The mountain returned to its usual silence.
After the sky-shattering battle of the previous day, the green peaks seemed almost indifferent, as if such cataclysms were nothing more than passing weather. Birds returned cautiously to the trees, and the wind once again carried only the scent of pine and damp earth.
Dao Xuan Tian did not share the mountain's calm.
He spent the morning moving—slowly, deliberately—testing the limits of his perception. Every step he took, every turn of his wrist, every breath he drew, he watched the world split a heartbeat ahead of itself.
A stone shifted beneath his foot.
He saw it slip before it happened and adjusted his balance without conscious thought.
A branch snapped in the wind.
He turned his head before the sound reached his ears.
One second.
It was short—terrifyingly short—but it was enough to change everything.
Dao frowned slightly as he stood at the edge of the cliff, eyes narrowed. The Infinity Eyes did not simply show him images of the future; they demanded constant attention. When he focused too hard, a dull ache bloomed behind his eyes. When he relaxed too much, the visions blurred and lost clarity.
"This isn't omniscience," he muttered. "It's a blade. And blades need control."
He practiced until sweat soaked his clothes.
By midday, Dao turned his attention back to spirit food.
Today's goal was not potency, but consistency.
He cooked the same simple broth again and again—adjusting qi flow by minute increments, measuring how long energy lingered in each ingredient, observing how intent altered absorption. Sometimes the food tasted no different than ordinary soup. Other times, the warmth lingered too long, leaving his meridians slightly overstimulated.
Failure taught him more than success.
By dusk, he could produce spirit food that stabilized his qi circulation without causing fluctuation—quiet, dependable nourishment.
Still 9th grade.
But refined.
As night fell, Dao extinguished the fire and stepped outside. The sky was clear, stars scattered like shards of ice across a vast black canvas. The forest was quiet—too quiet.
Dao paused.
His Infinity Eyes flared.
The future shattered.
In the next second, he saw himself stepping into the hut—and a blade piercing straight through his back.
Dao twisted sideways instinctively.
Steel hissed past where his spine had been.
He spun, heart hammering.
A man stood where the shadows thickened between the trees.
He wore a black cloak that seemed to swallow moonlight. From his forehead jutted a single, curved horn—dull and dark, like aged bone. His eyes glowed faintly crimson, fixed on Dao with predatory focus.
The assassin did not speak.
The moment his strike failed, he attacked again.
Relentlessly.
The man blurred forward, movements too fast for an ordinary mortal to track. His blade came in low, then high, then straight for Dao's throat—each strike lethal, efficient, without wasted motion.
Dao retreated, breath controlled, mind racing.
One second ahead.
That was all he had.
He dodged by margins thinner than paper, each movement guided by the future fragment flashing before his eyes. A cut grazed his shoulder; another sliced fabric but missed flesh.
"Foundation Establishment…" Dao realized grimly.
The pressure alone confirmed it.
This man was no rogue mortal.
The assassin pressed harder, his aura flaring as he unleashed a rapid sequence of attacks. Trees behind Dao were split cleanly in half by stray blade light, trunks collapsing with dull thunder.
Dao's heart pounded.
He couldn't outlast this.
So he changed tactics.
Instead of reacting to each strike, Dao focused on intent. He watched not the blade—but the moment before the assassin committed.
A thrust.
Dao stepped inside the range.
The assassin's eyes widened fractionally.
Dao struck.
He didn't have refined techniques—only overwhelming physical power and perfect timing. His fist crashed into the man's ribs with bone-shattering force.
The sound was sickening.
The assassin was hurled backward, crashing through a tree and skidding across the ground. He coughed blood, cloak torn, aura flickering violently.
"How—" the man rasped, disbelief etched across his face.
Dao did not answer.
He advanced.
The assassin snarled and forced himself upright, abandoning finesse. Qi surged wildly around him as he lunged again, blade descending in a desperate arc.
Dao saw the future.
One second ahead, the blade missed.
Dao ducked and drove his elbow upward.
The man's neck snapped sideways.
Silence fell.
The body collapsed, lifeless.
Dao stood there for several seconds, chest heaving, eyes burning from overuse. Slowly, he exhaled and allowed the Infinity Eyes to dim.
"…I survived."
Only then did the realization hit him.
He had just killed a Foundation Establishment cultivator.
Dao knelt and searched the body.
Inside the man's storage pouch, he found several items—but one stood out.
A jade manual.
The characters engraved upon it were ancient and heavy with intent.
Foundation Establishment Manual
Dao's pupils constricted.
"This… wasn't a fluke."
He flipped through the manual, scanning the contents rapidly. The explanations of qi compression, meridian reinforcement, and foundation forging were unmistakable.
This was real.
This was advanced.
Dao sat back on his heels, staring at the corpse.
His hands trembled—not from fear, but from understanding.
"If he was Foundation Establishment…"
Dao clenched his fist.
"And I killed him with raw strength and timing…"
The conclusion settled heavily in his chest.
His base strength—without techniques, without realm advancement—was already on par with a Foundation Establishment cultivator.
Dao looked up at the silent forest.
The mountain was no longer just protecting him.
It was hiding him.
He stood slowly, gripping the jade manual.
"Then I can't afford mistakes," he whispered.
Because if a Foundation Establishment cultivator could be sent to kill him—
Others would follow.
Dao dragged the body deep into the forest and erased the traces as best he could. When he finally returned to his hut, the night felt colder.
He locked the door.
Sat down.
And opened the manual.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Dao felt something heavier than excitement.
Urgency.
The mountains were no longer enough.
But for now—
They were all he had.