The ruins did not remain silent.
Alaric felt it before he saw anything an irregular disturbance threading through the air, faint yet persistent. Not spiritual pressure. Not hostility.
Movement.
He slowed his steps, senses extending outward with deliberate restraint. The path he had entered narrowed further, hemmed in by collapsed stone and half-buried formations that no longer served any purpose.
Yet something lingered.
A presence that did not belong to the ruins.
Alaric stopped.
The air shifted.
From behind a broken archway ahead, figures emerged three cultivators, their robes marked with faded sigils of a minor sect. Their steps were cautious, eyes scanning the ruins with thinly veiled disdain.
Scavengers.
They came here searching for remnants failed pills, damaged artifacts, anything Heaven had deemed unworthy but still useful to desperate cultivators.
Their auras were unstable.
Foundation Realm, barely.
Alaric watched without moving.
The first cultivator spotted him and froze. "Someone's here."
The others followed his gaze.
A lone youth stood on the path, barefoot, robes plain, posture calm.
Too calm.
The second cultivator frowned. "A stray?"
"From the Broken Foundation side," the third said slowly. "You feel that?"
They did.
Alaric's presence was… wrong.
Not strong. Not weak.
Incomplete.
The first cultivator scoffed. "Probably another failure who didn't die properly."
They relaxed slightly and stepped closer.
"Hey," the leader called out. "This area is under our claim. If you know what's good for you, turn around."
Alaric met his eyes.
"No," he said.
The word was soft.
Clear.
The cultivators stiffened.
"What did you say?" the leader asked, irritation flaring.
Alaric did not repeat himself.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying them not as enemies, but as structures. Their circulation. Their stance. The way their energy clung too tightly to rigid paths.
They were forcing stability.
That always came at a cost.
The second cultivator laughed nervously. "Looks like he's lost his senses."
The leader's gaze hardened. "Break his legs. Leave him breathing."
They moved.
Alaric stepped forward.
Not fast.
Not aggressive.
Just enough.
The world seemed to tighten around them.
Not pressure alignment.
The leader swung first, his strike wide and clumsy, overflowing with unstable energy. Alaric shifted aside with minimal movement, allowing the blow to pass harmlessly.
Then he touched the man's wrist.
The contact was light.
Precise.
The cultivator screamed.
His arm convulsed violently as energy reversed within his meridians, slamming back against a junction that had never been corrected. He collapsed, clutching his limb, breath coming in panicked gasps.
The others froze.
"What did you do?" one shouted.
Alaric did not answer.
He moved again.
A step. A turn. A tap to the shoulder where circulation pooled incorrectly.
The second cultivator dropped, knees buckling as his foundation trembled violently, energy rebelling against the rigid structure imposed upon it.
The third backed away, terror creeping into his expression. "Monster—!"
Alaric stopped.
He looked at the remaining cultivator calmly.
"Leave," he said.
The man did not hesitate.
He ran.
Silence returned to the ruins, broken only by labored breathing.
Alaric stood among the fallen cultivators, chest rising slowly. Sweat dampened his skin not from exertion, but from restraint.
This body could not afford waste.
He crouched beside the leader, who stared up at him in fear.
"You… you crippled me," the man rasped.
Alaric shook his head slightly.
"No," he said. "You crippled yourself. I only stopped you from pretending otherwise."
He stood and turned away.
Behind him, the ruins shifted faintly.
Somewhere far beyond sight, a formation reacted.
Not violently.
Curiously.
Alaric felt it a subtle ripple spreading outward from where he had stood, threading through the abandoned land like a quiet signal.
So even ruins remembered.
He continued walking.
Above the valley, clouds drifted.
Then paused.
Just for a moment.
Heaven did not intervene.
But it noticed the ripple.
Not as a threat.
Not yet.
As an anomaly.
And anomalies, once recorded, were never truly forgotten.
Alaric walked on, unaware or unconcerned that his presence had finally crossed a boundary.
The world had begun to respond.