Time slipped by in a blur of quiet rest and hidden cultivation. The three days Anna had insisted on passed quicker than David expected, filled with the simple rhythm of their life—tea in the mornings, light meals from their meager stores, Anna checking his bandages with careful hands that still trembled slightly when she thought he wasn't looking, and David lying on his mat, pretending to sleep while secretly cycling small amounts of qi to speed the healing.
The pills did their work well, and the physique helped even more, but he kept the recovery looking natural, slow enough that Anna's worry eased day by day without raising questions.
By the second day, the sharp pain in his ribs had turned into a dull ache, and by the third, he could move without wincing too much.
The bruises faded to faint yellow marks, and the gash on his shoulder scabbed over neatly. To Anna, it looked like a normal, if lucky, recovery—proof of that "bloodline" she kept mentioning with a mix of awe and lingering fear. To David, it was proof of how much the inheritance had changed him.
On the evening of the third day, as dusk painted the sky in shades of deep orange and purple, David stood up from his mat with a careful stretch, rolling his shoulders as if testing stiff muscles.
"I think I'll take a short walk," he said casually, keeping his voice light, like it was no big deal. "Just to loosen up a bit. These days lying around have made everything feel tight."
Anna looked up from cleaning her spear by the lamp, her eyes narrowing with that familiar mix of concern and trust. She had been polishing the blade slowly, the Grade 2 weapon gleaming faintly in the low light, a reminder of all the blood and effort it had taken to earn it.
"Not too far," she warned, her tone soft but firm, thinking how he still looked pale in places, how one wrong step could set him back, but also seeing the strength returning to his movements. "And come back before full dark. The streets aren't safe after sunset, even in our own district."
David nodded, giving her a small smile to ease her worry. "Just around the block. I'll be quick."
He stepped out into the cooling air, the base's evening sounds washing over him—distant shouts, the clang of a closing stall, the low hum of the barrier far above. His steps were steady, no limp, no hesitation.
But he didn't circle the block. Instead, he took the familiar path toward the old graveyard on the edge of the third level, a forgotten place where the poor and the nameless were buried in shallow plots, unmarked and unlamented.
It was the same spot he had used before, quiet and empty, perfect for what he needed.
The graveyard was as desolate as ever, rows of uneven mounds under a thin layer of dust, no flowers or stones to mark the dead.
The air felt heavier here, thick with the faint, lingering trace of death energy—the remnant essence left when life faded, slow to dissipate in a place like this where bodies had piled up over years. David found a spot in the center, away from the edges where patrols might pass, and sat cross-legged on the cold ground, his back straight, eyes closed.
He breathed deep, steady, and reached out with his senses, calling on Death Consumption—the core ability of his inheritance. It came easily now, like flexing a muscle he had always had but only recently discovered. The death energy stirred around him, thin threads at first, drawn from the old graves where the essence had weakened over time. It wasn't rich like fresh death would be—no recent burials here meant less benefit—but it was enough. Steady. Safe.
The energy flowed into him like cool mist, seeping through his skin, his meridians, his dantian. First, it sought out his injuries, guided by his will. He had full control now; he could direct it wherever he chose.
A soothing chill spread through his ribs, the cracks sealing with a faint, almost audible pop as bone knit perfectly together, stronger than before. The gash on his shoulder tingled intensely, skin pulling tight and smooth as new tissue formed beneath the scab, leaving only faint scar tissue. Bruises dissolved like shadows fleeing light, color draining away until only flawless skin remained. It felt like being wrapped in eternal night—cold, but comforting, erasing every trace of pain with a gentle, inexorable touch.
But he held back on the surface—left a few yellow marks, a slight stiffness in his movements—so Anna wouldn't suspect anything unusual when he returned.
Satisfied with the healing, he guided the rest of the energy downward, into his dantian, where his qi sea swirled like a dark whirlpool. Last time, in this very place, he had reached the peak of Stage 1 Qi Refining. Now, with the influx, the barrier felt thin, fragile—like a veil of mist waiting to part.
He circulated the death qi through his meridians, refining it, compressing it, pushing against the bottleneck.
Pressure built gradually, a heavy weight pressing from inside, like his entire body was a vessel filling beyond its limits, meridians stretching with a burning cold that made his skin prickle. His dantian trembled, the qi sea churning violently, waves crashing against invisible walls.
Then—release.
A surge rushed through him like a frozen river breaking free in spring, icy power flooding every meridian, every cell. His vision sharpened even with eyes closed; he could sense the faint decay in the soil, the slow seep of essence from ancient bones.
Strength coursed through his veins, dark and vital, his muscles coiling tighter, denser. A profound clarity washed over his mind, thoughts cutting like shadowed blades.
Breakthrough.
Stage 2 Qi Refining.
The sensation was intoxicating—a rush of liberation, as if invisible chains forged from years of weakness had shattered, leaving him lighter, freer, hungrier for more.
But the energy didn't stop. The old graves gave what they could, threads of death essence still trickling in like reluctant whispers from the forgotten dead. He pushed again, guiding it carefully, feeling his meridians widen further, his dantian expand like a vast, abyssal sea growing deeper, darker.
Pressure built once more—tighter, fiercer, a crushing weight that made his body tremble, sweat bead cold on his brow despite the chill. The death qi coiled in his dantian, compressing into a swirling vortex, dense and ominous, until it felt like a black star on the verge of supernova.
Then—another release.
A wave of power crashed through him, colder and more profound than before, like plunging into an endless void filled with silent strength.
His qi sea roared, expanding vastly, bottomless and turbulent. Raw power flooded his limbs; he felt invincible, as if he could shatter stone or outrun the wind. His mind expanded, thoughts sharp and predatory, the physique resonating in harmony, growing subtly denser, tougher.
Breakthrough.
Stage 3 Qi Refining.
The rush left him breathless, heart pounding with dark exhilaration, a thrill that bordered on euphoria.
He could feel the difference immediately: steps that would be lighter, strikes that would hit harder, a deeper well of qi ready to draw on—vast, hungry, powerful.
But the graveyard's energy was thinning now, the remnants too old to give more. It carried him to the peak of Stage 3, the next barrier looming close—a light push, and he could break through to Stage 4. Tempting. So tempting. The power called to him, whispering promises of even greater strength.
He stopped.
Not yet.
Rushing too far too fast could destabilize his foundation. The inheritance warned of balance—of letting power settle, of growing steady instead of greedy. Stage 3 peak was enough for now. More than enough. With the physique bolstering him, he was already far beyond normal cultivators at this level.
David opened his eyes, the night fully fallen around him, stars faint through the barrier's glow. He stood slowly, dusting off his clothes, feeling the new strength humming in his limbs like a quiet song—dark, potent, waiting.
Three days of rest had given him more than healing.
It had given him power.
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