The Crimson Typhoon drifted gently in the pre-dawn stillness, its red-painted hull gliding like a ghost over the silent current of the delta waters. Below deck, in a quiet crew quarters lined with faintly glowing ropes and alchemical lanterns, Ash lay in his hammock, swaying softly, caught between waking and dream.
My body had mended. But My spirit still carried the scar of the war engine Brut explosion—its heat, its density, the feral weight of stone fists pounding through the air like meteors. In the dream-space behind my closed eyes, I stood there again, in the center of that wrecked Forge.
Walls melted, flames licking the bones of half-finished war machines, the shattered gears of the engine brute still smoking in the crater where it had died. I remembered the final seconds too clearly.
How close it had been.
One misstep…
One breath slower…
And my body wouldn't be floating in a hammock right now—it'd be scattered atoms embedded in molten steel. I clenched my spirit fists in the dream. I'm fast. I'm sharp. But I'm still breakable.
A glass canon. It was a crude term, but it struck true.
My vestigium qi was potent. My vorpal slashes lethal.
My sacred breath and fire lightening affinity pushed my speed and pressure beyond most of my first step martial learner rank.
But—
My bones and defense were still martial learner half step at best.
I needed a body foundation. A true one. One that could tank hits. Face berserkers. Face artillery blasts. Face what's coming. Suddenly and without warning my forge dreamland scape shifted around me. Clouds of blood mist curled up around me.
And then she came.
As always, uninvited.
Felicity manifested beside me—a glowing viscous bloom, goo-slick and seductive. Her eyes were crimson and dancing with mischief. We were in the private cabin quarters again but still within a dream. She stood barefoot beside the hammock, half-formed but feminine, sculpted from blood light and shadow with playful ripples.
"Ahu~" she purred, voice sliding through the mist like wine poured over steel.
"A wise choice, Master. You've stacked teeth upon blades, but you're still soft and squishy."
I grunted, folding my arms.
"I almost died, Felicity."
She giggled, pirouetting through a cloud of dream fog.
"Yes, but it was dramatic and very cinematic."
I ignored her.
"I want to create a defensive foundation.
One that scales.
Body-hardening that's not just reactive.
Something layered."
Felicity twirled in midair, her form shifting as she flicked blood light into diagrams—runes and organ maps and skeletal outlines hovered above the dream sea.
Felicity smirked.
"That's where I come in. I wasn't always just a parasite, Yanow. I was a general. I know dozens of body arts from extinct sects.
Dead Kings. Tomb-keepers. Flesh crafters. Pick a flavor."
She began to sketch options in the air:
Metal Jacket Technique – Turns chi pathways into semi-metallic filaments, reinforcing limbs and reducing internal bleed out.
Mighty Guard – Reinforce internal organs with condensed qi, resisting rupture and enhancing recovery.
Bone Moirai Flow – Bone strengthening art.
I rubbed my chin.
"I'll start with the Mighty Guard and Bone Moirai Flow."
Felicity clapped her hands, her slime-like body rippling with joy.
"Oh~ Master's learning! You're going to be magnificent. And once I finish fusing with that core…"
Her eyes gleamed like lava pearls. "We'll reshape your flesh into legend." I sat cross-legged in the dreamscape as Felicity began forming the training sequence.
Below, on the waking ship, my body shuddered slightly in the hammock. Blood pressure spiked. Somewhere in my bones, the marrow began to churn. In the quiet folds of my inner mindscape—where blood mist hung like incense and the weight of memory clung to every breath—Felicity raised her hands to the air. From the center of her red ooze-like body, threads of luminous crimson spiraled outward, forming glyphs, diagrams, and long arcs of encoded qi patterns. The space shimmered like a cathedral of marrow and light, bones spinning overhead like constellations.
"Now, Master Ash," Felicity cooed, "two gifts. Carefully spun from your own bloodline resonance, beast marrow records, and the sacred fluid still clinging to your inner walls."
She pressed her hands together—and from the core of her being, two spiritual tomes unfolded, hovering in the void like ghostly codices made of silk, nerve, and burning script.
The first Spiritual tome was Mighty Guard.
A Body-Fortification Technique – Tier: First Step Martial Learner.
Reinforces the heart, spleen and other vital organs with condensed qi and blood essence webs. Phase one increases qi stability and passive regeneration.
As I read Felicity chimed in, "Let your guts sing with the old blood."
The second spiritual tome contained the Bone Moirai Flow technique.
A bone strengthening technique – Tier: First Step Martial Learner.
The technique could restructure bone density, creating layered protection. "A fortress made not of walls but will." Said Felicity. Felicity floated beside the tomes; cheeks flushed with pride.
"You can access these tomes at any time, Ash—just draw on your mental energy pool. They're bound to you now. And they'll evolve as you do." I nodded, my inner vision reaching out to hover my animus threads near the tomes. They pulsed warmly in acknowledgment, like obedient blood familiars waiting for my will.
I exhaled, and began to ground myself to begin my first cultivation session when—
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
A heavy knock sounded against the physical door of my quarters.
My eyes fluttered open. "Oi!" a voice called, muffled by wood. "Deck call! You're not a guest, you're crew now!" I muttered under my breath, rubbing my temples. Of course. Felicity faded with a smirk. "Duty before divinity, hmm? That's the pirate way." I stood, stretching. My joints cracked faintly as the residual blood energy shifted in my muscles. I opened the door to find a broad-shouldered sailor waiting with a mop over one shoulder and a spyglass tucked into his belt.
A few other crewmates passed behind, hoisting nets and tightening ropes. "Captain said you're on main deck rotation. Scrub duty, rig check, then we've got sail tests at high tide." I nodded, stone-faced.
"Understood."
The sailor smirked.
"Don't worry. First week is always the worst." I stepped out under the morning light as the Crimson Typhoon cut across the delta ocean. Salt wind whipped his hair as gull-beasts circled overhead. The deck was alive with motion—ropes tightening, anchors locking, crates shifting. I passed sailors polishing their blades with oil-rags and tuning elemental harpoons. The scent of gunpowder, smoked fish, and citrus oil filled the air. I took it all in silently, eyes already planning cultivation windows between tasks.
And within my lake of Intent, the blood tomes glowed quietly, waiting to be opened.