The air in the Verdant Lotus Sect's outer disciple courtyard tasted of dawn mist and crushed perseverance. Lin Zhi stood amidst a sea of grey-robed youths, his own simple disciple robes feeling like an ill-fitting skin. Around him, cultivators—some as young as fifteen, others weathered by decades of struggle—moved through rigorous morning drills. The sound of fists cutting air, the thud of feet against packed earth, and the low hum of cycling qi formed a symphony of mundane ambition.
He was Lin Feng here. A name chosen for its simplicity, a mask woven from the threads of necessity. To these people, he was just another hopeful, a boy of nineteen with a decent foundation, lucky enough to pass the sect's entrance trials. No one saw the cosmic library ticking away in his soul, the void dragon sleeping in his shadow, or the template of a demon lord humming beneath his mortal shell.
"Focus your intent! The 'Green Vine Ascending' form is not about brute force! It is about channeling the enduring, supple strength of the ancient spirit trees!" The drill instructor, Elder Kuo, a man with forearms like knotted roots and a voice that could strip bark, paced before them. His eyes, sharp as flint, scanned the rows. They lingered for a fraction of a second on Lin Zhi. There was no recognition of power, only a mild note of approval for his precise form.
*'Analysis: Movement pattern 'Green Vine Ascending' is a low-grade Earth-rank body tempering exercise. Efficiency is calculated at 23%. Optimal muscle engagement pathways are being underutilized by 78% of participants. Suggested corrections available.'*
Raphael's voice was a cool, logical stream in the chaos of his mind. Lin Zhi ignored the full analysis, allowing only the most basic corrections to subtly adjust his posture, the angle of his wrist, the flow of his breath. To anyone watching, he was a quick learner, nothing more. He had to be. In this world, where spiritual roots were prized and hidden dragons were either exalted on thrones or dissected for secrets, anonymity was his first and most vital technique.
The memory of his first week was a stark reminder. He'd been assigned to a shared dormitory with five other new outer disciples. One, a brash boy named Zhao from a minor merchant family, had boasted of a mid-grade fire spiritual root. His arrogance had made him a target. Lin Zhi had witnessed, from his humble bunk, a group of third-year outer disciples "invite" Zhao for a "sparring session." Zhao had returned an hour later, spirit broken, body bruised, his monthly spirit stone ration "voluntarily donated." No elder intervened. It was the law of the jungle, thinly veiled by sect rules.
*'This world doesn't play fair,'* Lin Zhi had mused that night, staring at the rough-hewn ceiling. *'But then again, neither do I.'*
He had Rimuru Tempest's template, but he was not Rimuru. He was Lin Zhi, a soul from Earth who remembered the desperation of a final breath, the fanboy's wish made terrifyingly real. Rimuru's powers were tools of incredible potential, but wielding them required a wisdom he was still forging. Using **Gluttonous King Beelzebuth** to solve every problem would mark him as a monster. Revealing **Wisdom King Raphael** would make him a priceless artifact to be captured and controlled. His strength had to be a slow, believable bloom, not a supernova.
The morning drill ended with a collective groan of relief. As the disciples dispersed for their assigned duties, Lin Zhi's path took him to the Herb Garden of Whispering Dew, his monthly assignment. It was considered mediocre work—tedious, low-reward, but safe from the more dangerous beast-taming or mining duties.
The garden was a terraced hillside cradled in a perpetual, gentle mist. Spirit herbs of various hues glowed softly under the care of formation arrays that gathered ambient qi. His task was simple: use a dull bronze tool to carefully loosen the soil around the Blue-Sparkle Moss without damaging its hair-thin roots, then channel a trickle of his own unrefined qi to encourage its growth.
It was mind-numbing work. Or it would have been, without his ultimate skills.
*'Master, the moss cluster in sector seven is suffering from a subtle qi imbalance. The water-attuned energy from the lower terrace is leaching its sparkle essence. Suggested action: subtly adjust the flow pattern by 0.3 degrees using a micro-shaping of earth qi, mimicking natural erosion.'*
Following Raphael's silent guidance, Lin Zhi knelt, his fingers brushing the cool, damp soil. He let a wisp of his energy—carefully filtered to appear crude and unremarkable—seep into the ground. To an observer, he was just a diligent disciple, perhaps a little slow. In reality, under Raphael's supreme control, his energy performed sub-atomic landscaping, gently nudging the local qi channels. The moss, which had been looking slightly dull, pulsed once with a brighter azure light.
"You. New boy. Lin Feng."
The voice was like dry leaves rustling. Lin Zhi looked up to see an old man in patched grey robes, leaning on a gnarled walking stick. This was Old Man Luo, the nominal caretaker of the Whispering Dew garden, a man most disciples ignored as a failed cultivator wasting his last years among the dirt.
"Yes, Elder Luo?" Lin Zhi responded, adopting the respectful tone of a junior.
Old Man Luo's eyes, clouded with age, seemed to look through him. "Your technique is… careful. Wasteful of your time, but careful. The moss thanks you." He gestured with his stick to the now-vibrant patch. "Most just dump their qi in like watering a fire. They see the task, not the life."
A flicker of alarm sparked in Lin Zhi. *'Analysis: Subject 'Old Man Luo' possesses a profound qi concealment technique. Physical age approximately 212 years. Cultivation base is severely damaged, showing remnants of at least the Core Formation stage. Current power level is equivalent to mid Qi Condensation. Threat level: negligible. Intent: observational curiosity.'*
Lin Zhi kept his face a placid mask of modest gratitude. "This disciple merely tries to follow the garden's manual, Elder."
"Manuals are for fools who can't listen," Luo grunted, turning away. "The garden whispers. You seem to hear a little. Don't let the noise of the sect make you deaf." He shuffled off, disappearing into the mist between the herb rows.
The encounter was a pinprick of light in the grey routine. It was also a warning. If a broken, old man at the bottom of the sect's hierarchy could sense something unusual in his simple gardening, what could a true expert see?
His answer came sooner than expected.
That afternoon, instead of returning to the dormitory, he followed a discreet path he'd mapped out with Raphael's help. It led deep into the unmanaged woods behind the outer sect peaks, to a secluded clearing bisected by a small, thunderous waterfall. The roar of water would mask any sound, and the chaotic, water-saturated qi would help cloak his own energy signature.
Here, alone, he could begin to *understand* his power, not just possess it.
He stood in the center of the clearing, the spray from the falls cooling his skin. He closed his eyes, not to see, but to feel.
"Raphael. Initiate low-level integration and analysis of local energy. Designate this environment 'Training Ground Alpha.' Begin foundational exercise: Qi Perception and Assimilation, Stage Zero."
*'Understood, Master. Activating **Universal Perception** at minimum aperture. Mapping qi flow patterns. Warning: This world's spiritual energy, designated 'Heavenly Dao Qi,' possesses 47 unique elemental affinities and 12 unknown metaphysical properties not present in the Tensura framework. Direct assimilation via **Gluttonous King** is possible but carries a 3% risk of dimensional feedback. Suggested protocol: Utilize **Great Sage** sub-routine to establish a simulated cultivation manual based on observed patterns.'*
"Do it. Create a baseline cultivation method. Base it on the most common traits I've observed in the outer disciples. Efficiency is secondary. The primary goal is plausibility and seamless integration with local physics."
*'Processing. Analyzing 1,843 observed qi cycles from 127 subjects. Synthesizing… Creation complete. Method designated: 'Verdant Soul Mantra' (Simulated). This method will allow for controlled absorption and cycling of local qi, producing a stable, unremarkable foundation. It will serve as a public-facing framework. Internal conversion to pure energy for skill sustenance can run concurrently at a 99.9% concealment rate.'*
A stream of information, not as overwhelming as the initial template download, flowed into Lin Zhi's consciousness. It was a simple, elegant set of breathing patterns, mental visualizations, and meridian pathways. It felt… ordinary. It was perfect.
He sank into a cross-legged position, the roar of the waterfall fading into a distant hum. He began the 'Verdant Soul Mantra,' drawing in the moist, wood-and-water-attuned qi of the forest. It felt sluggish compared to the omnipotent energy he could command, like sipping air through a straw when he had a hurricane at his beck and call. But he persisted, building a visible, detectable core of energy in his dantian that perfectly matched a first-stage Qi Condensation cultivator.
Inside, a different process hummed. The tiny fraction of qi he absorbed was instantly dissected by **Raphael**, converted into pure data and energy, and fed into the vast reservoirs that sustained his ultimate skills. It was a closed-loop system, a hidden economy of power running beneath the facade.
After an hour of this, he switched focus.
"Now, test physical parameters under local constraints. Activate **Ultraspeed Regeneration** at 0.001% capacity. Target: minor muscle fatigue from morning drills."
A warmth, so subtle it was almost imaginary, spread through his limbs. The slight ache from the unfamiliar forms vanished. Not with a flash, but as if it had never been there. He picked up a fallen branch, heavy and solid.
"**Strength Enhancement** at 0.005%. Execute."
He swung the branch. It didn't whistle through the air; it moved with a precise, controlled speed that was just *slightly* faster, *slightly* more powerful than it should have been. To a witness, it would look like good form and latent talent, not supernatural strength.
He was learning to play the instrument of his own body on the lowest possible volume.
Suddenly, **Universal Perception**, even at its minimal setting, pinged a warning. Something had entered the periphery of his sensory field—a presence that was not the chittering life of the forest. It was focused, predatory, and saturated with a sharp, metallic qi.
*'Alert: Hostile entity detected. 300 meters northwest. Classification: Low-grade Spiritual Beast, 'Iron-Hide Boar.' Energy signature indicates it is agitated, possibly defending territory. Threat assessment to current public persona (Qi Condensation, Stage 1): High. Threat assessment to true capabilities: Null.'*
Lin Zhi's eyes snapped open. The boar was already charging, a monstrous shape of muscle, tusks like curved daggers, and hide that shimmered with a dull grey, metallic sheen. It tore through the undergrowth, heading straight for him. This was no chance encounter; his training ground had encroached on its domain.
For a split second, two instincts warred within him. One was Lin Zhi, the 19-year-old from Earth, whose heart hammered against his ribs in raw, animal fear. The other was the possessor of a Demon Lord's arsenal, for whom this beast was less than an insect.
The human fear won, and that saved his secret.
He didn't raise a hand and erase the boar from existence. He didn't summon a blade of water or a prison of shadows. He acted like Lin Feng, an outer disciple in mortal peril.
With a yell that was only half-feigned, he scrambled backwards, his movements deliberately clumsy. He tripped over a root, rolling aside as the boar's tusk gouged a deep furrow in the earth where he had been sitting. He could smell its hot, rank breath.
*'Trajectory calculated. Optimal evasion path available. Suggest activating **Predictive Attack Calculation** at 1% to simulate combat intuition.'*
"Do it!"
Time seemed to slow, not through **Accelerated Thought**, but through a flood of data. The boar's muscles twitched, and Raphael projected its next lunge—a low hook to the left. Lin Zhi threw himself to the right, the tusk grazing his robe. He landed, snatched up the heavy branch he'd been practicing with, and channeled a burst of his *visible*, Verdant Soul Mantra qi into it.
The branch, reinforced by the crude energy, didn't break when he swung it with all his *apparent* strength into the boar's shoulder. There was a solid *thwack*, and the beast grunted in surprise and pain, the metallic hide dulling but not negating the blow. It was enough to stagger it.
Seizing the opening, Lin Zhi didn't press an attack. He turned and ran, pouring his publicly-appropriate qi into his legs, making a believable, frantic escape back toward the sect's managed trails. The boar, enraged but wary, gave chase for only a hundred meters before breaking off, returning to its territory.
Lin Zhi finally stopped, leaning against a tree, chest heaving. His robes were torn and dirty, his hair was a mess, and adrenaline sang in his veins. He looked every bit the part of a disciple who'd just had a brush with death.
But inside, a cold clarity settled. The fear was real, but the outcome had been a choice. He had fought, and fled, not as Lin Zhi the reincarnated, but as Lin Feng the outer disciple. He had maintained the mask.
As he trudged back toward the dim lights of the outer sect dormitories, the incident replayed in his mind. The boar's attack was a message, louder than Old Man Luo's cryptic words. This world was not a playground for his power. It was a razor's edge. One misstep, one moment of hubris where he revealed a sliver of his true nature, and the consequences would be swift and severe. He wouldn't face a simple beast, but entire sects, ancient monsters, and heavens that might see him as an aberration.
He reached the dormitory courtyard, the familiar sounds of bickering disciples and the smell of bland spirit grain porghum washing over him. No one gave his disheveled state a second glance; such sights were common.
Entering the shared room, he saw Zhao, the boy with the fire root, silently mending his own robes, his face still bearing a yellowing bruise. Their eyes met for a moment. There was no camaraderie, only a shared, unspoken understanding of the precariousness of their position.
Lin Zhi—Lin Feng—nodded slightly. Zhao looked away.
Sitting on his hard bunk, Lin Zhi looked at his hands. They were the hands of a teenager. They were also the hands that held the power to potentially shape worlds. But for now, their only task was to blend in, to learn, to grow at a human pace.
The name 'Rimuru Tempest' was a legacy of unimaginable power. But the name 'Lin Zhi' was a promise—a promise to survive, to understand this world on its own terms first. Only then could he decide what to build, and who, truly, he wanted to be.
The template was a gift, but the path was his own to walk. And the first step on that path was mastering the art of being perfectly, convincingly ordinary. The waterfall clearing awaited him tomorrow, and with it, the slow, careful forging of a dragon in mortal cloth.