Raizen sat cross-legged in silence, the warm beast core pulsing in his palm. It glowed faintly, like a heartbeat sealed in stone. He could feel it now—spiritual energy, wild and unrefined, echoing with the last will of the Black Fang boar.
His fight still echoed in his bones. The pain in his ribs, the weight of survival—it hadn't faded. But something inside him had shifted. He hadn't just won. He had learned. Killing wasn't about power. It was about precision. And he had made space itself into a weapon.
The old man leaned against the hut's wooden beam, watching him.
"That core," he said, voice dry as dust, "is worth more than just energy. It's your first step. Fuse it properly, and it'll shape your foundation."
Raizen nodded and closed his eyes.
The void inside him stirred.
He pressed the beast core against his chest, letting it sink through his skin. The energy surged through him like fire—burning, biting, trying to tear through his meridians. His body trembled, veins pulsing with pressure.
But he was no ordinary cultivator.
The void around his spirit core expanded, folding in to surround the foreign energy. It didn't reject it—it consumed it. Stripped it bare, then wove it into his own essence like dark silk threading a tapestry.
The pain dulled. The heat faded. And then—
A stillness.
Within his dantian, the faint glow of a Void Core formed. Unlike spiritual cores of light or flame, his pulsed with quiet pressure—like the deep sea, heavy and infinite.
He opened his eyes.
The old man raised an eyebrow. "You lived. That's better than most."
Raizen exhaled slowly. "It's stable."
"Good. Then it's time you earned more than scraps."
The old man stepped inside the hut and returned with a weathered scroll. The edges were torn, the ink faded. "A foundational technique. Basic, by most standards. But with your... unique core, it may shape into something different."
Raizen took it without a word.
He opened it slowly. The technique was called Stone River Flow—a cultivation method based on resilience and adaptability. It wasn't flashy, but he didn't need flash. He needed control.
As he read, he realized something strange. The words shimmered slightly—not visibly, but in his mind. Like the void was reinterpreting them. Shifting the flow.
He meditated.
As he drew in spirit energy from the air, it filtered through the cultivation pattern described in the scroll—only twisted slightly by his Void Core. The process didn't just draw in energy. It refined it. Rewrote it. His cultivation was not just growth—it was evolution.
He practiced deep into the night, stopping only when the moonlight curved behind the trees. Sweat soaked his back. A thin, purple mist circled around him like steam rising from cold stone.
The old man watched from a distance.
Raizen stood slowly.
His body felt different. Not just stronger—tuned. Like a blade newly sharpened.
"You've learned fast," the old man said at last. "Too fast. The forest can't teach you more. Three days, then leave."
"Where?" Raizen asked.
"South. Toward the Spirit Road. There's a city called Langrave. Traders. Fighters. Cultivation sects. You'll find purpose there."
Raizen nodded. He had no plans to stay small. The void inside him was too vast to fit in a shack hidden in trees.
He turned to the scroll once more before rolling it back up. Stone River Flow may be a starting point, but it was no longer just a basic technique. It had become something else under his hands.
That night, while the old man slept, Raizen sat under the stars and practiced Dimensional Rip again.
He was no longer testing it. He was perfecting it.
Space bent more easily now. Faster. Smoother. Where he once forced it open with strain, now it parted like cloth. He used it to carve lines into stone, then peel open branches of trees without harming the wood.
Soon, it would be strong enough to turn deadly with a blink.
Soon, he would face cultivators.
And when he did, they wouldn't see a boy pretending
to be strong. They would see someone redefining strength entirely.