Kieran reached the town by sunset—and immediately understood why Lia had called it less dangerous rather than safe.
A crooked wooden gate marked the entrance, its doors hanging open like broken teeth. The town itself sprawled awkwardly along a dirt road, buildings leaning at odd angles as if exhausted by existence. Lanterns flickered weakly, their light struggling against the thickening dusk. The air smelled of smoke, sweat, and desperation.
Kieran paused at the edge of the road, hands on his hips.
"Alright," he muttered. "New world checklist. Step one: don't die. Step two: figure out how money works."
His stomach growled loudly, as if offended by being forgotten.
"Yes, yes," he said to it. "You're on the list."
As he walked in, he felt it immediately—the pressure. Cultivator auras brushed against him from every direction, some faint, some sharp enough to make his skin prickle. Most were weak, just as Lia had said, but even weak cultivators were stronger than him.
And they knew it.
Eyes followed him. Appraising. Dismissive. Hungry.
A pair of men lounging near a gambling stall glanced his way, then snorted.
"Newcomer," one said. "No sect robe."
"Look at his aura," the other replied. "Barely formed. Probably wandered out of the forest by accident."
Kieran smiled politely and kept walking.
Don't react, he told himself. Observation first.
He passed vendors selling beast meat of questionable origin, talismans that looked hastily painted, and pills sealed in cracked jars. Everything screamed low quality, but beggars still clustered nearby, eyes hollow.
At the center of town stood a stone platform stained dark with old blood.
Kieran slowed.
A man was kneeling there, bound at the wrists. His clothes were torn, his face bruised and swollen. A cultivator in blue robes stood over him, sword resting casually against his shoulder.
"Stealing from the Black Iron Hall carries consequences," the cultivator announced boredly. "Let this be a lesson."
The sword rose.
Kieran's chest tightened.
He didn't know this man. Had no reason to care.
But the crowd didn't look away out of fear—they looked away out of habit.
The sword fell.
Blood splashed across the stone.
Kieran flinched.
Silence followed, broken only by the sword being cleaned on the dead man's sleeve.
The cultivator turned, eyes sweeping the crowd. They lingered on Kieran for half a second longer than necessary.
A warning.
Kieran exhaled slowly and walked on.
The weak are not protected, he thought grimly. Chapter one, lesson one.
He found an inn near the edge of town—two stories, crooked sign, windows patched with oilcloth. The name read: The Bent Sparrow.
Inside, it was loud. Rough laughter, clinking cups, arguments that teetered between words and violence. A burly woman stood behind the counter, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"Room," Kieran said, stepping up. "And food. Whatever won't kill me."
She eyed him up and down. "Two copper stones for the room. One for food."
Kieran blinked. "Copper… stones."
"Yes," she said flatly.
He reached into his pockets.
Nothing.
He grimaced. "Hypothetically… what if someone had zero stones."
Her stare hardened. "Hypothetically, they'd be sleeping outside."
"Right. Of course." He scratched his head. "What if they offered labor?"
She studied him for a long moment. "You cook?"
"No."
"Fight?"
"Poorly."
She snorted. "Clean. Stable's out back. Do a decent job, I'll feed you."
Kieran smiled. "You're a saint."
"Don't call me that."
The stable was exactly as unpleasant as expected.
An hour later, soaked in sweat and smelling like regret, Kieran finished scrubbing the last stall. His arms trembled—not from exhaustion alone, but from the subtle drain of qi. The Chaos Crystal pulsed, compensating, keeping him upright.
Note to self, he thought, cultivation stamina is cheating.
He returned inside and was handed a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread. He ate like a starving animal, drawing curious looks.
As he ate, he listened.
"…Black Iron Hall's recruiting again."
"…heard they lost three men in the forest."
"…some kind of fire spirit's been seen nearby…"
Kieran's spoon paused mid-air.
Fire spirit.
He forced himself to keep eating.
Later, in a cramped room upstairs, Kieran sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at his hands.
"Okay," he whispered. "Time to stop improvising."
He closed his eyes and focused inward.
The Chaos Crystal responded instantly.
Qi surged—but this time, he didn't let it rampage. He visualized channels the way he would circuits, pathways optimized for flow, reducing resistance, reinforcing weak points. The knowledge provided the foundation; his mind refined it.
Pain flared, sharp and bright.
He gritted his teeth and pushed through.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
When he opened his eyes, sweat drenched his body—but something had changed. His senses felt clearer. Stronger.
"I think," he said slowly, "I just officially started cultivating."
The crystal pulsed, pleased.
A knock interrupted him.
Kieran stiffened. "Yes?"
The door creaked open.
A thin young man slipped inside, eyes darting nervously. "You're new."
"I've been told."
The man hesitated. "Name's Fen. You… you stood there earlier. During the execution."
Kieran nodded slowly. "I did."
"You didn't look away."
Kieran held his gaze. "No."
Fen swallowed. "Most do."
Silence stretched.
Finally, Fen said, "Black Iron Hall noticed."
Kieran sighed. "Of course they did."
"They don't like outsiders who look… thoughtful."
"That's discriminatory."
Fen blinked. "What?"
"Never mind."
Fen leaned closer, voice dropping. "They think you might be useful. Or dangerous."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive either."
"You should leave town," Fen said urgently. "Soon."
Kieran considered that—then shook his head. "If I run every time someone stronger notices me, I'll never stop running."
Fen stared at him like he was insane.
"Still," Kieran added, "thank you for the warning."
Fen nodded and slipped out as quietly as he'd come.
Kieran lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
So much for laying low.
Outside, footsteps approached the inn—heavy, deliberate.
The Chaos Crystal pulsed once.
Warning.
Kieran sat up just as voices rose downstairs—loud, authoritative.
"Black Iron Hall," someone barked. "We're looking for a newcomer."
Kieran cracked his neck and stood.
"Well," he murmured, heart pounding but steady, "guess this is my first test."
Far away, in the depths of the forest, Lia opened her eyes abruptly.
A faint thread of chaos tugged at her senses—uneasy, strained.
She frowned, hand tightening at her side.
"…You'd better survive," she whispered to the night.
Because without realizing it, she was already waiting to see him again.