fingers ached with the urge—but because he knew the gesture would only make this harder for both of them.
"You're taking this too calmly," she whispered, voice cracking.
Ren stared at the ripples in her untouched coffee. "Someone has to."
"That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair, Aria." His throat tightened. "But we tried. We really did."
The two of them sat beneath warm hanging lights, yet somehow the world felt cold. It had been three years—three years of shared meals, arguments, stolen kisses at crosswalks, nights spent in cramped rooms dreaming of a future that now felt like a door closing with a final, unforgiving click.
Aria wiped her cheek with the heel of her palm. "I wanted forever."
Ren offered a small, tired smile. "Me too. But sometimes wanting isn't enough."
She swallowed hard. "I don't hate you, Ren."
"That makes one of us."
She blinked. "You… hate yourself?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The silence gave him away.
A long moment stretched between them—fragile, final. When Aria stood, her movements lacked the sharpness of anger; they were gentle, resigned. She took one last look at him, as if memorizing something she wasn't ready to let go of.
"Goodbye, Ren."
He didn't look up as she walked out into the rain. He waited for his breath to return, waited for the ache in his chest to dull, waited for the tears that never came. They didn't. They never did. Instead, he felt a hollow kind of quiet settle in his body, like someone had scooped out a part of him and left nothing behind.
When he finally rose from the table, the chair's legs scraped softly against the floor—small, insignificant. Appropriate.
He walked through the wet streets alone, raindrops stinging his cheeks. He wasn't sure if it was the sky crying for him or the world mocking him.
His apartment greeted him with darkness. He didn't turn the lights on. There was no need. He knew every crack in the tile, every place where his furniture scraped the floor. The familiarity comforted him more than it should have.
Ren set his bag down, sat at his desk, and opened his laptop.
The blank document glowed pale blue against his tired eyes.
He stared at it.
Then, as if possessed by instinct, not motivation, he began typing.
Chapter 12…
His fingers moved without rhythm, without the fiery inspiration writers always bragged about. Ren wasn't a genius. He wasn't a prodigy. He wasn't anything special. But he loved martial arts—loved the flow of combat, the philosophy behind every angle, the way a blade connected past and present.
He didn't have talent.
But he had passion.
And sometimes passion was enough.
The cursor blinked.
He wrote about Murim—the world of martial clans and divine sects. He created the Demonic Cult, the Mt. Hua swordsmen, the hidden wanderers of the Neutral Path. He wrote about Qi, about destiny, about protagonists he wished he could become.
And in the lonely silence of his apartment, with heartbreak still raw beneath his ribs, he wrote about hope.
Hours passed without his awareness. Rain softened. Darkness shifted into that deep indigo of pre-dawn.
Ren exhaled. "One more paragraph."
He typed.
Then the screen flickered.
At first, he thought it was a power fluctuation. It happened sometimes. Old building. Old wiring. But the flicker didn't stop. It repeated—once, twice, again—until the entire screen glowed too brightly.
Ren frowned, leaning closer.
"What the…?"
Words began appearing on the document.
Not his typing.
[The vessel is prepared.]
He froze.
His fingers hovered over the keys, unmoving.
"…the vessel?"
The text deleted itself, appearing again.
[Open the door.]
"What door?" Ren whispered.
The room turned eerily cold.
The lights—though he never turned them on—blazed to life. A pressure built behind his eyes, like invisible fingers pressing inward. His laptop vibrated softly beneath his hands, growing hotter by the second.
Ren tried to push his chair back.
He couldn't move.
His legs wouldn't respond.
The screen pulsed once—
twice—
then the text shifted one final time:
[Ren Delanero.
Step forward.]
"How do you know my—"
A sound cracked through the room.
Not thunder.
Not electricity.
Something older.
The air folded inward, collapsing like fabric pulled through a void. His laptop screen expanded—literally stretched—like reality was losing cohesion. Black tendrils of mist snaked out, wrapping around his wrists, his arms, his chest.
Ren gasped for air. "S–Stop—!"
The mist tightened.
His chair toppled.
The room twisted and warped.
His vision filled with symbols he didn't understand—ancient runes swirling like storms, screaming without sound.
His body felt weightless.
Then weightless turned to falling.
Then falling turned to—
—impact.
Not against a floor.
Against flesh.
He opened his eyes.
Darkness.
Heat.
The smell of incense and iron.
His body convulsed. Pain lanced through his limbs—raw, corrosive, unnatural. Something inside him pulsed violently, like his organs were being shredded and rebuilt with every heartbeat.
Voices echoed through the darkness.
"—the vessel is awakening!"
"No, this qi signature—impossible! The ritual should've consumed him!"
"The Heavenly Demon will be enraged! Secure the chamber!"
Ren tried to breathe. His chest tightened as if filled with molten lead. His arms weighed too much. His legs didn't respond. The air burned entering his lungs.
He forced his head up.
He was lying inside a massive ceremonial forming circle, carved into black stone. Blood inscriptions glowed faintly beneath him, pulsating like a heartbeat. Runes shifted and rearranged, reacting to his presence.
Several masked individuals in black robes stepped closer.
"Kill the vessel before he destabilizes!" one hissed.
Ren felt something rise inside him—an instinct older than thought, older than fear. A snarl echoed in the back of his mind.
Do not touch him.
The voice wasn't his.
Then pain ripped through him again, forcing his mind blank.
He choked out a ragged gasp as corruption invaded his meridians like parasites. He felt qi—but not the calm, flowing force he imagined. This was violent, chaotic, hellish energy shredding its way through him.
The masked cultists didn't give him time.
One lunged.
Ren moved without thinking.
His arm shot up, deflecting the incoming blade by mere inches. He didn't understand how he moved—his body felt alien—yet muscle memory flooded him:
Angle 1 strike.
Redirect.
Disarm.
He rolled to the side, snatching the attacker's wrist and twisting sharply. Bone snapped beneath his fingers.
The cultist screamed.
Ren staggered upright. His vision blurred. Blood dripped from his nose—his borrowed vessel was too weak to withstand the corruption exploding inside it.
Another cultist rushed.
Ren ducked, rotating his body with instinctive Arnis footwork. He flowed beneath the attack, snagged the man's short blade, and drove the hilt into his jaw with a tight upward arc—abanico motion, perfectly executed.
The cultist dropped instantly.
More shouts filled the chamber.
"Seal the exit!"
"The vessel is unstable—stop him!"
They were closing in.
Ren didn't have qi mastery. He didn't have technique from this world. But he had Earth. He had Arnis. He had survival.
Most importantly—
He had nothing left to lose.
Ren snatched a fallen dagger, gripping it reverse-style. He forced his shaking legs to obey, sprinting toward the nearest corridor.
Pain stabbed his heart—
His vision wavered—
His body wanted to collapse—
But he ran anyway.
Torch-lined tunnels blurred past him. His lungs burned. His chest felt like it was filled with broken glass. Yet somehow—somehow—he kept going.
A group of cultists appeared at the far end of the hallway.
Ren didn't stop.
One swung. Ren parried with a tight inside block, slicing the man's forearm in a downward angle-two strike. Another stabbed from behind; Ren pivoted, using triangular footwork, deflecting the blade with a glancing abanico and countering with a slash across the ribs.
His movements weren't clean. They weren't elegant.
They were desperate, vicious, and perfect for killing.
But the body he inhabited was reaching its limit.
He stumbled, knees buckling.
More cultists shouted behind him, footsteps closing in.
Ren forced himself forward, bursting out of the cavern and into moonlit wilderness. Cold wind slapped his face. His breath fogged the air in frantic bursts.
He didn't know where he was.
He didn't know what this world was.
He only knew one thing—
He was dying.
Branches tore at his arms as he crashed through the forest. The ground sloped downward. Rocks twisted beneath his boots. Every breath felt like swallowing fire.
He heard the cultists behind him.
"Don't let him escape!"
"Kill him before the Heavenly Demon arrives!"
Ren pushed harder.
His corrupted qi flared violently, throwing his balance off. His vision flickered white. His knees nearly gave out beneath him.
The forest thinned.
Wind roared.
The world opened up into a cliff.
Ren skidded to a stop at the edge, pebbles tumbling down into a pitch-black abyss. The drop stretched farther than he could see, swallowing all light.
Behind him, torches flickered through the trees.
He couldn't go back.
He couldn't fight anymore.
His body trembled violently, corruption eating him alive from the inside.
Ren sucked in a sharp breath.
"If I die…"
He looked over the edge.
"…at least it'll be my choice."
The cultists burst from the trees.
"Stop—!"
Ren stepped backward—
—and jumped.
Wind howled around him as he plummeted into darkness. The world whirled. His body screamed in agony. His heart pounded like a hammer against his ribs.
He closed his eyes.
Then—
Softness.
Warmth.
A massive paw, larger than his entire torso, wrapped around him mid-fall. The air distorted with ancient, gentle power.
Ren forced his eyes open.
A gigantic panda—fur white with streaks of cloud-gray, eyes deep as old forests—stared at him with weary intelligence.
She set him down carefully on a hidden canyon ledge, her breaths slow, heavy, labored.
Ren's vision blurred.
Her aura washed over him—ancient, protective, calming.
His corrupted qi eased.
Just slightly.
Ren exhaled, collapsing beside her as darkness overtook him.
The last thing he saw was the great panda lowering her head beside him, guarding him from the shadows like a dying mother protecting her last cub.
And then—
Everything went black.
The darkness didn't feel like sleep.
It felt like drowning in ink—thick, heavy, suffocating. Voices clawed at the edge of Ren's consciousness, some human, some not, all distorted as if echoing from the wrong side of reality.
You are not the one they summoned.
This vessel is broken.
Leave, leave before you fracture.
He'll die if we push.
He will live if he changes…
Ren's mind twisted between the voices, unable to grasp their meaning. Every time he tried to reach for something—memory, thought, breath—pain dragged him back into the void.
Then a deeper voice cut through everything.
Old.
Cold.
Impossibly vast.
…child…
The word vibrated through his bones rather than his ears, resonating from somewhere beneath thought.
…you trespass into a world that was not meant to receive you.
Ren tried to move. Tried to open his eyes. Nothing responded.
You were summoned as a sacrifice. A vessel. A cage. But something changed the ritual.
Ren forced out a whisper in his mind. Who… are you?
A pause.
As if the presence were examining him.
…I am Xuan Wuji.
He who devoured a thousand heavens.
He who fell into nothingness.
He who now rests in your shattered soul.
Ren wanted to shout, to panic—to deny the insanity of a world where someone's name sounded like an apocalyptic calamity. But he couldn't. His mind felt like it was wrapped in cold chains, trapped in a body that wasn't built to hold two consciousnesses, much less three.
He sensed the presence again, shifting like a beast stretching after eons of sleep.
Your body… is dying, Wuji murmured. The corruption from the ritual tears your meridians. Your soul was never meant to fit this dying vessel, yet here you are. Why? What are you?
Ren didn't know how to answer.
What was he?
A writer? A heartbroken guy who didn't know how to handle the mess of his own life? Someone dragged into a world he created but didn't understand?
He wanted to scream.
The darkness didn't allow it.
Then—
Warmth.
A soft, gentle pressure began to push against the cold void surrounding him. Like a mother brushing dust off a child's cheek.
Ren felt fur—massive, comforting—press against his side.
A deep rumble, a soothing growl.
And the darkness cracked.
Ren gasped awake.
His chest heaved, lungs burning. His entire body felt like molten lead had been poured into every vein. He pushed a trembling hand to the ground and nearly collapsed again.
He was lying inside a spacious cavern illuminated by faint, pale-blue luminescent moss. Water dripped somewhere in the distance, echoing in calm rhythmic taps. The air was cool and damp, carrying the earthy scent of stone and a faint sweetness—flowers hidden somewhere out of sight.
Ren looked up.
The giant panda—the one who saved him—lay just a few feet away.
She was enormous, easily the size of a small house, her fur shimmering faintly with natural qi like threads of moonlight woven through midnight silk. Her breathing was shallow but steady, each rise and fall of her chest resonating with a deep, ancient power that made the hair on Ren's arms stand on end.
She turned her head slowly, weakly, her eyes meeting his.
They were gentle.
Old.
Kind.
Ren stared back, awe pushing aside his pain.
"You…" His voice cracked. "You saved me."
The giant panda blinked once, slow and deliberate.
Then she lowered her massive head until her nose was almost touching his chest. She inhaled softly, as if checking his condition.
Only then did Ren realize something important.
His pain—it was still there, but muted.
The burning corrosion inside his veins had softened, dulled as though wrapped in down feathers. The violent, roiling qi that had felt like acid when he fled the cult was now calm. Still painful, but manageable.
The panda pulled her head back slightly and gave a quiet, rumbling huff.
Ren whispered, "You… soothed it."
Her eyelids drooped, as if tired from the effort.
She wasn't just an animal.
She wasn't even a magical beast.
She was something divine.
A Mythical Beast.
A guardian-level being.
And she had exhausted herself saving him.
Ren's chest tightened.
"Thank you," he murmured.
His voice sounded too small for a creature like her.
The panda blinked again. She nudged him with her nose—gentle, encouraging, as though telling him to breathe, to stay awake, to live.
Ren placed his palm on her fur.
Her qi washed through him like a warm river—soft, soothing, motherly. It wasn't overwhelming. It didn't tear him apart. It didn't invade him.
It simply… calmed.
But beneath that warmth Ren could sense something else. A heaviness. A sorrow. A fatigue that stretched so deep it felt carved into her bones.
She was dying.
Not from wounds.
Not from battle.
From age.
A lifespan reaching its final embers.
And yet she used the last of her power to save a stranger who fell from the sky.
Ren swallowed hard.
"You… you don't have to help me," he whispered, guilt seeping into his words. "You should rest. You're—you're weak."
The panda didn't move.
Instead, she leaned her massive head beside him and rested it on the cavern floor, close enough that her warm breath washed over him gently.
A protective gesture.
A mother shielding a cub she didn't have.
Ren's breath trembled.
He didn't deserve this.
He didn't know why she chose to help him.
But in that moment, something inside him softened for the first time since Aria walked away.
The giant panda—this ancient, dying creature—was the first being in this world to show him kindness.
His voice shook. "I'll… I'll stay with you for now."
The panda's eyes closed halfway, content.
Ren slumped back against the cave wall.
Pain throbbed under his skin, reminding him his moment of peace was only temporary. The corruption from the ritual was still tearing at him. His meridians trembled with every breath, threatening to snap.
He needed seclusion. Real seclusion.
Martial artists in Murim often secluded themselves to heal or break through bottlenecks. Ren didn't have cultivation. He barely understood qi. But he knew one thing:
If he didn't stabilize his body soon, he would die before sunrise.
Ren clenched his teeth and forced himself upright despite the pain.
The panda watched him quietly.
Ren pressed his palm to his chest, focusing on his heartbeat. Slow.
Unsteady.
Erratic.
He knew what he had to do.
He needed a safe place.
A quiet place.
A place where he could collapse without being killed.
The panda nudged him gently with her paw.
Ren blinked. "You… want me to stay here?"
She nodded—barely, but unmistakably.
Ren's breath caught.
"You're… offering to protect me while I recover?"
Another nod.
Ren exhaled shakily.
"…Thank you."
The panda lowered her head again, eyes closing. Her breathing slowed. Sleep tugged at her—deep, ancient sleep.
She had used too much energy catching him.
Protecting him.
Soothing his corrupted qi.
Her life was flickering.
Ren's chest tightened painfully—not from the corruption, but from the weight of her kindness.
He pressed his forehead lightly against her fur.
"I'll make sure your sacrifice isn't wasted," he whispered.
The cave fell silent.
Only the soft sound of water dripping, and the panda's slow breathing remained.
Ren crawled to a small alcove beside her giant form. He sat cross-legged, back straight, mimicking the meditation postures he'd seen in Murim stories and martial arts books.
His vision blurred.
He inhaled deeply.
Bitterness.
Corruption.
Rage.
Fear.
All of it swirled inside him like a storm.
He focused.
Pain tore through him.
His breath hitched.
But he stayed still.
Gritting his teeth, he reached inward, searching for the chaotic qi gnawing away at him. It felt like molten tar—heavy, toxic.
He forced it downward, toward his dantian.
His body screamed in protest.
His veins felt like they were ripping.
His mind threatened to split.
He kept going.
He pushed the corruption down—bit by bit—toward a central point in his abdomen, trying to gather it, contain it, stabilize it even for a moment.
Xuan Wuji's voice echoed faintly.
Reckless. Crude. But effective enough…
Ren ignored him.
He pressed harder.
His body jerked violently.
Black veins spiderwebbed across his skin, glowing faintly beneath the surface.
The panda stirred weakly, sensing his pain.
Ren exhaled sharply, nearly collapsing.
Then—
Everything snapped.
A surge of corruption burst inward, converging abruptly at his core.
Ren gasped—
and darkness swallowed him whole.
His consciousness plunged deep.
His pulse slowed to a crawl.
His body collapsed against the cavern wall, unmoving.
The panda, barely awake, dragged her massive form just a little closer, curling around him protectively, shielding him with her body even in her weakened state.
Ren's breathing steadied.
And thus, hidden in an ancient canyon, guarded by a dying mythical beast and haunted by an ancient demon inside his soul—
Ren Delanero fell into a seclusion that would change Murim forever.
Time lost its meaning inside the canyon cave.
Ren's breathing remained shallow, uneven, fragile—like a candle flame swaying in a violent storm. His consciousness drifted in the void, pulled between the corruption that tried to devour him and the faint warmth Mao left by his side. The mythical panda curled around him protectively, her massive body shielding him from the cold drafts of wind that swept in through cracks in the stone.
Ren's body trembled again as the corruption surged. Black qi spilled through his meridians like a poison, shredding tissue, fraying nerves. His fingers twitched. His jaw clenched. Every breath he took forced more pain into him, but his body had no strength to cry out.
In the darkness of his mind, Xuan Wuji observed quietly.
Primitive method, Wuji murmured, voice echoing like thunder trapped underwater. But it is working… barely. Foolish child, forcing corrupted qi down your dantian like some self-destructive madman… Yet—
The ancient entity paused.
—you may yet survive.
It wasn't praise.
It was curiosity.
Ancient, dangerous curiosity.
Wuji's presence receded again, leaving Ren alone with his agony.
Time crawled.
Minutes bled into hours.
Hours bled into a day.
Then two.
Mao never left Ren's side.
The mythical panda's breathing grew weaker, slower—her lifespan burning away like the last moments of a sunset. But even in her exhaustion, she nudged Ren's body occasionally, checking if he still breathed, if his heart still beat.
On the third day, thunder rumbled in the distance—not from the sky but from the earth itself. The mountains trembled with the roars of beasts roaming the forest above. Cultivators passed through the nearby cliffs on hunts, their qi signatures sharp and unrestrained.
But none of them sensed Ren.
Because Mao's aura enveloped the cave like mist, forming a natural barrier that even the Demonic Cult would struggle to detect.
Ren remained hidden from a world desperate to kill him.
Small cracks began to form on the ground beneath him—not visible, but spiritual. The corruption in his dantian pulsed violently, like a second heartbeat beating out of rhythm.
Ren's fingers twitched once.
Twice.
Again.
Then—
His eyes snapped open.
He inhaled sharply, body jerking upright as if struck by lightning. A breath tore from his lungs—raw, painful, desperate. His vision exploded into a blur of blue moss glows, shadows, and the massive, resting form of Mao.
Sweat drenched his entire body.
Every muscle screamed.
Every bone felt fractured.
His veins burned like fire.
He gasped again, leaning forward, hands pressed to the cold stone floor.
He was alive.
Barely.
But alive.
A trembling exhale escaped him. He lifted his head slowly, vision adjusting.
Mao lay nearby, curled like a mountain of fur and warmth. Her breathing was faint—so faint Ren's heart tightened instinctively.
He crawled closer.
"Mao…?"
The giant panda's eye cracked open slightly.
Even tired, it was gentle.
Ren reached out, placing his palm softly against her cheek.
"You… stayed," he whispered. His voice was hoarse, like he had screamed for hours. "You… kept me alive."
Mao lowered her head weakly until her nose touched his chest. A soft, fragile rumble escaped her.
Ren felt something break inside his chest—not pain, not fear.
Gratitude.
Deep, consuming gratitude that hurt more than the corruption ever could.
"You saved me," Ren murmured. "Over and over."
He leaned his forehead against her fur.
"I don't know why you did all this… but thank you."
Mao's breathing steadied slightly under his touch, as if comforted by his presence.
Ren closed his eyes, letting the warmth seep into him.
Then he felt it.
A stirring inside his dantian. Not violent like before. Not corrosive. But heavy, dense, like a sealed storm waiting to be released.
He drew in a sharp breath.
The corruption—
It hadn't disappeared.
It had gathered in one place.
Wuji's voice echoed gently.
Your crude attempt at stabilization… succeeded.
Ren's eyes widened.
The corruption has not destroyed your dantian. It has formed a primitive core… a seed.
Wuji's tone sharpened with interest.
If left alone, it will kill you eventually. But if you learn to tame it… you may become something that should not exist in this world.
Ren swallowed. "You mean I can survive this?"
A possibility, not a guarantee.
A dangerous one.
But yes… survival is no longer impossible.
Ren sat straighter, his body trembling.
A possibility.
Even a dangerous one—
It was enough.
He breathed out shakily.
Mao shifted beside him, her large paw sliding across the stone as if trying to move closer but failing.
Ren's expression hardened with determination.
He wasn't just fighting to survive now.
He was fighting because someone had believed he was worth saving.
"I won't waste this," he whispered. "I swear."
He tried to stand.
His legs collapsed.
He tried again.
His body shook violently.
On the third try, he managed to pull himself upright, leaning heavily against the cave wall. His vision swam in and out of focus, but he forced himself to breathe evenly.
Wuji clicked his tongue in Ren's mind.
Pathetic. You can barely stand.
Ren shot back mentally, Then teach me something.
Wuji paused.
Teach you? Why would I—
Ren clenched his jaw.
"I'm dying."
"I need strength."
"And you're inside me too. If I die—"
—I die with you. Wuji finished coldly.
A long silence followed.
Then Wuji chuckled.
A low, resonant sound that vibrated through Ren's ribs.
Very well, child. I will guide you. Not out of pity, but practicality.
Desire flickered in Wuji's voice—a dangerous, hungry desire.
Show me what you can become.
Ren steadied his breathing.
He looked around the cave. The luminescent moss glowed faintly, casting shadows on the stone. Patches of smooth rock gave him a surface to brace his hands against. A narrow crevice allowed wind to enter constantly, circulating fresh air.
This cave wasn't just shelter.
It was a perfect place for seclusion.
Ren exhaled.
"Let's begin."
His legs protested violently as he lowered himself into a seated meditation posture. Pain stabbed through his abdomen, making him grunt under his breath.
Mao watched him quietly.
Ren inhaled slowly, closing his eyes.
Wuji's voice echoed.
First—feel the corruption gathered in your core.
Ren focused inward.
Chaos.
Darkness.
Pain.
But in the center of it—a swirling mass of energy, thick and heavy like molten tar.
"There," Ren whispered.
Good.
Now you will not attempt to purify it—idiot cultivators do that and die. You will accept it. Shape it.
Ren clenched his teeth.
"Shape… corruption?"
Yes. Mold it. Give it form. Like clay. Or a blade. Bend it beneath your will.
A flicker of confidence entered Ren's posture.
This was the same logic he had learned from Arnis—fluidity, adaptability, flow.
Ren focused.
His breathing slowed.
The swirl of corrupted qi trembled.
Ren forced his will onto it, shaping its edge, smoothing its chaotic pulses, guiding the storm into a spiral, then into a stable whirlpool.
Sweat dripped from his brow.
He bit down a cry as pain flooded his veins.
But he didn't stop.
His mind sharpened, drawing on memories of martial artists whose discipline shaped their fate. His father's voice echoed faintly:
Strike clean.
Strike true.
Control the flow.
Ren pushed harder.
The corrupted qi vibrated violently—
—then suddenly calmed.
For a heartbeat, everything fell silent.
Then—
BOOM.
A shockwave of qi burst outward. The cave trembled. Dust fell from the ceiling. Mao lifted her head, eyes widening slightly.
Ren gasped for air, chest heaving. His entire body shook. His vision blurred. But he felt it—deep inside.
A core.
Dark, heavy, imperfect—
but a core.
Wuji inhaled sharply.
Impossible…
Ren blinked. "What?"
You… condensed corruption into a proto-core. Without guidance. And lived.
Wuji's voice quivered with something Ren had never expected.
Awe.
You are… fascinating.
Ren didn't respond.
He didn't have to.
Because for the first time since falling into this world—
He felt alive.
Not safe.
Not healed.
Not steady.
But alive.
He slumped back against the cave wall, sweat running down his face. His muscles shook violently, his breath ragged. But a spark burned in his eyes—a spark of something dangerous.
Determination.
He stared at his trembling hands.
"I can survive this," he whispered. "I can… fight."
Mao rumbled softly, leaning her massive head against him again. Ren smiled weakly, pressing his hand to her fur.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For staying with me."
Mao blinked tiredly.
Ren swallowed.
He wasn't healed.
Not even close.
He wasn't strong.
But he was on the path.
And for the first time since this nightmare began—
He felt hope.
The cave fell quiet as Ren closed his eyes again, focusing on stabilizing his breath. Mao rested beside him, her fur brushing his arm gently.
Outside the canyon, wind howled through the mountains. Somewhere in the distance, cultivators sparred, shouted, killed, lived. Murim spun relentlessly forward, unaware that in a hidden cave, a nobody from another world had just taken his first step toward becoming something impossible.
Something the world was not prepared for.
Ren Delanero breathed slowly—
—and the martial path began to open before him.
The cavern felt impossibly still.
Only the echo of Ren's ragged breathing remained, filling the hollow dark with a rhythm that wavered between pain and disbelief. He knelt beside the curled, motionless form of Mao — the mythical panda whose fur once glowed like moonlight, now dulled by centuries of exhaustion.
Her breaths came thin and faint, but they were there.
Ren exhaled shakily.
He had fought for his life minutes ago, bled, run, fallen, screamed—
but nothing felt as heavy as looking at the dying creature before him.
"...dammit… please don't die."
His hands hovered over Mao, unsure whether to touch her or give her rest. His mind, as sharp as it was chaotic, raced for solutions he didn't have. He wasn't a healer. He wasn't a cultivator. He wasn't even a native of this world.
He was a stranded man with a weapon style from another universe and a body corrupted by someone else's ritual.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
And yet—
With a soft, trembling shudder,
Mao's eyelids opened.
Two ancient, gentle eyes glowed with faint silver.
Ren jerked back. "You're— awake?!"
Her gaze drifted to him slowly, as if every movement cost her years she no longer had to spend. The silver glow flickered… then steadied.
Her voice didn't come from her mouth.
It resonated directly inside his mind—warm, soothing, and tired beyond measure.
"You are… safe… little one."
Ren blinked. "I— wouldn't say that. I'm pretty sure you saved me."
A soft pulse, almost like a chuckle, brushed through his head.
"You carry humor even at the edge of despair… This is good."
Ren swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.
He had seen magical beasts in comics and webnovels—but hearing one speak inside his mind?
That was something else entirely.
He steadied himself. "Don't talk anymore. You need to rest."
"Rest?"
The panda's dim eyes warmed.
"Rest is all I have done… for too long."
Ren's chest tightened.
He could feel it—the thinness of her life force, like a candle that had almost burned through the wick.
"…Mao," he said softly, piecing the name from the memory of hearing it whispered among the trees when he first fell. "You're dying, aren't you?"
Silence.
Then a slow nod.
But the panda gently nudged her massive paw toward him.
Even weakened, even dying—she was comforting him.
"Do not mourn me yet. I awakened for a reason."
Ren frowned. "A reason?"
Her paw rose a little more—touching his chest.
A jolt went through him.
Not of pain—of recognition.
Like something deep inside him stirred, curling like a serpent awakened.
Mao's voice softened.
"Your body… carries the storm of two worlds."
Ren stiffened.
She sensed the corruption.
The ritual.
The ancient being trapped in his soul.
The chaotic, unstable qi that had burned him from the inside since the moment he arrived.
He forced a laugh. "Yeah. I've been feeling that."
But Mao's expression darkened.
"If left unchecked… the imbalance will consume you."
Ren fell silent.
He knew it.
Every breath since arriving in this world felt like breathing against a knife.
Every step like dragging a shackle.
He felt strong—terrifyingly strong—but also unstable.
Like something inside him waited for him to slip.
"…Can it be fixed?" he asked quietly.
Mao looked at him with eyes filled with old sorrow… and hope.
"Yes. But only through balance."
Ren leaned closer. "Tell me how. I'll do anything."
Her chest rose slowly, painfully.
"I will give you… a fragment of my Heavenly Qi."
Ren froze.
He had no idea what "Heavenly Qi" was, but the name alone told him everything:
It was sacred.
Rare.
And priceless.
"Wait—no. If you're already dying, then giving me anything—"
Mao shook her head, the motion slight but firm.
"Without balance, you will not survive long enough to take your next path… Human or not."
Ren clenched his fists.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to refuse.
But he couldn't deny the truth.
His body was a storm of conflicting forces.
Even now, just sitting still, he felt a thrum of violence inside him—something hungry, something ancient.
"…If you do this," he whispered, "you'll lose whatever strength you regained."
Mao exhaled softly.
"I awakened only to meet you. My time is already decided."
Ren's voice cracked, "Please—don't talk like you've already accepted it."
The panda lowered her head, pressing her warm, heavy forehead gently against his.
"Little one… I accepted my fate long before you were born."
Her paw pressed over the center of Ren's chest.
"Accept mine now… and let me grant you life."
Ren gritted his teeth.
He wanted to say no.
He wanted to save her.
He wanted to refuse her sacrifice.
But Mao wasn't asking.
She was choosing.
"…Fine," he whispered, eyes burning. "But you better not die on me today."
A warm pulse of emotion brushed his mind—
Like gratitude.
Like affection.
Then—
The cavern lit up.
A beam of pure, shimmering white qi burst from Mao's paw, flowing directly into Ren's chest. The impact threw him backward onto the ground, but Mao's paw held him pinned—steady, firm, unyielding.
Ren screamed as Heavenly Qi flooded into him.
His meridians felt like they were burning alive.
Blue-white currents twisted through his veins, clashing violently with the swirling black-red corruption inside him.
The energies met—
And exploded.
Ren's body arched off the ground.
Cracks of light shot across his skin like spiderwebs.
His blood felt like molten iron.
His bones vibrated.
His vision turned white.
"Ngh—AAAH—!"
The corrupted qi snarled like a beast, thrashing, striking, refusing to be purified.
It slammed against the Heavenly Qi with each pulse.
The cavern trembled from the invisible battle inside him.
Mao's strength began to wane.
Her fur dimmed into ash-gray.
Her breathing faltered.
Still—she kept pushing Heavenly Qi into him.
Ren clawed at the ground. "S–STOP—! You'll die!!"
But Mao ignored his cries.
"Balance… must be found…"
The Heavenly Qi surged.
The corrupted qi screamed.
Ren felt both forces tear through him—
shaping him, breaking him, reforging him.
Time lost meaning.
Pain became light.
Light became darkness.
Then—
The clash ended.
The storm inside him quieted into a simmering pulse—strong, stable, balanced enough to support life.
Ren collapsed forward, gasping.
It was like breathing air for the first time.
Mao's paw slipped from his chest.
Ren's eyes widened.
"Mao—!"
She was lying flat, barely breathing, her aura a faint shimmer.
Weaker than ever.
Almost gone.
Yet she smiled at him—softly, peacefully.
"You will live."
Ren shook his head furiously. "Because you gave up what little time you had! Why would you—?!"
Her voice was faint, but warm.
"Because… you will walk a path this world has forgotten."
He froze.
"A path neither holy nor demonic… but balanced."
Ren clenched his jaw.
Tears he didn't realize were falling dripped onto the cavern floor.
"…Mao, please… just rest. Don't talk anymore."
But Mao's gaze remained clear—
the last flames of life burning only for him.
"One last request…"
Ren wiped his eyes, swallowing back the ache.
"What is it?"
Her pupils softened.
"Protect… my child."
Ren's breath hitched.
Her child?
Mao's voice grew thinner now, each word costing her seconds of life.
"When my time ends… one will be born in my place… the last of my line…"
Her paw trembled, reaching toward his hand.
Ren took it instantly.
"Please… guide… Bao…"
The name hung in the air like a fragile light.
Ren lowered his forehead against her paw, gripping it tightly.
"…I'll protect them. I swear it."
Mao's eyes closed, her body rising and falling in tiny breaths—
each one weaker than the last.
But her voice whispered one final time.
"Thank you… Ren…"
And silence filled the cavern.
Not the silence of death—
but the silence right before destiny changes.
Ren sat beside Mao for a long moment, holding her paw, letting the weight of her sacrifice settle in his bones.
When he finally looked up again—
His eyes were no longer the same.
Balance pulsed within him.
A storm calmed.
A path chosen.
And deeper inside—
something ancient stirred in acknowledgment.
The Martial Sovereign's journey
had begun.
Too quiet.
Mao's breaths were shallow, barely whispers in the dark, as though each one fought against an invisible tide trying to pull her away. Ren sat beside her massive form, one hand still gripping her paw, refusing to let it cool.
But something strange lingered in the silence—
a hum.
A vibration.
A presence.
It wasn't the ancient being sealed inside him; that thing slumbered deep in the core of his soul, still recovering from the violent clash.
This was something else.
Something external.
Ren stiffened as the air rippled.
The faint, ethereal glow surrounding Mao thickened, swirling around her like drifting fireflies.
"…What's happening now?"
Then the ground rumbled.
At first, it was subtle — a gentle shaking, like a giant turning in its sleep beneath the earth.
But quickly, it grew stronger.
Rocks trembled.
Dust fell from the cavern ceiling.
Mao's glowing shroud intensified, shifting from pale silver to a blazing white.
Ren staggered to his feet. "Mao?!"
Her eyes fluttered open weakly, the glow inside them faint but focused.
"It is… time…"
The cavern erupted with light.
Ren shielded his eyes as the radiance burst outward in a brilliant arc, illuminating every corner of the hollow. For a moment, everything turned weightless — dust suspended midair, the wind frozen, sound itself muted.
Then, with a soft, warm pulse—
A tiny cry echoed through the chamber.
Ren's breath hitched.
Floating gently in the dying shroud of Mao's aura…
was a newborn creature.
Small.
Round.
Barely the size of a human head.
Its fur white with ink-black markings like brushstrokes painted by a master calligrapher.
Its eyes were tightly shut, its tiny paws curled, its breathing steady.
A baby panda.
But not just any panda.
The offshoot of a mythical beast.
Mao's final gift.
Ren's chest tightened as the glowing shroud dissipated, revealing the infant resting atop Mao's body—peaceful, untouched by the suffering that created it.
"Mao…" Ren whispered, dropping to one knee. "Your child…"
He gently scooped the small creature into his arms.
Warm. Soft. Light as a feather.
The baby stirred weakly, whimpering before nestling against Ren's chest as if sensing the bond forged moments ago.
Mao exhaled a trembling sigh—her last remnants of strength carrying an overwhelming peace.
"Good…"
The glow around her dimmed further.
Ren knelt beside her again, the infant held securely in his arms, and bowed his head low.
"…I swear on my life," he murmured, voice thick. "I'll protect Bao. I'll raise him. I'll make him strong enough to shake all of Murim."
The cavern vibrated one last time.
Mao's aura flickered—
Then faded into silence.
No light.
No breath.
No pulse.
Just the cold stillness left behind by a life older than the mountains and deeper than the rivers.
Ren tightened his grip on Bao, lowering his head until his forehead rested against Mao's fur.
"…Thank you."
He stayed like that for a long while, letting grief settle quietly inside him—not as a heavy burden but as a promise.
When he finally rose to his feet, balancing the baby panda gently against his shoulder, his eyes sharpened into something new.
Resolve.
Purpose.
A calm, fierce light.
He stepped back, staring at Mao's fallen body.
Then at the cave around him.
And only then did he realize something—
The cavern was vast.
And full of potential.
Crystal formations lined the walls, glowing with faint motes of spiritual light. The air hummed with qi flow—slow but steady. The ceiling stretched high, its ridges forming natural vents for airflow.
A perfect place to hide.
A perfect place to heal.
A perfect place to grow.
A perfect place for seclusion.
Ren's gaze drifted to Bao, now curled contently in his arms.
"Guess we're both stuck here for a while," he murmured.
Bao squeaked in response, too small to understand but warm enough to calm the storm inside Ren's heart.
Ren's eyes drifted deeper into the cavern.
He had almost died today.
He had killed men.
He had fallen off a cliff.
He had met a mythical creature.
He had been saved.
He had been changed.
He had gained Heavenly Qi.
He had survived a ritual meant to kill him.
He carried an ancient being sealed within him.
He possessed a body that was not entirely human anymore.
Every breath he took now pulsed with balance and danger.
He wasn't ready for the outside world.
Not yet.
He needed time.
He needed mastery.
He needed to understand.
He needed seclusion.
Ren exhaled and moved toward a natural alcove carved by centuries of dripping water. There, he gently laid Bao upon a bed of soft moss. The infant curled into a small ball, letting out a tiny sigh.
"…Rest, little Bao."
Ren stood again, rolling his shoulders.
The ache in his muscles remained, but beneath it lay a new sensation—power humming quietly, like a coiled serpent waiting to strike.
He walked deeper into the cavern until he reached a raised stone platform.
Perfect size.
Perfect shape.
Perfect stillness.
He placed his hand against the cold surface.
"…This'll do."
He sat down cross-legged, drawing a deep breath.
His memories churned—
his father's harsh training,
the sting of rattan sticks,
the rhythm of arnis footwork,
the days spent reading martial arts manhwa,
the years dissecting Miyamoto Musashi's writings until the pages seemed carved into his bones.
He had no teacher.
No master to guide him.
No sect.
No clan.
But he had experience.
Instinct.
And a body blessed and cursed at the same time.
He closed his eyes.
Breath in—slow.
Breath out—steady.
The flow of qi through his meridians began to stir, raw and unrefined.
He directed it gently, carefully, letting the Heavenly Qi stabilize the corrupted qi wrapped like chains around the ancient being within him.
He felt its presence.
Sleeping.
Silent.
But aware.
A sleeping dragon curled inside his soul.
He kept breathing.
A minute passed.
Then ten.
Then an hour.
His mind sharpened, sinking into a meditative trance.
And as he reached deeper into the stream of qi circulating through his body—
He felt something shift.
A click.
A flash.
A door opening inside his consciousness.
Then suddenly—
His thoughts became sharp.
His memory perfect.
Every movement, every sensation, every detail from his past life and present fell into place like pieces of an intricate puzzle.
He remembered everything.
Every arnis drill.
Every blade form.
Every study of human anatomy.
Every scene, every quote, every philosophy from the Book of Five Rings.
All at once.
Ren inhaled sharply.
This was Enlightenment.
Not the mystical realm of Murim,
but his own personal awakening.
Everything he had ever learned…
was now accessible with absolute clarity.
"…This is crazy," he whispered.
But the cavern didn't echo back.
It accepted him.
He rose from the stone platform, sliding into a stance unconsciously—his body flowing with the grace of a swordsman, the precision of an assassin, and the grounding of a martial artist forged from two worlds.
His right hand traced the air—
An arcing slash.
A spiraling strike.
A blade-like motion.
His left hand followed—
A parrying sweep.
A locking twist.
A counter-flourish.
His feet shifted—
side to side, diagonally, circling, weaving—
Arnis footwork blended with modern martial movement, refined into something sharper… deadlier… elegant.
He ended the movement with a slow exhale, feeling the qi inside him move in harmony with his motions.
A new martial path was taking shape.
Unique.
Balanced.
Demonic yet enlightened.
Earthly yet ascendant.
A path only he could walk.
He closed his eyes again.
This is where it begins.
The world outside didn't know his name yet.
The Demonic Cult thought him dead.
Murim had no idea a monster was being forged in the mountains.
The Heavenly Realm didn't know a future sovereign had taken his first step.
But one day—
They would.
He stepped toward Bao, lifting the tiny creature gently into his arms.
"We'll survive," he whispered. "We'll grow. And then…"
His eyes hardened with quiet fire.
"…We'll shake this world."
And in that cavern, beneath the weight of destiny and the warmth of a newborn mythical beast—
Ren Delanero began his seclusion.
His path toward becoming the Martial Sovereign
had officially begun.