The wasteland stretched endlessly before him, a scar across the eastern edge of the Primordial World. Distorted space twisted violently; rocks hovered unnaturally, streams of chaotic spiritual energy warped around invisible barriers. According to the chronicles of his past life, this was the Fallen Boundary—a fragment of pre-Dao chaos sealed imperfectly by the Saints.
Most cultivators would die here within minutes, not from combat, but simply from the unstable Dao. Yet, he walked carefully, his senses alert.
"No system, no shortcuts… only the Dao as it is," he muttered. His body adjusted instinctively, feeling the weak currents of spiritual energy around him. It was unstable, but it contained raw potential.
Hours passed. He had to adapt quickly. The Fallen Boundary was no playground; it tested every step, every breath. He could feel the stones beneath his feet shifting slightly when he wasn't looking, as if reality itself tried to expel him.
Then he saw movement. Shadows that did not belong to any tree or stone—beings of twisted spiritual qi, malformed, half-real, half-chaos. He smiled faintly. "Good. The first test."
One shadow lunged, faster than human reaction, claws tearing through the distorted air. He sidestepped, feeling a faint ripple in space as the creature's momentum carried it into a collapsing fissure.
This was no ordinary fight. Every strike, every dodge, required calculation, instinct, and timing. Without a system to alert him to danger, he relied solely on perception—and memory.
The third shadow lunged, faster than the previous two. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. Not to sleep, but to listen.
He could hear the rhythm of chaos, the trembling of unstable spiritual qi. A step to the left, a slight lean backward, and the shadow's claws passed harmlessly above him.
"Good… not perfect, but sufficient for now," he whispered.
By sunset, he had reached a plateau overlooking the heart of the Fallen Boundary. From here, he could see the ruins of a temple that had collapsed centuries ago. Its stones were scattered across the ground, inscribed with characters no mortal could fully decipher.
But one thing was certain: power lingered here.
A tremor beneath his feet drew his attention. Something was approaching—deliberately. Unlike the chaotic creatures, this presence was calm, controlled, deliberate. It was a cultivator, and very strong.
The young man's lips curled into a faint, gray smile. "Finally… someone aware enough to notice the Blind Spot."