The morning after my Arena match, I woke to a persistent ache that had burrowed into my bones. The healing potion had done its work—my meridians had repaired significantly, the damage percentage dropping to a manageable 9%—but the memory of Kaelen's Earth Spikes, the tremors from his forbidden technique, and the desperate final moments where I had turned his arrogance against him lingered like a shadow across my body. Each blink brought a replay of the fight, every muscle remembering the stress it had endured.
Health: 100%
Meridian Damage: 9%
Qi Reserves: 85% and replenishing
The numbers glowed in my vision, a sterile reassurance. Survival was not triumph, not glory—it was merely the absence of death. Yet, despite my victory, I felt hollow. The 175 Spirit Stones from the match gave temporary relief but did nothing to address the fundamental truth: I was weak, fragile, a shadow among the titans of cultivation.
Lyra's message waited for me the moment I logged into the system. The Misty Peaks tavern. A guild invitation. Curiosity warred with caution. What could a group of established cultivators want with someone like me? But the allure of guidance, belonging, and purpose tugged at something deep inside—a loneliness I had carried for decades.
The transport token cost five Spirit Stones—a small fortune—but I swallowed the price. The transition was disorienting, a sudden lurch that left my stomach behind. One moment, I stood in the muted calm of the beginner area; the next, I hovered on a platform suspended among clouds. The air was thin, tinged with energy that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. Misty Peaks stretched before me: sheer cliffs that seemed to defy gravity, wooden balconies jutting over empty space, and a tavern carved into the side of a floating mountain.
Cultivators milled about, conversing in murmurs of power and intrigue. Robes of every color waved like banners of authority, and auras clashed, coiling, sparking, and pressing against my senses. Some cultivators radiated strength so potent it felt physical, an invisible weight that reminded me of my own frailty. Others moved subtly, like shadows storing danger in reserve. I felt a mouse wandering among lions.
Lyra found me before I could lose my nerve. She leaned against the entrance archway, her posture fluid, predator-like. "You came," she said, voice cutting through the low hum.
"I wasn't sure I should," I admitted, gesturing at the assembly of seasoned cultivators. "My fight wasn't exactly impressive."
"Survival is always impressive," she countered, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Come on. The others are inside."
The tavern interior was a surprise. Expecting grandeur to match the floating architecture, I instead found warmth: wooden tables, cozy chairs, and soft light emanating from embedded crystals. Spices and faint ozone clung to the air. A dozen cultivators occupied tables, their chatter ceasing as we entered. Eyes weighed me, measured me, dissected me silently.
Lyra led me to a secluded booth at the back, partitioned by a curtain of chimes. Three people awaited. Their energy hit me before I could see them clearly: contained, focused, and dangerous.
The first was Gorv, a mountain of a man. Earth energy radiated from him, pressing against my chest. His arms were thick as tree trunks; his gaze carried patient, enduring intelligence.
The second, Elara, seemed like shadow made flesh. Her presence absorbed light, pulling focus inward. It was difficult to look directly at her.
The third, Jax, a boy no older than sixteen, manipulated glass tubes filled with glowing liquids. He didn't lift his eyes, absorbed in precise, rapid motions.
"This is Sovas," Lyra introduced. "The F-grade root I mentioned."
Gorv grunted. "The one who beat Kaelen by making him cheat? Not impressive."
Elara's voice cut softly through the booth. "Surviving against a Qi Refining 3 earth specialist with pre-existing meridian damage? That is impressive."
Jax finally looked up, eyes bright blue, focusing on me with analytical intensity. "His elemental combination is… unusual. Water at 32%, fire at 6%. Conflict should have caused meridian rupture. The fact he's functional suggests extraordinary resilience or a previously undocumented interaction between the Obsolete root and the Full Element Body. Likely both."
I swallowed, feeling like a specimen. "You've been watching me?"
Lyra nodded. "Due diligence. We can't afford dead weight."
I sat, hands trembling slightly. The guild was small, but precise. Focused. Dangerous in ways I could not yet comprehend.
Gorv leaned forward, the table groaning. "We specialize. We don't confront the major sects head-on. We operate in gaps, in shadows. We handle the tasks others avoid."
"And you want me for what?" I asked, tension tightening my chest. "I'm Qi Refining 1. My techniques are basic. I'm nobody."
"Exactly," Gorv said, slow and deliberate. "Nobody is perfect for tasks that require… subtlety. You'll be underestimated. That's your advantage."
Lyra smiled faintly. "Your elemental combination may be unstable, but it has possibilities conventional cultivators don't understand."
The offer was clear: membership, resources, protection, and mentorship. In exchange: weekly missions, intelligence sharing, loyalty, and risk. Danger. Responsibility. Life and death decisions.
Jax slid a glowing data crystal across the table. "Your first mission."
I examined it. Holographic maps of the Western Canyons appeared. Mining camps, patrol routes, illegal depth charges. The Stoneheart Brotherhood—minor earth sect. Greedy, reckless, unaware of the regional Qi disruption they caused. My task: gather visual proof, escape undetected.
Gorv's bluntness cut through the fantasy. "You're weak. They won't see you as a threat. Perfect for reconnaissance."
Lyra's gaze held steady. "If caught, disavow. Survival first."
Elara added softly, "500 Spirit Stones for success. Enough to breathe for months."
The temptation was immediate. Security. Resources. A guild. Direction.
I picked up the crystal. Maps, timings, patrol rotations, terrain data. Every detail meticulously annotated.
Over the next three days, I trained. Mist Step combined with Shadow Blend, practicing silent bursts of movement. I pushed my Qi, tested timing, practiced terrain traversal. Every small gain in real-world stamina reflected in VR performance. Meridian strain and fatigue were constants; each step had to be calculated.
I memorized patrol patterns, experimented with elemental interactions: steam to obscure sensors, subtle water currents to destabilize footings, micro fire bursts for distraction. My body ached, my mind raced. Each repetition honed precision; every misstep taught restraint.
On the fourth day, I woke ready. Meridian damage down to 7%, Qi full, mind sharpened. Maps memorized, movement refined, contingency plans in place.
I glanced at my stats, running simulations mentally. Even an obsolete root could perform… if it survived, adapted, and exploited every oversight.
This was my path now—not raw power, not dominance, but cunning, patience, and resilience. Survival first. Observation always. Adaptation above all.
I took a deep breath and whispered to myself: "Let's see how far a nobody can go."