The summons from the Council of Nine arrived not as a message, but as a shift in the fundamental fabric of my virtual existence. It was a silent, pervasive pressure, a gravitational pull that made the very light in the Misty Peaks tavern seem to bend towards me. It was an unignorable force, an edict from the gods of this world, and it shifted the axis of my life in an instant. The Spirit City was the legendary capital of the VR cultivation world, a place I had only seen in awe-inspiring promotional videos—a breathtaking metropolis of floating pagodas, crystalline spires that pierced digital clouds, and gardens where spiritual plants glowed with inner light. The Qi there was said to be so dense it condensed into a gentle, nourishing rain. It was not a place for someone like me, a boy from the grimy sectors with an Obsolete Root.
The Unbroken gathered around me in the tavern's private back room before my departure. The usual banter was gone, replaced by a somber, heavy silence. It felt less like a strategy session and more like preparing a soldier for a diplomatic mission into a dragon's den.
Lyra stood before me, her face etched with a concern I had never seen there before. "Sovas, listen carefully. This is, without question, the most dangerous situation you have ever faced. More dangerous than the Sunfire archives, more dangerous than the Arena. The Council is not a single, unified entity. It's a snake pit of conflicting agendas, ancient rivalries, and cold, calculating politics. You are a completely unknown variable thrown into their carefully balanced equation."
She began to pace, her movements sharp with tension. "Some of them may see you as a mere curiosity, a fleeting oddity. Others will see you as a direct threat to the hierarchical foundations of their power. Some may want to dissect you, to study your unique constitution for their own advancement. Others... may simply see elimination as the cleanest solution. You must be prepared for anything."
Gorv stepped forward, his massive frame blocking the light from the door. He didn't speak at first, just looked at me with his deep, earth-sensing eyes. Then he pressed a small, cold, non-descript metal token into my palm. It was featureless, heavier than it looked. "This is a panic button," he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly. "It's a one-time use artifact Jix cooked up. If things go south in there, if you feel genuine, imminent danger... crush it. It will send a powerful, untraceable distress signal to us and, more importantly, it will create a localized spatial distortion for about three seconds. It won't hurt anyone, but it will disrupt all energy fields, including teleportation blocks. It might give you a single, fleeting chance to run. Just a second. Don't waste it."
Jax was next, fussing with the collar of my formal guild robes, which felt absurdly inadequate for an audience with the Council. "I've woven subtle dampening fibers into the fabric," he muttered, his fingers twitching as he adjusted invisible settings. "They won't make you invisible to their perception, but they will mask the unique 'signature' of your energy confluence, making it harder for them to probe you too deeply. It's a blur, not a cloak. And Sovas, this is critical: do not, under any circumstances, attempt any active cultivation in their presence. No Qi circulation, no technique preparation, nothing. Their spiritual perception is so refined they would sense the intent before the energy even moved. It would be like lighting a match in a room full of gunpowder."
Lastly, Elara approached. She moved so silently she seemed to appear beside me. She placed a cold, slender hand on my shoulder. The touch was jarring, but there was a strange reassurance in it. "Remember the lightning," she whispered, her voice seeming to come from the shadows in the corner of the room rather than from her lips. "It is not your weapon. It is your truth. Do not try to hide it from them. That would be futile and show weakness. But do not brandish it either. That would be seen as a challenge. Let them feel its potential humming beneath the surface. Let them sense the storm, but do not give them the lightning. Potential intimidates. Threat provokes."
The plan was for me to go alone. My presence was the summons; the guild's would be seen as an act of aggression or insecurity. A few hours later, the Council's transport arrived—a sleek, obsidian shuttle that hovered silently outside the tavern's landing platform, devoid of any markings or visible crew. The journey was a disorienting blur of swirling light and silent, rapid motion through virtual space. When the doors finally hissed open, I stepped out into the fabled Spirit City.
The reality of the place was so overwhelming it was physically painful. The air itself was alive, thick with Qi so pure and potent that each breath felt like drinking a powerful spiritual elixir. My damaged meridians, which usually ached with a low-grade pain, sang with a strange, strained euphoria. Cultivators moved through the wide, pearl-white streets with an innate, effortless grace. Their auras radiated power that made my Qi Refining 2 core feel like a flickering candle in a hall of a thousand suns. I was a beggar in a city of kings, a cockroach in a palace. The sheer scale of the power disparity was humbling to the point of terror.
I was met by a guide—an androgynous figure clad in immaculate white robes, their face serene and expressionless. They spoke not a single word, only gesturing with a graceful hand for me to follow. We ascended through the city on platforms of solidified light, moving ever upward towards the central spire, the Citadel of Harmony, which pierced the heavens. It was the seat of the Council of Nine.
The audience chamber was vast beyond comprehension. A circular room with a dome that seemed to depict the entire starry universe in motion. Nine thrones, each a masterpiece of artistry and power, were arranged in a perfect circle. Each was carved from a different primordial element: one of shimmering jade for water, another of flame-fused quartz for fire, one of living, breathing wood, another of storm-iron that crackled with barely contained energy. Eight of these thrones were occupied.
The figures seated there were not just cultivators; they were forces of nature given human form. Their power was so immense it pressed down on my spirit like a physical weight, making it difficult to draw breath, difficult to even think. I recognized them from the texts: the Masters of the great sects—Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Lightning, Ice, Metal, and Wood. The ninth throne, the central one, made of a material that seemed to shift and flow, containing all elements in perfect harmony—the throne of the Grand Synthesis Sect—was empty. Its emptiness was more powerful, more ominous, than the presence of the other eight.
The Master of the Stormriders was the first to speak. He was a man whose very form seemed to be made of condensed storm clouds, his eyes crackling with miniature lightning. His voice was a low, rolling thunder that vibrated in my bones. "Sovas Rovaner." The name echoed in the vast space. "The Obsolete Root. The Five-Element Body. You have caused quite a considerable stir in our peaceful world." There was no warmth in his tone, only a cold, analytical curiosity.
The Master of the Sunfire Sect, a woman whose skin glowed with the heat of a miniature sun, leaned forward. Her gaze was a physical pressure, a heat haze that made the air around me waver. "You defeated my disciple with underhanded tricks. And now, you tamper with the primordial force of lightning, a domain you have no right to touch. You play with forces you cannot possibly comprehend." Her words were laced with a venomous contempt.
I stood alone in the center of the circle, a specimen pinned under the gaze of deities. I remembered Lyra's advice: Let them talk. Reveal nothing. I kept my mouth shut, my hands clenched at my sides, the panic button a cold comfort in my palm.
The Master of the Stone Keepers, a man who seemed less like a person and more like a mountain that had decided to take a seat, spoke next. His voice was slow, grinding, like continents moving. "The boy showed a glimmer of control against my disciple, Boreas. He used the minimal necessary force to achieve a tactical objective. That is a principle of true power, not brute strength. There is... potential there." His words were a surprising, measured defense.
This sparked a debate among them, and for several minutes, they discussed me as if I were an inanimate object, a strange artifact discovered on a dig.
"He is an aberration," the Stormrider Master insisted. "A dangerous deviation from the natural order. His very existence challenges the foundations of our understanding. He is a risk that must be contained."
"He is a potential resource of incalculable value," countered the Master of the Metal Tyrants, a sharp-faced man whose throne was forged of living steel. "A living key to understanding elemental synergy. His body should be studied, his techniques codified, for the benefit of all cultivation."
"That is a monstrous suggestion!" This came from the Master of the Verdant Lotus sect, a gentle-looking woman with leaves woven into her hair. "He is a person, not a specimen! He has walked a path no other has, through sheer will. That deserves respect, not dissection!"
The argument swirled around me. I was a pawn in a game I didn't understand, my fate being decided by beings who saw the world in scales of power and utility I couldn't fathom.
Then, the Master of the Skyward Ascendants spoke. She was a woman with hair like flowing clouds and eyes that held the depth of the sky. Her voice was calm, cutting through the argument without effort. She looked directly at me, and her gaze was different. It wasn't the analytical stare of a scientist or the contemptuous glare of a rival. It was one of genuine, profound curiosity. "Sovas Rovaner," she said, and the chamber fell silent. "The debates about what you are are endless. But I am more interested in why. Why do you cultivate?"
The question hung in the air, simple and devastating. All the immense pressure, the political maneuvering, faded away for a moment. This was the core of it. I thought of my cold apartment in Sector 7, the perpetual rain tapping against the window. I thought of the aching weakness of my body, the despair of the orphanage, the relentless loneliness. I thought of the first push-up, the first breath of Qi, the Unbroken who had given me a chance. I didn't think of power or immortality.
I looked at the Skyward Ascendant Master, and I answered with absolute honesty. "I cultivate," I said, my voice steady, carrying clearly in the silent chamber, "to become more than I was born as. Not for power over others. For possibility. For the chance to take up space in the universe without apologizing for it."
The Stormrider Master scoffed. "A poetic and utterly meaningless answer for a gathering of this seriousness. What is your tangible goal? To reach the Immortal Realm? To found a great sect? To one day sit on a council such as this?"
I met his crackling gaze, the fear replaced by a sudden, clear calm. "My goal is to see if I can take the next breath without the constant fear that it might be my last. And then the one after that. Every goal beyond that—realms, sects, thrones—is a luxury I haven't earned yet. I'm still learning how to stand up."
My raw honesty seemed to disarm them. For a long moment, there was only silence. I glanced at the empty central throne, and for a fleeting second, I thought I saw a shimmer, a suggestion of a presence, but it was gone before I could be sure.
The Master of the Skyward Ascendants smiled, a faint, genuine curve of her lips. "A humble goal. Perhaps the most profound one I have heard in a century." She turned to the other Masters. "This boy is not a threat to our power. He is a question posed to our understanding. And questions deserve to be answered through observation, not eradicated out of fear."
The Sunfire Master glared, the heat in the room rising slightly. "And if the answer he eventually finds destabilizes everything we have built? The entire system of roots, affinities, and realms?"
The Master of the Stone Keepers answered before the Skyward Ascendant could. "Then it was a system built on sand, not stone. A true foundation should be able to withstand a question."
After what felt like an eternity of silent communication between the eight powerful beings, a consensus was reached. The Skyward Ascendant Master addressed me once more. "Sovas Rovaner. The Council of Nine has decided. We will not interfere with your cultivation. You are free to continue walking your unique path, for now. However, be aware that you are now a person of significant interest. Your actions, your progress, will be observed. Any attempt to use your unique methods for large-scale destruction or to deliberately destabilize the sect structure will be met with swift and absolute response. Do you understand the terms of this... tolerance?"
I bowed my head, the motion feeling strangely formal. "I understand."
"You are dismissed."
The silent guide reappeared and led me out. The walk back through the majestic, terrifying city felt surreal. The relief was immense, a physical unclenching of muscles I hadn't realized were so tense. I had survived. I had been granted a precarious freedom. But the dread was still there, cold and deep. I was free, but I was also on a very long, very invisible leash, held by the most powerful beings in existence.
When I returned to the Misty Peaks tavern, the Unbroken were waiting, their anxiety palpable.
"Well?" Lyra asked, her voice tight.
I told them everything—the pressure, the debate, the empty throne, the final verdict. When I finished, Gorv let out a low, slow whistle. "Kid... you got off lighter than any of us dared hope. They're not scared of you. Not yet. They're scared of the idea of you. Of what you represent. A crack in their perfect world."
Jax was already pacing, his mind racing. "The empty throne... that is the most significant data point. The Grand Synthesis Sect has been almost completely reclusive for decades. Their leader hasn't been seen in a public forum in living memory. For them to have an interest, even a passive one... Sovas, you are not just a curiosity to the major sects. You may be a key to something much, much larger."
The following days were a time of uneasy calm. I was in the semi-finals of the Ascendant Cup, a fact that felt almost trivial after facing the Council. My mind was no longer on winning a tournament; it was on the vast, terrifying path that now lay ahead. The Council had given me a license to continue, but they had also hung a sword over my head.
I spent my time in the training ground, not practicing specific techniques for the next fight, but delving deeper into the "Sovereign Will" state Elara had inspired. The hierarchy of elements, with the volatile lightning at the center, was inherently unstable, a constant balancing act on the edge of a precipice. But when it held, even for a few seconds, the sense of power was terrifying and exhilarating. I began to experiment with channeling tiny, controlled threads of lightning energy through the other elements. I created a whip of water that carried a stunning electric charge. I formed a shield of compacted earth that vibrated at a frequency that could shatter incoming attacks. I wasn't just combining elements anymore; I was using them to evolve each other, to create new, hybridized forms of energy.
I was no longer just a cultivator with a strange body. I was becoming an alchemist of the soul.
My semi-final match was against a prodigy from the Frost Moon sect, an ice specialist named Anya. The arena was a brutal glacial landscape of blue ice and howling winds. She was powerful, precise, and merciless, her techniques beautiful and deadly like frozen flowers. But I was different now. The fear was gone, replaced by a focused, almost detached calm. I didn't fight with the desperation of my earlier matches. I fought with a chilling understanding.
When she launched a spear of absolute-zero ice at my heart, I didn't dodge or block with a crude shield. I simply extended a hand and focused a minute, precise pulse of fire-lightning energy directly at the spear's tip. The ice didn't melt; it sublimated, turning instantly from a solid crystal into a harmless puff of vapor. The look of utter shock on Anya's face was worth more than any spirit stone. I defeated her not with overwhelming, chaotic force, but with a fundamental, elegant application of energy theory that transcended simple elemental advantage. I had moved from brawler to physicist.
I was in the finals.
The entire cultivation world was watching, its attention a palpable weight. My opponent was the tournament favorite, a genius from the Verdant Lotus sect named Li Wei. He was a wood and life specialist, said to be able to heal any wound in moments and summon vast forests from barren ground. He was the embodiment of growth, creation, and sustained power. I was the embodiment of chaos, adaptation, and survival against all odds. It was the perfect dichotomy.
The night before the final, as I was attempting to meditate, I received a message. It was from the same unknown sender as before. But this time, it was longer, more deliberate.
"The Obsolete Root is not a lock without a key. It is a key without a lock. You have been searching for the door it opens. You have been looking in the wrong places. The final match is not the end of your journey. It is the beginning of the true test. Remember the empty throne. It is not empty by chance."
The message vanished after I read it, leaving no trace. It sent a cold chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the virtual environment. Someone was not just watching me; they were guiding me. Someone who knew far more about the nature of my condition than I did. And they were pointing me squarely towards the most powerful, most mysterious sect in the world—the Grand Synthesis Sect.
The final match was no longer about winning a tournament or claiming a prize. It was about sending a message. A message to the watching world. A message to the wary Council. And most importantly, a message to the unseen presence watching from the empty throne.