The morning light filtered through the slits of the heavy curtains, dust motes dancing lazily in golden shafts. The room was thick with silence—dense, unwavering. It was the kind of silence that came not from peace, but from focus.
Andras hadn't left the room in two days.
Only the quiet knock of a maid at the door—three soft taps—interrupted his training, bringing in meals and leaving without conversation. He hadn't spoken more than a dozen words across the span of forty-eight hours. The food would be placed on the edge of his desk, barely touched until his training cycle allowed a pause.
To the rest of the Le estate, he might as well have disappeared.
But inside this room?
He was transforming.
[
04:17 AM
Status Update
Core Alignment: ZERO
Cultivation Rank: Early 3rd Stage Qi Gathering → Mid 5th Stage Qi Gathering
Body Compatibility: 51% → 61% (Stabilizing)
Soul Integrity: 68% → 69% Reconstructed
Affinities:
Obsidian Flame Sync: 6% → 8%
Null Echo Sync: 2% → 3%
]
Breaking through three sub-stages in two days would be considered absurd. For a standard cultivator, especially one with damaged veins and a broken core history, even reaching the 4th Stage of Qi Gathering in six months would be seen as "promising potential."
Most cultivators spent years in the Qi Gathering Realm. Carefully building foundations. Slowly stabilizing their channels. Progress was a cycle of patience, resources, and brutal repetition.
But Andras was no ordinary cultivator anymore.
He had a system. Even among Bloodroot Sanctuary's prodigies, such speed would be whispered about as monstrous. But still to compare a typical disciple in Bamboo Sanctuary might spend Days refining a single stage—months, in rare cases, to edge past the 4th Stage. They required a strict regimen of elixirs, sect tutors, and gruelling spirit sword duels just to coax a fraction more Qi density. By contrast, Andras's system offered real-time diagnostics and corrective feedback: micro-adjustments to his cultivation method that no human teacher could provide.
He tapped [Cultivation Log]:
Log Entry 87
Time Spent in State of "Flow": 18h 23m
Qi Circulation Efficiency: 139% (vs. baseline 100%)
Challenges Overcome:
• System-guided meridian realignment (×7)
• Core crystallization pressure resistance (×5)
• Secondary affinity resonance stabilization.
Still, the higher he climbed, the steeper the slope became. Every breakthrough demanded more stability. Every inch of progress came with invisible pressure.
This wasn't exponential growth. It was survival acceleration. The system could help—but it couldn't cultivate for him.
[
Training Log: Obsidian Flame
Task 2: Absorb chaotic Qi – FAILED (No source found)
Task 3: Survive emotional instability without losing Qi control – IN PROGRESS
Training Log: Null Echo
Task 1: Withstand soul pressure for 10 seconds – 3/10 Seconds Achieved
Task 2: Walk unseen through a group of cultivators – NOT ATTEMPTED
Task 3: Stand at the threshold of death without flinching – LOCKED (System: No death-encounter condition triggered)
]
He had tried.
Late at night, he had turned his meditation inward—reliving memories not just from Andras, but from John.
Old regrets. Old failures. That how Null Echo has grown the memories of my past life painful ones are 'Soul Pressure' in the systems eyes...
The system had registered spikes in instability. Rapid Qi fluctuation. Heart rate spikes. On the verge of losing control…
And yet he hadn't.
Not out of strength.
Out of stubbornness.
Every time the pain rose, he visualized the looming image of the Bloodroot Arena—its screaming crowd, the black stone floor, the corpses beneath it.
He couldn't afford to lose control.
Not even for a second. If it worked Andras would do anything to get stronger right now...
On the third morning, just as he was slipping into his usual seated position, a knock broke the rhythm.
Not the usual quiet tapping from the maids.
This one was firmer. Intentional.
He didn't move.
The door creaked open, revealing a young maid with downcast eyes and a tone devoid of formality.
"Master Andras," she said. "The family… requests your presence at the lunch table."
His eyelids fluttered open.
Family lunch?
The words felt like a foreign concept in his mouth.
It happened only once a week, in theory. More often than not, it devolved into political theater. Smiles hiding sharp tongues. Expectations. Judgments. Andras—before—had never made it easier. He mocked, scorned, and derailed conversations just to stir the pot.
But this Andras?
This Andras didn't have time to waste on venom or vanity.
"…Understood," he said quietly, standing.
The maid blinked.
"…Pardon, young master?"
"I'll be down in ten."
She nodded quickly, as if uncertain how to process the calm compliance, and closed the door without another word.
Andras turned back to the system window.
"…Pause all training paths," he said, then took a long, quiet breath.
His system didn't respond audibly—but the glow dimmed, like it understood.
The dining hall was as he remembered it: too long, too wide, built for power theater rather than comfort. The central table stretched down a gilded floor like a blade of polished wood. Sunlight from stained glass windows cast fractured shadows across the plates.
He took his place at the far right, second from the end. Not the head. Not the foot. A deliberate seating that screamed: tolerated, but not respected.
Ten seats were filled.
Of them, six bore the unmistakable presence of Qi-trained individuals. Minor cultivation levels—late Qi Gathering, perhaps even early Foundation for one or two.
But none of them looked at him with fear.
Only with smug dismissal.
A silver-haired man near the middle raised a brow as Andras quietly pulled out his chair.
"Well," the man drawled. "The young tyrant finally joins us. And without threatening to break anything. Should we be worried?"
A few chuckles followed.
Andras didn't react.
He simply reached for the bowl of lotus rice, scooped a portion neatly, and began to eat.
No retort. No smirk. No spark of anger.
Just silence.
The laughter died on its own.
His uncle—a man named Le Daren—tilted his head.
"Not even a glare?" he mused aloud. "Strange. Normally, by now, you'd have insulted someone's parentage and spilled the tea."
Someone down the table muttered, "Maybe he's cultivating a new technique: silence."
Another chuckle.
Andras kept eating.
Slowly. Efficiently. Not a single movement wasted. His face unreadable.
A few of the older cousins glanced at one another. The youngest maid who had been serving tea began fidgeting near the wall, uncertain.
The entire meal passed like that.
Barbs were thrown, but none stuck—because Andras refused to catch them.
It wasn't detachment. It was purpose.
He was thinking about Qi cycles.
He was thinking about pressure points on his meridians.
He was thinking about how much time he had left.
"Young ones," came a deep voice from the head of the table, breaking the murmurs, "the Bloodroot Arena begins in five days."
The Patriarch had spoken.
A chill swept through the table, even among the confident.
He was old, but not frail—his cultivation kept him sharp, eyes like steel hidden behind aged eyelids. He had trained monsters, raised warriors, and exiled weaker sons without blinking.
"The Bamboo Sanctuary sect expects results," he continued. "No excuses. This generation will either rise to recognition… or be culled by it."
A moment of silence.
And then, he turned his gaze.
Directly at Andras.
"You will participate."
Andras nodded once, expression neutral.
"I know."
The table stilled again. No sarcasm. No rebellion. Just those two words. Calm. Measured.
The Patriarch's eyes narrowed faintly.
He said nothing more.
But others had noticed.
Something had changed.
After the meal, Andras returned to his room without a word.
As the heavy doors closed behind him, he exhaled softly.
Then sat.
Then whispered:
"Resume system training pathways"
The window opened instantly.
System Resumed. Welcome back, User.
Status Update:
Affinity Sync (Obsidian Flame): 8%
Affinity Sync (Null Echo): 3%
Soul Integrity: 69%
Body Compatibility: 61%
Cultivation Rank: 5th Stage Qi Gathering Realm
Core Activation Path: Unlocked (Still Unready)
Tournament Countdown: 5 Days
He looked at the glowing chart.
Then whispered to himself.
"I don't care what they think I've become."
A flicker of heat stirred beneath his ribs.
"They're not my family."
He turned his gaze inward—toward the flame that didn't burn, and the silence that suffocated sound.
"I am John no... I am Andras but not the Andras they remember..."