The system was quiet.
For the first time in days, no alerts pinged. No pressure warnings. No affinity trials. The ever-present blue glow that usually hovered in his vision was dim now, subdued like a sleeping beast.
It was morning.
Soft light filtered through the tall windows, cutting through the slits in the thick curtains. Dust motes floated like gentle snowfall in the golden haze, drifting lazily through the stillness.
Andras—no, John—lay in bed for once.
Flat on his back, one arm draped over his eyes, the other resting across his chest. His body wasn't still. It pulsed quietly. A hum beneath his skin. A soft rhythm of Qi that ran deeper than blood. Every breath was different now. Every heartbeat echoed in layers.
He hadn't noticed it before—not really. Too busy grinding, surviving, pushing past limits. But now, resting for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he realized—
He had changed.
Drastically.
System Note:
[Rest protocol completed. Body Compatibility: 76%]
[Evaluation: User growth rate exceeds 950% of average cultivator. Threat classification: Evolving anomaly.]
He read the evaluation and exhaled softly.
"950 percent…" he muttered aloud.
John—the real John, the one from Earth, from that half-life of silence and cold benches and dead dreams—would've laughed at a number like that. Not a joyful laugh. A hollow one. The kind that came from knowing the universe must be playing some elaborate cosmic joke.
That version of him couldn't even do a push-up without his arms shaking.
That version of him couldn't hold eye contact for longer than a second.
And now?
Now he could pick up a weapon and break the man who taught him how to use it.
He rose slowly, carefully. Not out of weakness—but reverence. His joints no longer creaked. His muscles no longer protested. There was soreness, sure, but it was the kind that told you the body had been used, not damaged.
He stood beside the bed.
Then, almost absently, he reached down to grip its edge.
The bedframe was carved wood—solid, heavy, likely hundreds of pounds in weight. Once, John had needed help just lifting his own mattress off the floor. Now—
He lifted the entire frame with one hand.
Not a wobble.
Not a grunt of effort.
It rose cleanly, smoothly, like it weighed nothing.
He held it there for a second. Just… held it. Then lowered it gently back to the floor.
He stared at his hand.
Long fingers. Callused now. Steady. His skin didn't shake. His breath didn't race.
I'm not John anymore, he thought.
But that wasn't entirely true, was it?
There were still echoes of him inside this body—flickers of who he used to be. The quiet resentment. The tired cynicism. The voice in the back of his head that kept whispering that this was a dream, a mistake, a fantasy that would collapse any moment now.
Yet every day that passed, that voice grew quieter.
Andras walked to the mirror across the room.
The body that stared back was no longer just Andras's.
It was something in between.
Black hair now bound behind his neck with a tie of rough silk. Bare chest lean and defined, muscle carved from willpower and pain. The lines of his face sharper now, eyes more focused. Less haunted.
Even his posture had changed. Shoulders square. Neck aligned. A quiet presence flowed from him now—not arrogance, not power—but pressure. The kind of weight that made others second-guess whether to speak first.
He touched his chest—just over his heart.
He could feel it.
The flame.
It didn't burn. Not like fire. But it was there—settled, coiled, ready.
He whispered, "Obsidian Flame."
The air shimmered slightly. And there it was.
A flicker.
Black. Silent. Like a wound in space itself.
It danced along his fingers, pulled close to the skin, crackling with that same eerie calm. It made no heat. Cast no light. But when he brushed it against the side of the dresser—
Wood sizzled. Warped. Burned.
He dismissed the flame with a wave.
It obeyed.
Not because he commanded it.
But because it recognized him now.
And that terrified John, even as it thrilled Andras.
Status Panel:
• Name: Andras Le
• Core Alignment: ZERO
• Cultivation Rank: Peak 9th Stage Qi Gathering
• Body Compatibility: 76%
• Soul Integrity: 64%
• Obsidian Flame Sync: 26%
• Trait Unlocks:
– Embersteel Focus
– Obsidian Fortress
– Flame Within
– Flame Grip
• Core Activation Readiness: 90%
• Threat Classification: Evolving Anomaly
He let out a slow breath, hands at his sides.
This was not a human growth curve.
It was inhuman.
And not without cost.
His soul was still fragmented. His healing was forced. His nights spent barely sleeping, burning Qi just to hold himself together.
"Most cultivators break through a single stage in months, But I broke thought in days" I muttered to no one but my self...
And the weight of that didn't just sit in his stats.
It lived in his bones.
He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms upward. Bones popped. Muscles rippled with subtle energy.
He remembered—clearly—the way he once woke up sore just from sleeping wrong on a park bench.
Now, he could shatter that bench with a single finger.
Back then, his only fight had been against apathy. The slow erosion of will. The loneliness that grew like moss around his heart.
But here?
Here, his fight had become physical. Spiritual. Purposeful.
He wasn't drifting anymore.
He had a goal.
And more than that… he had a chance.
He sat back down on the edge of his bed and let the stillness fill him again.
Outside, the sun was climbing.
The Bloodroot Tournament began in mere hours.
That thought alone would've paralyzed John. Fear of humiliation, of failure, of being seen and judged and crushed.
But now?
Now he welcomed it.
Not with arrogance. Not with pride.
But with something far rarer:
Readiness.
He wasn't sure if he would win. He wasn't sure if he would survive.
But he was sure of one thing—
He would not go quietly.
He had worked too hard. Endured too much.
The rest had done more than refresh him.
It had reminded him.
He was not just growing stronger.
He was changing.
He tapped open his [Status Panel]:
Name: Andras Le
Core Alignment: ZERO
Cultivation Rank: 9th Stage Qi Gathering (Peak)
Body Compatibility: 76%
Soul Integrity: 64%
Affinity Sync – Obsidian Flame: 26%
Active Traits:
– Embersteel Focus
– Obsidian Fortress
– Flame Within
– Flame Grip
Threat Classification: Evolving Anomaly
Core Activation Readiness: 90%
System Note: Full core formation possible with stabilized soul signature.
He closed the screen.
That last part still worried him.
Soul Integrity: 64%.
Even now, there were pieces of him missing. Fragmented. Overwritten.
Sometimes he still wasn't sure if the voice in his head belonged to John… or Andras.
But maybe it didn't matter anymore.
Maybe what mattered was the result.
Maybe what mattered… was tomorrow.
The Bloodroot Tournament.
Andras sat down once more, back against the cold wall, staring out at the sliver of sunlight beyond the curtains.
Five days ago, he had been afraid.
Now?
He was curious.
Not reckless. Not arrogant.
Just—curious.
How far could he go?
Could he shock the ones who had written him off?
Could he hold his own in a battlefield of monsters?
Could he prove—to the world, to the system, to himself—that recycled souls and broken bodies still had worth?
Maybe.
Just maybe.
He smiled quietly.
Then whispered to the system.
"Tomorrow, let's show them what kind of error I really am."