Chapter 6: Rumors of the Tournament
Flux stirred from his cultivation as the first light of dawn slipped through the paper windows of his room, painting soft golden lines across the wooden floor. He blinked slowly, stretched, and released a quiet yawn.
"…I'll walk around the town today," he murmured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
He stood, smoothed out his dark robe, and carefully adjusted the cloth over his face and neck. With a practiced breath, he deepened his voice slightly—a subtle shift to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. Though his features remained youthful, the robe, muted presence, and steady demeanor helped him pass for a quiet, slightly odd dwarf cultivator.
Downstairs at the inn, the warm aroma of breakfast greeted him—steamed buns, stir-fried greens, crisped demon beast meat, and spiced tea. He claimed a quiet corner table, tucked away from the main crowd. Though it was custom to remove one's hat indoors, Flux didn't bother. The wide-brimmed hat shadowed his features, giving him a slightly suspicious air, but no one bothered him. He ate slowly and in silence, observing the morning bustle through the rim of his hat.
A few passing cultivators gave him curious looks, sensing the steady Foundation Establishment aura beneath his strange appearance. Some narrowed their eyes as they walked past. But no one approached.
Just how he liked it.
After finishing his meal and placing a few spirit stones on the table, Flux stepped out into the morning sun. The streets of Oaktown were already alive with noise—vendors calling out, cultivators bartering, demon beasts pulling carts, and the mingling scents of roasted meat and dried herbs drifting on the breeze.
He wandered the marketplace with his hands folded behind his back, his eyes drifting from stall to stall—spirit grass bundles, beast pelts, simple talismans, and shimmering low-grade artifacts.
That was when he overheard a conversation from a nearby vendor's stand.
"Hey, did you hear? There's going to be a tournament in Mologan City—nine months from now!"
"Yeah! It's the big one, right? Hosted by all five ruling sects of the Blue River Prefecture."
"They're only accepting Foundation Establishment cultivators. Even unaffiliated ones."
"Right. It's rare for something like that to be open to everyone. I heard some genius already reached Foundation Establishment at twenty! Can you believe that?"
"Twenty? Most of us are still struggling with Qi Refinement by then…"
"And they say the rewards are incredible—spirit treasures, pills, cultivation techniques, even chances to be recruited by the big sects."
Flux paused mid-step, eyes still on the market stalls, but his ears tuned sharply.
(A tournament in Mologan City… Foundation Establishment only?)
He kept walking, though slower now. His thoughts had shifted.
(Open to loose cultivators. That means I could enter, too.)
He glanced up. A spirit hawk soared in the sky above, wings catching the breeze in smooth arcs.
(A genius at twenty, huh? That's impressive.)
A faint smile pulled at the corner of his lips.
(Then again, my progress wasn't exactly slow… even if I started with nothing.)
He wasn't arrogant. Just aware. Aware that despite his strange origins and lost memories, he had the tools to carve a path forward. Still, progress meant little without experience.
(If the major sects are hosting it… the trial realm must be secure. Overseers. Rules. Safety nets.)
He exhaled softly.
(Perfect. A chance to test myself against other cultivators… and do it without the constant fear of death hanging over me. Maybe even earn some rewards along the way.)
His eyes grew calmer, more focused.
"A tournament to experience the wider cultivation world… It might be the safest chance I'll get for a while," he murmured.
He adjusted the strap of his pouch. "But first, I need to know where Mologan City is."
Turning his steps, he made his way toward a familiar landmark—the grand red-and-gold structure of the Yellow Leaf Pavilion.
Inside, the polished floors glowed with morning light. Spirit lanterns floated overhead, casting soft radiance. As he entered, the same staff member from before greeted him with a courteous smile.
"Welcome back, little sir. How may I assist you today?"
"I'm looking for a map of the Blue River Prefecture," Flux said, his tone calm and just slightly deeper than natural.
"Of course. Please wait a moment."
She returned with a scroll and unfurled it over a nearby table. The parchment shimmered faintly with runes of preservation and detail—clearly high-quality. It displayed cities, sect territories, known beast regions, and major roads with precise markings.
"Please take a look and see if it meets your needs."
Flux leaned over, examining it carefully.
"There… Mologan City," he said softly. "It's farther than I thought."
He gave a small nod. "This will do. I'll take it."
"That will be 100 low-grade spirit stones, sir."
He blinked, lips twitching slightly. (So much… for a map?)
Still, he reached into his pouch and handed over the payment without complaint.
"Thank you for your continued patronage," the staff member said, bowing. "We look forward to seeing you again."
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Back at the Spirit Willow Inn, Flux returned to his room and spread the map across the bed. Afternoon light filtered through the window, illuminating the parchment.
"Mologan City… a thousand li," he muttered. "Even riding my sword, it'll take close to a month."
He sat at the edge of the bed, tapping his fingers lightly against his leg.
"If I want to enter that tournament, I'll need to prepare—better weapons, more spirit stones, a few protective talismans…"
He looked toward the window again, watching dust motes drift in the sunbeam.
"I'll return to the forest tomorrow. Hunt demon beasts, gather materials… save up what I can."
He closed his eyes, then settled into a cross-legged position once more. Calm, steady.
The hum of spiritual energy flowed through him again—gentle and deep, like the undercurrent of a vast river.
He wasn't chasing glory. Not fame. Not titles.
He just wanted to grow.
To walk further along the path.
One step at a time.