## Chapter 2: Shadows and Splintered Oak (3,000 Words)
The iron bell's clang wasn't just sound; it was a physical blow against the fragile silence of the pre-dawn servant quarters. Kael Draven jolted upright on his thin straw pallet, every muscle screaming from yesterday's brutal labor. The sour tang of unwashed bodies and despair hung thick in the air. Blinking in the gloom, his hand instinctively pressed against his chest – a phantom echo of twisted metal and the soul-rending plunge into the cosmic maw. Kael Draven. Sixteen years old. Servant. Malnourished. Mortal. But tethered to a sliver of impossible hope.
*'System Panel,'* he commanded silently, the mental interface blooming within his consciousness like a cold, clear light.
**[ UNLIMITED DEDUCTION SYSTEM ]**
**[ PERSONAL PROFILE ]**
* **NAME:** Kael Draven
* **LIFESPAN:** 5 Years (Estimated)
* **REALM:** Mortal (Rank 0/10)
* **CULTIVATION:** None
* **TECHNIQUES:** None
* **ENERGY POINTS:** 0/10 (Daily Absorption Pending)
**[ SYSTEM FUNCTIONS ]**
* **GRIND:** Diligent practice leads to guaranteed progression in any technique until perfection. No bottlenecks. Effort Required.
* **ENERGY ABSORPTION:** The System passively absorbs ambient energy daily. Quantity depends on environmental richness. Daily Cap Reached at Reset.
* **DEDUCTION:** Upon mastering a technique (Cultivation, Battle, Crafting), use Energy Points to deduce it to higher conceptual levels.
* **UPGRADE:** Use Energy Points to enhance the quality or potency of pills, herbs, or artifacts.
**[ DAILY ABSORPTION STATUS ]**
* **Environment:** Gravestone Family Outer Hall - Servant Quarters
* **Energy Density:** Extremely Low
* **Estimated Daily Gain:** 10 Points (Absorption completes in 18 hours, 15 minutes)
* **Note:** Natural Treasures consumed will provide additional Energy based on Rank and Grade.
Ten points. A pittance scraped from the spiritual dregs of this place. Yet, it was a lifeline. Information, resources, and above all, *time*. Time to build strength unseen, unheard, beneath the notice of beings who could shatter mountains. His core principle, etched deep by a life of anonymity and the terrifying fragments of this world in the original Kael's memories, was absolute: **Caution**. Attracting attention was a death sentence. Or a fate infinitely worse.
"Kael! By the Ancestor's rusted bones, move! Blake's already breathing fire!" Frank's urgent whisper cut through the gloom. The other boy looked like a strong breeze would snap him, shadows like bruises beneath his wide, fearful eyes.
Kael scrambled up, joints protesting. "Coming."
The courtyard was a grim tapestry woven from grey rags and bowed heads, the air thick with the metallic scent of fear. At its epicenter stood **Manager Blake**. He wasn't monstrously tall, but his frame radiated a brutal solidity, muscles knotted like old rope beneath coarse fabric. Scars mapped a history of violence across his face and thick forearms. The coiled braided leather whip resting against his thigh wasn't just a tool; it was a promise. His presence alone – the contained power of a **Body Tempering Realm, Rank 3** cultivator – pressed down on the gathered servants. At this rank, he was significantly stronger and tougher than a peak mortal, capable of shattering thick wooden planks with a focused blow and enduring significant blunt force trauma without crippling injury.
"Vermin!" Blake's voice was a gravelly snarl, silencing the last whispers. "The Ancestral Shrine demands your worthless hands. One speck! One single smear defiling the sacred stones! And I'll flay the skin from your backs before the sun kisses the peaks! Understood?"
A ragged, terrified chorus of "Yes, Manager Blake!" trembled in the air.
Kael observed Blake with hidden intensity. The man moved with a predator's economy, his stance rooted and powerful. He embodied the early stages of the Martial path: pure, enhanced physicality. *Survive him. Avoid him.*
As they shuffled towards the imposing Ancestral Shrine, Frank kept his voice a breath above silence, eyes darting like a cornered rabbit. "See them?" He subtly indicated figures moving with purpose.
* **Leather-clad Enforcers:** Patrolling with predatory gazes. "Outer Hall Disciples," Frank murmured, genuine fear lacing his words. "Mostly Body Tempering, Ranks 1 to 5. Blake's hounds. They enforce... everything." Kael saw one casually shove an elderly servant carrying a heavy bucket. The old man stumbled, fell, and received a kick for his trouble. No protest, only a whimper swallowed by the dust. Rank 1-2, Kael guessed. Noticeably stronger than mortals, but not overwhelmingly so.
* **Silk-trimmed Robes:** Gliding towards the inner compound with an air of disdainful superiority. "Inner Hall Disciples," Frank breathed, awe warring with terror. "They've broken through... **Strength Forging Realm**, at least. Some might even be awakening their meridians..." Kael watched a young man in dark green silk pause. Without apparent effort, he lifted a fallen stone ornament the size of a small boulder that two servants had been struggling with moments before, placing it back on its plinth with a dismissive flick of his wrist. **Strength Forging Rank 2 or 3**, Kael assessed. Exerting several times human strength effortlessly. *True power begins here.*
* **Silver-Embroidered Garb:** A small group passed like royalty among paupers. The air around them seemed to hum with latent energy. "The Bloodline," Frank whispered, almost prayerfully. "Young Masters and Mistresses. Some are peak Body Tempering... others..." He choked off as **Young Master Dain**, his features sharp and cold as mountain ice, swept his gaze across the servants. Kael instantly lowered his head, becoming part of the scenery. Dain radiated power. Rumored to be **Body Tempering, Rank 6**. The pinnacle of the foundational realm – capable of breaking thick wooden weapons with bare hands, running faster than horses, possessing endurance far beyond mortal limits. His gaze, laden with bored contempt, passed over Kael without registering him. *Invisible. Remain invisible.*
The shrine was vast, cool, and oppressive, smelling of ancient incense, cold stone, and the ingrained fear of generations. Kael knelt beside Frank, rough brushes and buckets of near-freezing water their tools. They scrubbed intricate carvings into the stone floor, the silence heavy, broken only by scraping bristles and the distant, rhythmic *thuds* and sharp cries echoing from the inner training grounds.
An hour into the soul-crushing labor, Kael spotted his target. **Lyle**, an ancient servant whose face resembled a dried riverbed, worked nearby with slow, precise movements born of decades of resignation. Frank had mentioned him – a former merchant's scribe swallowed by debt, his knowledge the only currency left.
Kael shuffled closer, head bowed, brush moving mechanically. "Lyle?" he whispered, barely audible over the scrubbing.
A grunt. Acknowledgement.
"Frank... mentioned places? Beyond Westland? Different... lands?" Kael infused his voice with hesitant awe, the perfect picture of an ignorant, curious new boy.
Lyle paused, his old, rheumy eyes flicking towards Kael with a mixture of pity and weary cynicism. "Curiosity fills graves faster than starvation, boy. But since you're already digging yours..." He resumed scrubbing, his voice a low, papery rasp. "Aye. Profound Heaven is... vast. Makes Ironfang feel like a dung heap. We crawl in the dirt of **Westland**. Strength is law here. Crude. Honest, maybe. You see the blade coming."
He dipped his brush, the water murky. "Cross the Endless Azure Sea eastward? **Eastland**. Empires older than these mountains. Sects with lineages stretching back so far, time blurs. They trade in silk and poison, smiles and knives in the dark. Webs so fine you're strangled before you feel the thread. Deadlier than any open blade, boy. Deadlier."
Kael kept scrubbing, absorbing every word. "And... the others?"
Lyle snorted, a dry, rattling sound. "Darkness and teeth. **Darkland**. Sky choked black, earth bleeds shadow. Things that whisper madness, feast on souls. Cultivators there walk paths paved with bone and broken oaths. Avoid even its echoes." He shuddered visibly. "Then... **Wildland**. Untamed. Savage. Beasts that make mountains look like pebbles. Ruins swallowing armies whole. Air thick with power... and hunger. Only fools or monsters go deep."
"The path... cultivation?" Kael dared, letting his voice tremble slightly. "The realms Frank hinted at?"
Lyle glanced around, a lifetime of caution ingrained. "Fool's dreams for the likes of us. But... the foundation is **Body Tempering**. Ten ranks." He gestured subtly towards the distant sounds of training. "You see Blake? Rank 3. Strong. Tough. Break wood, endure blows. Rank 6, like Young Master Dain there? Peak of flesh. Break weapons, outrun steeds." He lowered his voice further. "Break through that... **Strength Forging**. Ten more ranks. Raw power multiplies. Punch through stone walls, leap rooftops, fight for days. The Outer Hall Elders? Mostly here, low ranks." He paused, his voice dropping to a thread. "Then... **Meridian Awakening**. Ten ranks. Awakening the energy channels. Strikes shatter boulders, move like ghosts. Some Inner Hall Disciples touch this. Break through *that*... **Inner Force Realm**. Ten ranks. Project force, break steel bare-handed, *sense* danger before it strikes. The heart of the Inner Hall." He took a shaky breath. "Above them... **Martial Core Realm**. Condensing power into a core. Jump over buildings, shatter small forts in a blow. Move like lightning. That's where the true Inner Hall Elders sit. And the Patriarch..." Lyle's voice became truly reverent, tinged with fear. "...whispers say he stands at **Martial Core Rank 10**. The Ancestor... sleeps deeper. But he walked that path too. Legends say he could shatter small mountains in his prime..." Lyle looked pointedly at Kael's thin arms and ragged tunic. "...Heights unreachable for gutter rats. Focus on not breaking your back."
**[ DING! WORLD KNOWLEDGE UPDATED: CONTINENTS & REALMS ]**
**[ ENERGY ABSORPTION: 4.1/10 ]**
Kael murmured thanks, his mind a whirlwind. Twelve major realms, each with ten ranks. He was less than nothing. But the System... it was his buried seed. *Slowly. Steadily. Invisibly.*
Their chore shifted with the climbing sun. They were herded towards the vast outer **Martial Training Courtyard**, tasked with clearing splintered wood, replacing shattered training dummies, and polishing scarred weapon racks after the morning's brutality. The air here crackled with residual violence – sweat, ozone, and the faint, ever-present tang of blood. Broken dummies lay like casualties.
They were clearing a pile of splintered oak when the Inner Hall Disciples arrived. Kael kept his head down, hauling debris, but his senses screamed. These were **Strength Forging** cultivators, some perhaps touching **Meridian Awakening**. They moved with a contained power that made the Outer Hall Disciples look like children playing soldier. Their forms were fluid, efficient, every motion carrying potential devastation.
Then came the Bloodline. Young Master Dain led them. They didn't join the drills immediately. Dain, radiating the controlled power of **Body Tempering Rank 6**, walked towards the heavy training apparatus – thick oak posts, nearly two feet in diameter, banded with crude iron at stress points, designed to withstand the peak of Body Tempering punishment.
He stopped before one. No flourish. No wasted motion. He simply settled into a stance Kael recognized as fundamental yet perfected – feet rooted, spine aligned, breath deep and controlled. The air around Dain seemed to still, heavy with focus. Then, he moved. It wasn't blinding speed yet (that belonged to higher realms), but pure, distilled kinetic efficiency. His body flowed, power coiling from his legs, through his core, into his right arm. His fist, held in a compact, devastating form, snapped forward like a piston.
***CRACK-SPLINTER!***
The sound wasn't just loud; it was a physical shockwave that vibrated in Kael's chest. The reinforced oak post *exploded* where Dain's fist impacted. Not merely cracked – *splintered*. Shards of dense oak, some as long as Kael's forearm, erupted outwards. The iron bands groaned, bending visibly inwards under the localized force before springing back, deeply dented. The section of the post above the impact point hung grotesquely, connected only by splinters and fiber.
Silence descended, thick and sudden. Even the Strength Forging disciples paused. Dain lowered his fist, his expression unchanged, his breathing steady. He examined the ruin he'd wrought with detached appraisal – the absolute pinnacle of what a purely physical human form could achieve. Shattering thick oak reinforced with iron bands. Breaking weapons with bare hands.
Frank dropped the chunk of wood he was holding. It thudded dully on the stone. His face was bloodless. "Ancestors... Rank 6 Body Tempering... He could snap me like kindling..."
Kael forced himself to pick up another splinter, his heart hammering not just from fear, but from a fierce, burning **hunger**. That power. That control. The utter dominance of flesh over matter. *This* was the peak of the beginning. He could almost *feel* the technique – the perfect alignment, the transfer of force, the precise point of impact. It was brutal, perfected physics honed by relentless cultivation. Not magic. *Mastery.*
**[ OBSERVATION: "Ironwood Shatter Fist" Technique (Partial Kinetic Sequence Recorded) ]**
**[ NOTE: Technique data insufficient for mastery via GRIND. Requires complete form or manual. ]**
**[ ENERGY ABSORPTION: 7.8/10 (Increased due to residual Qi and intense physical energy release in environment) ]**
*Recorded. Not mastered.* He didn't want the System forcing visible changes yet. But the data was gold. The sight was seared into his mind – a goal, and a terrifying reminder of the abyss beneath the power ladder.
As the sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the sky in shades of blood and bruise, Manager Blake's shadow fell over Kael. The internal alarms shrieked. He'd been careful. Too careful?
"You," Blake growled, the sound like rocks grinding. His small, piggish eyes bored into Kael. "Asking questions. Eyes darting like a thief casing the vaults." He didn't wait. The braided whip uncoiled with a viper's hiss.
*CRACK!*
White-hot agony ripped across Kael's shoulders. He staggered, biting his tongue hard enough to taste copper, swallowing the cry. Warmth bloomed under his thin shirt – blood. The casual brutality of Rank 3 Body Tempering – strength enough to break bone, held back just enough to wound and intimidate.
"Insolent maggot," Blake spat, flecks of spittle hitting Kael's cheek. "Think knowing things makes you special? Lifts you from the filth?" He leaned in, his breath reeking of cheap spirits and raw meat. "You clean the **Ironhide Boar pens**. Tonight. Alone. Call it... focused meditation. If the beasts leave enough of you to mop the floor come dawn, maybe you'll learn your place. Eyes down. Mouth shut. *Move!*"
He shoved Kael hard. Two Outer Hall Disciples, leering with anticipatory cruelty (likely Rank 1 or 2), grabbed his arms, their grips like iron vices, and dragged him away from the paralyzed Frank, towards the reeking darkness festering on the compound's edge.
**[ DING! DAILY ENERGY ABSORPTION COMPLETE! ]**
**[ ENVIRONMENT: Gravestone Family Outer Hall - Servant Quarters/Martial Courtyard ]**
**[ ENERGY DENSITY: Low/Moderate ]**
**[ ENERGY POINTS GAINED: 10 ]**
**[ TOTAL ENERGY POINTS: 10 ]**
The notification was a cold, stark counterpoint to the burning stripes on his back and the icy dread flooding his veins. Ten points. His first harvest. Gained just as he was being fed to the beasts.
The Ironhide Boar pens were the stuff of servant nightmares. The boars were low-level spirit beasts, barely sentient engines of rage and hunger. Their namesake hides were notoriously tough, equivalent to a high-rank **Body Tempering cultivator (Rank 7-8)** – capable of bending cheap iron, shrugging off blows that would pulp a normal man. Their tusks were natural low-grade artifacts, capable of gouging stone. Ill-tempered, territorial, and especially vicious at night. Servants sent here rarely returned whole, if they returned at all.
The heavy iron gate to the pen complex clanged shut behind him, the disciples' mocking laughter echoing away. The stench hit him like a wall – a choking miasma of ammonia, rotting offal, damp, matted fur, and raw, predatory musk. It was thick enough to taste. The only light filtered weakly from a single, guttering torch high on the outer wall, casting long, monstrous shadows that writhed across the filthy stone floor.
In the deepest gloom of the largest pen, something enormous shifted. A low, rumbling growl vibrated up through Kael's boots, settling in his bones. Then, two points of baleful red light ignited, reflecting the dying torch flame – eyes filled with primal, stupid malice. A shape detached itself from the shadows, easily the size of a draft horse. Coarse, black bristles covered its massive bulk. Two curved tusks, each as long as Kael's arm and wickedly sharp, gleamed like dirty ivory. It snorted, a plume of steam erupting in the chill air. **Ironhide Boar.** Defense equivalent: **Body Tempering Rank 8**. Offense: Easily Rank 7 or higher. Utterly impervious to anything Kael, a mortal, could muster.
It lowered its massive head, the red eyes fixing on him. It scraped one dinner-plate-sized hoof against the stone floor, gouging the surface. The rumbling growl deepened into a continuous, menacing drone.
Kael stood frozen, the pain on his back a sharp anchor to his vulnerability. Ten Energy Points glowed uselessly in his System interface. No technique to Deduce. Nothing to Upgrade. GRIND required something *to* grind. He had nothing but a rusty shovel leaning against the wall ten paces away, a bucket, and overwhelming darkness.
His eyes darted, assessing. The pen walls were high stone. The gate behind him, locked solid. The boar blocked the only exit from its enclosure. *'Low-key,'* screamed his core principle. *'Survive. Without revealing anything. Without being worth the effort.'* Fighting was instant death. Running was impossible. He needed to become insignificant. Uninteresting. *Inedible stone.*
He slowly, *agonizingly* slowly, bent his knees, lowering his center of gravity without making a sudden move. He didn't look at the shovel. He locked his gaze onto the boar's red eyes, trying to project… nothing. Not threat. Not prey. Just *emptiness*.
The boar snorted again, louder, a guttural challenge. Its muscles bunched beneath the thick hide. Kael's mind raced, fragments of past-life knowledge colliding with desperate survival instinct. *Distraction? None. Environment? Filth and stone. Misdirection? Impossible.* He had nothing… except ten points of potential he couldn't access and the System's passive recorder.
The boar's head dipped lower, shoulders hunching powerfully. The scraping hoof stopped. The rumbling growl cut off abruptly.
The silence was deafening. Thicker than the stench. Heavy with imminent violence.
It was coiled. Ready.
Kael Draven, reincarnated office drone and dedicated coward, stood alone against a thousand pounds of armored fury in a reeking pit. His weapons: desperation, ten intangible points, and a System that couldn't throw a punch.
*'Okay,'* he thought, cold sweat beading on his brow despite the chill, mingling with the blood soaking his threadbare shirt. *'New plan. Survive the next ten seconds.'* He braced his trembling legs, every fiber screaming, his gaze locked on the boar's murderous eyes as the terrible silence stretched. The only sound was the frantic drumbeat of his own heart, counting down to the moment the beast erupted into a tusked avalanche of destruction.