The dagger changed everything.
With a proper weapon in hand, Eric moved through the forest like a different person. Lower F-rank beasts that had once challenged him now fell within minutes. Upper F-ranks required more caution, more strategy, but even they were no longer life-threatening encounters.
His sixth week of training brought three Stone Wolves, two Shadow Cats, and a Thorn Boar—all upper F-rank. Eric collected their cores methodically, learning to properly extract them without damaging the surrounding tissues. He harvested pelts, claws, teeth, anything of value. The dragon taught him which organs alchemists prized, which bones could be ground into powder for cultivation aids.
"Efficiency," the dragon had said, "is as important as strength. A wise cultivator wastes nothing."
On the morning of his seventh week, Eric sat in his usual clearing and slipped into meditation. The transition was instantaneous now—one breath he was aware of the physical world, the next he was immersed in the flow of qi.
He circulated energy through his meridians, feeling the familiar pathways that had become second nature. The pool of qi in his lower dantian had grown significantly, no longer a puddle but a small reservoir. He guided the energy through the prescribed channels, each rotation refining it, purifying it, making it denser.
Then something shifted.
The qi in his dantian began to move on its own, spiraling faster and faster. Pressure built in his core, like water behind a dam. Eric's eyes snapped open, but he forced himself to remain calm, to trust the process.
**"Do not resist,"** the dragon commanded. **"This is breakthrough. Let it happen."**
The pressure peaked, then shattered. Energy exploded through Eric's body, flooding his meridians with power. His muscles spasmed. His skin burned and froze simultaneously. Every cell in his body screamed as it was torn apart and rebuilt in the span of heartbeats.
When it finally ended, Eric collapsed onto his back, gasping. Sweat soaked his clothes. His hands trembled.
But he felt incredible.
**"Seventh Stage Body Refinement,"** the dragon announced with satisfaction. **"You have surpassed that fool Rorick's level. And unlike him, your foundation is solid. Every stage you've built has been reinforced properly. He rushed through his cultivation on the strength of resources and natural talent. You have earned every step through blood and discipline."**
Eric sat up slowly, marveling at the sensation. The world seemed sharper, clearer. He could feel the life force of creatures moving through the forest, sense the flow of ambient qi in ways he never had before. His body felt lighter, stronger, more responsive.
He clenched his fist and watched small wisps of azure energy dance across his knuckles.
"How long will it take to reach Eighth Stage?" Eric asked.
**"At your current pace? Perhaps another month. But do not rush. A cracked foundation will crumble under pressure. Better to progress slowly and build something that will last."**
---
Eric's new approach to harvesting paid off immediately. Instead of selling beasts one at a time, he collected cores throughout the week, properly preserved pelts and valuable organs, then brought everything to Master Feng at once.
"Impressive work, Chen," the apothecary said, examining the week's haul. Twelve cores gleaming on his counter, neatly bundled pelts, carefully extracted poison glands from the Thorn Boar. "Your butchering has improved dramatically. These parts are actually usable now."
"Thank you, Master Feng. I've been studying anatomy."
"It shows. For everything here..." Master Feng calculated quickly, his abacus clicking. "Five gold crescents, three silver."
Eric's eyes widened. Five gold crescents. That was more than his mother earned in three months of sewing.
He left the apothecary's shop with the coins heavy in his pouch and a lightness in his step. His family would eat well for weeks. Maybe he could even buy some basic cultivation pills, accelerate his progress further.
The market was crowded with the afternoon bustle of Greenbrook Village. Merchants hawked vegetables, craftsmen displayed their wares, and children wove between adults' legs in endless games of tag. Eric navigated through the crowd, already planning how to divide the money.
"Well, well. If it isn't the village rat."
Eric's good mood evaporated. He turned to find Rorick Vaughn blocking his path, flanked as always by Marcus and Derrick. But this time, something was different. Rorick's usual smirk held an edge of desperation, his eyes slightly bloodshot.
"Still skulking around, Chen? Hiding in the forest like the coward you are?"
Eric sighed. "I'm not interested in this, Rorick. Just let me pass."
"Let you pass?" Rorick laughed, but it sounded forced. "You embarrassed me in front of Aria Blackwood. Made me look weak. And I've heard rumors—people saying you've been killing spirit beasts. You. The weakest disciple in Greenbrook."
"Things change," Eric said quietly.
"Not that much." Rorick stepped closer, his qi flaring. "No one's here to protect you now, Chen. No village leader's daughter to hide behind. I'm going to teach you a lesson you should have learned years ago—know your place."
The crowd around them had begun to notice, people backing away, creating a circle. Eric could feel their eyes on him, hear their whispers. The same old story about to repeat itself—Rorick Vaughn beating down the village weakling.
Except Eric wasn't weak anymore.
He thought of the Shadow Cat's claws, the Stone Wolves' fangs. Thought of his breakthrough this morning, the power now flowing through his veins. Thought of every humiliation, every beating, every time he'd walked away because fighting back seemed impossible.
"No," Eric said, his voice carrying across the suddenly quiet marketplace. "I'm tired of running from you, Rorick. If you want to settle this, let's do it properly."
Rorick blinked, surprised. "What?"
"I challenge you to a duel. In the dojo, with Master Tobias as witness. Right now."
The marketplace went completely silent. Marcus and Derrick exchanged shocked glances. Even Rorick seemed taken aback, his mouth opening and closing without sound.
Then he laughed—genuinely this time, throwing his head back. "You? Challenge me? Have you lost your mind, Chen? I'm Seventh Stage Body Refinement. You're still—what, Fourth Stage? Fifth if we're being generous?"
"Are you accepting or not?" Eric kept his voice level, calm.
Rorick's laughter died. His expression hardened. "Fine. I accept. Let's go show everyone exactly where you stand."
---
The walk to the dojo felt surreal. Word spread faster than wildfire—Eric Chen challenging Rorick Vaughn to a formal duel. By the time they arrived, students were already gathering, whispering excitedly. Some looked at Eric with pity. Others with confusion. A few with something that might have been hope.
Master Tobias emerged from his meditation chamber, his expression severe. "I heard there's to be a duel. Is this true?"
"Yes, Master," Rorick said confidently. "Eric Chen challenged me."
The old master turned to Eric, his eyes searching. "Is this what you want, boy? You know the rules of a formal duel—it continues until one party yields or cannot continue. Given the gap in your cultivation..."
"I understand, Master Tobias," Eric said, bowing respectfully. "I still wish to proceed."
Master Tobias studied him for a long moment, and Eric wondered what the old man saw. Did he notice the changes? The steadier stance, the calmer breathing, the quiet confidence that hadn't been there two months ago?
"Very well," Master Tobias finally said. "Take your positions."
The students formed a circle around the sparring area, their excited chatter building. Eric heard the bets being placed, the odds—twenty to one against him, thirty to one, someone called forty to one and found takers.
Eric removed his outer robe, standing in just his training clothes. His dagger remained belted at his side—this would be a hand-to-hand duel, as tradition demanded for Body Refinement cultivators.
Rorick rolled his shoulders, grinning. "Last chance to back out, Chen. I'd hate to cripple you permanently."
Eric said nothing, simply settling into a ready stance. The dragon's presence hummed in his mind, calm and patient.
**"Remember your training. He is strong but sloppy. His technique is undisciplined. Use precision over power."**
"Begin!" Master Tobias's voice cracked like a whip.
Rorick charged immediately, qi surging around his fist. It was a straightforward attack, all power and no finesse—exactly what Eric had expected.
Eric sidestepped smoothly, his movement economical and controlled. Rorick's punch whistled past his ear, and Eric countered with a quick jab to Rorick's exposed ribs. Not hard enough to do real damage, but enough to score a point.
Rorick stumbled, more from surprise than pain. The crowd's murmur grew louder.
"Lucky hit," Rorick snarled, attacking again. This time he threw a combination—right jab, left hook, knee strike. Aggressive, powerful, but telegraphed.
Eric deflected the jab, ducked under the hook, and caught the knee on his forearm. The impact jarred his bones, but nothing he couldn't handle. He retaliated with a palm strike to Rorick's chest, reinforced with qi.
Rorick flew backward three paces before catching himself. His eyes widened.
The crowd had gone silent.
"What—how are you—" Rorick's confusion was evident. This wasn't how the fight was supposed to go. Eric Chen didn't dodge. He didn't counter. He certainly didn't hit back hard enough to make Rorick stumble.
But everything had changed.
Eric moved forward, pressing his advantage. He threw a controlled series of strikes—not wild or desperate, but measured and precise. Each movement flowed into the next, a combination of what Master Tobias had taught him and what the dragon had refined through hours of meditation and real combat.
Rorick blocked most of them, but not all. A punch slipped through his guard and caught his jaw. A low kick swept his ankle, nearly dropping him. Another palm strike crashed into his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs.
The watching students weren't laughing anymore. Some were staring with open mouths. Others looked frightened, as if the natural order of their world had just inverted.
Marcus Thorne leaned toward Derrick Swift. "How is Chen doing this? He couldn't even defend himself two months ago!"
But they didn't understand. Couldn't understand. They'd never faced a Stone Wolf's fangs, never felt the desperation of fighting for survival against a Shadow Cat. They'd never been torn apart and rebuilt by a dragon's power, never spent weeks pushing their limits against creatures that wanted them dead.
Eric saw the opening before Rorick realized it existed. Rorick threw a wild haymaker, his frustration overriding his training. Eric stepped inside the swing, caught Rorick's extended arm, and drove his elbow into Rorick's shoulder joint.
Rorick screamed.
"Yield," Eric said calmly.
"Never!" Rorick tried to wrench free, but Eric's grip was iron. Weeks of wielding a dagger, of struggling against beasts twice his size, had given him a strength that belied his frame.
Rorick charged forward despite his compromised arm, leading with his shoulder. Eric read the desperation in the move—all aggression, no control. He'd seen it before, in wounded beasts making their final stands.
Eric shifted his weight, used Rorick's momentum against him, and swept his legs. Rorick crashed to the floor face-first. Before he could recover, Eric had his knee on Rorick's back and his healthy arm twisted at an angle that promised a break with the slightest additional pressure.
"Yield," Eric repeated.
Rorick thrashed, but each movement only increased the pressure on his arm. Sweat poured down his face. Around them, the students watched in absolute silence, barely breathing.
"Eric Chen," Master Tobias's voice cut through the tension. "That's enough. Do you yield, Rorick Vaughn?"
"I—" Rorick's voice cracked. Tears of pain and humiliation streamed down his face. "I yield! I yield!"
Eric released him immediately and stood, stepping back. Rorick clutched his shoulder, curling into himself on the dojo floor.
"The winner is Eric Chen," Master Tobias announced.
The silence stretched for three more heartbeats. Then someone started clapping—slowly at first, then joined by others. Not everyone, and not enthusiastically, but enough to break the spell of shock.
Eric bowed to Master Tobias, then to Rorick's crumpled form, maintaining proper etiquette despite everything.
Master Tobias approached him, his expression unreadable. "You've made remarkable progress, Eric. I barely recognize the boy I spoke with two months ago."
"I've been training tirelessly, Master," Eric said truthfully. "Every day, without fail."
"It shows." The old master clasped Eric's shoulder. "More than that—your foundation is solid. Your movements disciplined. Whatever you've been doing, keep it up." He paused, considering. "The next batch of students going to the Eastern Jade Sect in the capital leaves in three months. If you continue progressing at this rate... you might be worthy of joining them."
Eric's breath caught. The Eastern Jade Sect—one of the major cultivation sects in the kingdom. Every year, they sent recruiters to promising villages, selecting the best students for advanced training. It was a path to real power, real resources, real opportunities.
It had always been impossible for someone like him.
"Thank you, Master Tobias," Eric managed. "I won't disappoint you."
As Eric left the dojo, he was acutely aware of the stares following him. Some hostile, some confused, some calculating. He'd shattered their expectations, proven that the weakest disciple could become something more.
He'd also painted a target on his back.
**"You handled that with wisdom and discipline,"** the dragon said as Eric walked through the village streets. **"You could have humiliated him further, could have broken his arm when you had the chance. But you showed restraint. That is the mark of a true cultivator."**
"He was beaten," Eric said quietly. "There was no honor in causing more pain."
**"Good. But understand this, young heir—as you grow stronger, you will attract more enemies. Jealousy, resentment, fear—these are the shadows that follow power. Rorick Vaughn is nothing. A petty bully in a small village. But greater challenges await you. The Eastern Jade Sect, if you reach it, will be filled with geniuses who have trained since birth. They will not be as easy to defeat."**
"Then I'll keep training," Eric said. "Keep getting stronger."
**"Yes. You have done wonders already, but this is merely the beginning. Your current strength—Seventh Stage Body Refinement—is nothing in the grand scheme of cultivation. There are cultivators who could kill you with a thought, who bend reality to their will, who have lived for centuries. You must surpass your current limits, break through to Qi Condensation, and keep climbing. The path of the Dragon Heir is long and treacherous."**
"I understand."
**"Do you? Truly?"** The dragon's voice grew serious. **"Power attracts attention. Attention brings conflict. Conflict demands strength. It is a cycle that will follow you for the rest of your life. The moment you stop progressing, the moment you become complacent, is the moment you will be crushed by those who continued climbing while you rested."**
Eric stopped walking, standing in the empty street outside his home. Through the window, he could see his mother and sister preparing dinner, their faces lit by candlelight, unaware of what had just transpired.
"I won't stop," he said softly but firmly. "I can't. Too many people depend on me now. My family needs me to succeed. And I..." He clenched his fist, feeling the qi respond to his will. "I refuse to go back to being weak. Ever again."
**"Good,"** the dragon said, and Eric could hear approval in that ancient voice. **"Then rest tonight, young heir. Tomorrow, we push even harder. The path to greatness is paved with discipline, sacrifice, and unending effort. Are you prepared for what that means?"**
Eric looked at his reflection in the darkened window—a thirteen-year-old boy with scars on his hands, determination in his eyes, and power flowing through his veins that would have seemed impossible two months ago.
"Yes," he said. "I'm ready."
He pushed open the door to his home, where his mother's smile waited and his sister's excited questions about his day would fill the evening. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, harder training, stronger enemies.
But tonight, Eric Chen—former weakest disciple, now victor of a formal duel—allowed himself a moment of peace.
The dragon's heir had only just begun his ascent.