The Cultivation Summit convened every three years.
This so-called summit was merely a gathering where disciples from great houses assembled, allowing the sects of the mystic realms to select promising talents.
Though the world revered martial prowess, immortals and mortals were worlds apart. In the secular realm, Innate cultivators were the pinnacle.
But Innate was merely the threshold for cultivation. To the immortals, secular powerhouses were ants.
Thus, warriors dreamed not of Innate, but of immortality—eternal life alongside heaven and earth.
Cultivation wasn't some arcane secret. From elders to children of three, all knew of the mystic realms.
Yet knowledge did little. Without reaching Innate, one couldn't enter a sect's gates—unless a rare prodigy caught an immortal's eye early.
Otherwise, join the triennial summit.
The summit wasn't the only path. Sects opened their doors yearly to the secular world, but applicants had to find them and pass trials—starting as lowly probationary disciples.
Summit recruits, however, became formal members, even apprenticing directly.
That's why the event drew hordes from families and factions. Commoners? Without connections, they didn't even know the location.
Rowan knew this well. Crippling Ian and challenging Ethan were calculated moves toward the sects.
As a waste, he'd known of the summit but lacked standing to attend.
To participate, he needed qualification. Defeating the Miles family's top genius? That would force their hand.
He doubted they'd bar him after such a victory.
If they did, he'd leave the Miles forever. He felt no loyalty to them.
With the Star Codex, heaven's premier artifact, and the Chaotic Heavenly Body Record, he could cultivate alone.
But the path was arduous—known only to him. The Codex and Record were too advanced; even the Codex Spirit struggled to guide him fully.
He needed a sect to enter the mystic realms, ascend to immortality.
Inside the Star Codex's world.
Rowan cycled through the Chaotic Heavenly Body Record, Tiger Roar Sovereign Fist, and Flying Cloud Four Steps, stopping satisfied.
The Chaotic Heavenly Body Record, one of heaven's mightiest techniques, was no joke. Though he'd barely scratched the first layer's initial stage, his power had surged to Acquired sixth level!
One punch: eighty dragons' force!
Such was the boon of the Chaotic Heavenly Body and its method.
A typical Acquired ninth-level master wielded ninety. At sixth level, Rowan nearly matched them.
Yet Acquired meant nothing to immortals—less than ants. To shine at the summit in months and join a strong sect, he needed Innate.
Since thrashing Harold, Rowan ruled the Stables Yard like a king. He did no work; the servants toiled without complaint.
Anson and Harold, half-dead, languished in a room, healing slowly.
The Miles ignored servant feuds unless they threatened the family.
These days, Rowan lived leisurely.
He left the Miles compound, wandering Brightvale's bustling streets. Winter was fading, spring on the horizon.
A rare clear day, streets swept clean of snow.
As the Dawn Empire's capital and one of the ten great cities, Brightvale thrived. Despite the lingering chill, the avenues teemed with life.
Suddenly, Rowan halted, staring at a manor. Sorrow clouded his eyes. He exhaled, sighing, "Why did I end up here again?"
Quinn Manor, a respectable house, but no match for the Miles behemoth. The Quinns had risen quickly, their might modest, a mid-tier family.
Quinn Manor wasn't purely martial but commercial, controlling vast trade. By Rowan's old status, he'd have no ties to them.
Yet a decade ago, when the Quinns were ordinary folk, Rowan—still a child—had met one of their daughters by chance.
Zara Quinn, a young miss of Quinn Manor. Their bond was close, childhood sweethearts.
At first, the Quinns allowed it. Rowan, though unremarkable, was a Miles branch scion.
But as the Quinns' business boomed, they scorned him. Finally, when Rowan was ten and Zara nine…
That day, Jordan Quinn beat Rowan senseless.
Jordan, Zara's father, a social climber, thrashed him until he couldn't walk for half a year. He warned Rowan to stay away from Zara—or face worse.
Jordan called Rowan a toad lusting after a swan.
Afterward, Quinn servants beat Rowan countless times. He lost count. Gradually, he avoided Zara.
Not from fear of beatings, but to spare her Jordan's wrath—every thrashing meant punishment for her.
Jordan was right: Rowan, handsome enough but a cultivation waste, was no match for Zara the swan.
Zara was a prodigy, her talent surpassing even Liam Miles. At fifteen, she'd hit Acquired eighth level.
Such speed was rare in Brightvale, perhaps the Dawn Empire! At the summit, sects would vie for her, taking her as a disciple to become an immortal.
Such geniuses were scarce even in the mystic realms. Though not Innate, she'd be hotly contested.
Rowan stood before Quinn Manor, face stormy. The two gate guards sneered at the waste.
"Ha, isn't this the Miles family's waste Rowan? A cripple dreaming of our seventh miss? Delusional."
"Our seventh miss is noble, untouchable—how could a waste like you touch her? Though, even in the capital, countless youths pine for her."
The guards mocked Rowan loudly, their eyes turning admiring at "seventh miss."
Zara Quinn, of course.
As they said, Zara wasn't just beautiful—she was a once-in-a-generation genius. How many Brightvale scions adored her? How many nobles battered Quinn gates with marriage proposals?
Jordan, though opportunistic, knew his daughter's path: cultivation!
If Zara joined a sect and became an immortal, what were princes or nobles? Secular wealth meant nothing to immortals.
"Waste! Get lost, or I won't be polite," the guards, bored by Rowan's stoic gaze, shooed him away.
A chill flashed in Rowan's eyes. Every pass here brought their taunts—he was used to it.
He itched to teach these snobs a lesson. But thinking of Zara, he sighed and turned away, back lonely.
As Rowan left, a carriage halted at the manor gates some distance behind. The curtain parted slightly, revealing a stunning yet youthful face.
"Rowan, I'll join a cultivation sect, get an immortal pill to fix your body, and let you cultivate too," the beautiful girl in the carriage murmured, gazing at his retreating figure with heartache, reluctance, and resolve.
If Rowan saw her, he'd know: Zara Quinn.