On the Zhao Family's small dining table sat an enormous pot of stew, its meaty fragrance curling upward with the wild foraged mountain mushrooms, making mouths water.
In this era, eating meat every day was a luxury; every strategic resource had to be funneled to the troops fighting the Dark Race.
An ordinary household counted itself lucky to taste meat once a week.
Yet in Zhao Mu's home they devoured meat daily, all prepared by Bu Yanhuan herself.
Only children raised on meat could grow strong—how else would you build muscles like these?
Zhao Mu cradled a big bowl, shoveling chunks of meat into his mouth.
Bu Yanhuan's cooking was superb: the dishes looked plain but tasted unbeatable.
Right now, after burning through so much stamina, Zhao Mu needed nutrient-dense food to recover.
Bu Yanhuan, sprawling carefree in her chair, tipped a silver flask and poured liquor straight down her throat.
"Ahh! Old Xie's bargain-basement baijiu—cheap, cheerful, and delicious!"
A tipsy flush colored her cheeks as she chirped happily.
Used to her antics, Zhao Mu speared a mushroom and asked between bites, "Aunt Bu, tomorrow's the school's Spirit Awakening Ceremony. The military will be there to guide us—anything I should watch out for?"
Bu Yanhuan slapped her forehead. "Right, you're finally eighteen. The ceremony's make-or-break for you."
She set the silver flask down hard, trying to look solemn, though the lingering alcohol only made her adorable.
"Little Mu, from here on, your fate's in the hands of the heavens!"
Zhao Mu rolled his eyes.
"Might as well have said nothing."
In this world, certain people can link their Mental Energy to Subspace and draw forth mighty Spirit Power.
They are called Spirit Power Users.
They are the pillars that protect all humanity.
The thousand-year-old Xuanfeng Empire decrees that only after reaching eighteen may youths undergo the Awakening ceremony.
In it, a high-Rank Spirit Power User guides the un-awakened, helping them ignite their abilities.
Before eighteen, they train at Yuwu School.
There, they strengthen the body, solidify fundamentals, and cram every scrap of knowledge.
Years ago, the world was chaos; ten-year-olds awakened and were hurled onto battlefields.
Immature and untrained, countless promising Spirit Power Users died pointless deaths.
Those bitter lessons forced the Empire's leaders to mandate that every child wait until adulthood for the unified ceremony.
That ritual becomes, after birth itself, life's greatest watershed.
Awaken with strong talent and you'll rise fast, showered with state resources; even your family gains social perks.
Fail to awaken, and you're shipped straight to the front for a year's crash course before becoming cannon fodder.
For commoners, those are the only two roads.
Thinking of it, Zhao Mu felt a knot tighten in his stomach.
Thanks to Bu Yanhuan's ruthless regimen, his basics towered above his peers.
Yet if tomorrow's ceremony failed to spark strong Spirit Power, the front would still claim him.
The human world teetered on the brink; Dark Race skulked on every frontier, the war never pausing.
Ordinary troopers in the Empire faced a 45 percent fatality rate.
Even survivors usually came back crippled and useless for further combat.
Zhao Mu's parents, for instance, had fought beside Bu Yanhuan and died ten years ago repelling a major Dark Race incursion.
The Empire, however, paid generous Pensions to the fallen.
Those two Pensions had kept Zhao Mu comfortable for the last decade.
Seeing his furrowed brow, Bu Yanhuan smiled and smoothed it with her fingers. "Little Mu, relax. With my eye for talent, you'll rate at least B-Rank."
"Little Mu, relax. With my eye for talent, you'll rate at least B-Rank."
Awakeners are graded by power and treated accordingly.
The scale runs S down to E.
S-class are ultra-rare Prodigies, national treasures groomed at any cost.
The entire Empire numbers them only in the double digits.
A-class Geniuses—one in a million—receive top-tier resources and attend elite Military Martial Specialization academies.
A whole Province might produce two or three a year.
Even B-Rank is outstanding, one in ten thousand.
Hit B-Rank and you're fast-tracked into a Military Martial Specialization School as a cadet, spared the cannon-fodder draft.
Bu Yanhuan knew Zhao Mu inside out; she was sure his gift far exceeded average.
Yet Zhao Mu only asked, "Only B-Rank?"
"Hey, B-Rank is huge! Plenty of Empire generals are just B-Rank," she laughed.
Zhao Mu spooned rice and said flatly, "For me, it's not enough."
His fingers brushed the long scar across his chest; his gaze turned cold.
"I have to be stronger than that to finish what I've sworn to do."
Bu Yanhuan propped her chin, studying the hardening lines of his face.
Then she grinned. "Good—ambition! My Disciple indeed, hahaha!"
She raised the flask again and gulped.
Soon she was sprawled on the floor, tipsy and mumbling nonsense.
Zhao Mu, long used to it, sighed, hoisted her up, and carried her to the bedroom.
He gathered the strewn clothes and Stockings, dumped them in a basket, and took them out to wash.
"Why do women even wear these things? They stink," he muttered.
After tidying up and scrubbing the bowls, he practiced the Seven Kills Battle Method in the yard, then went to bed torn between hope and dread.
His entire future would be decided by tomorrow's ceremony.