In the Lands of Stone, there is a creature called the Path Beetle.
It follows the trails left by beetles before it, walking in the grooves carved by countless generations. It never strays. It never wonders what lies beyond the worn paths. It simply follows, because following is what Path Beetles have always done.
And when the path leads off a cliff, the Path Beetle follows still.
Entire colonies have marched to their deaths this way, each beetle trusting the one before it, none daring to lift their heads and look where they were truly going.
The shamans say that men are not so different.
They walk the paths their fathers walked, think the thoughts their mothers thought, and believe the things their ancestors believed. Not because these paths are best, but because these paths exist, because these thoughts are familiar.
Innovation requires a kind of arrogance that most cannot stomach. The arrogance to say that perhaps every generation before you walked in the wrong direction.
A road built by a thousand generations of followers will only ever lead to where followers were always meant to go!
Damian's eyes were bright as he thought about himself, and whether he was a leader, or a follower!
Why did he have to follow the Nine Circles of Cultivation when regardless what he did, the power would not be enough?
Just because it was what everyone followed?
Who decided this?
Who made up these Circles anyway?
Some ancient master, long dead, had established this methodology. Others had followed it because it worked, because it was proven, because it was safe. But safe did not mean much for him now.
Why...could he not make his own Circles?
Why could he not give himself even more power compared to everybody else?
Why could he not form his own methodology of cultivation?
...!
BOOM!
The thought struck him like lightning from a clear sky.
The Mana in the air around him seemed to respond, swirling in patterns that the glowing moss reflected with increased intensity. Uncle Adam looked up sharply, his Warrior instincts sensing the shift in energy.
Damian's eyes had gone distant, his mind racing through possibilities that he had never allowed himself to consider before.
Everyone followed the Nine Circles because the Nine Circles worked.
But the Primordial Tongue worked too.
It had healed mortal wounds. It had purified his shattered foundation. It had doubled the Mana concentration in his flesh with a single utterance.
It was not part of the Nine Circles.
It was something older, something more fundamental.
What if he could combine them?
What if he could use the Primordial Tongue not as a separate tool, but as the foundation for an entirely new methodology of cultivation?
What if he could create Circles that no one had ever walked before?
The thought felt like the first step on a path that could lead to heights undreamed of, or to destruction beyond imagining!
The idea was bold and ridiculous at the same time.
Because nobody in their right mind would simply sit and think, alright, today I am going to go ahead and invent a new method of drawing Mana from the Lands of Stone.
The methodology that everybody knew and followed was the baseline across the Lands of Stone because it worked. It had worked for generations. It had created Warriors and Chieftains and Emperors. It was proven, tested, refined over countless lifetimes.
If someone went another route, it meant they were exploring and doing things that would be extremely dangerous to themselves.
Because one initially hardened their flesh and bathed it in Mana before they proceeded to go ahead and do so for their bones, blood, marrow, and organs. Each step built upon the last. Each Circle prepared the body for the next.
If someone decided to skip a step or attempt anything different, they might just gravely injure themselves and find their lives gone before they even began to think of any more daring fantasies.
But would it not be different for him?
If anything did go wrong in his body, did he not have the Primordial Tongue to set such things right once more?
"..."
The idea that seemed ridiculous cemented itself in his mind more and more as he looked at Uncle Adam, who was silently staring at him with those hopeful, expectant eyes.
Damian thought for a second before he looked around him again.
The clearing they had found was bathed in the soft glow of Mana-touched vegetation. The moss beneath them pulsed with faint green luminescence, each strand drinking from the mountain's power. The trees surrounding them held leaves that shimmered with an inner light, their bark shot through with veins of purple crystal that matched the exposed rock faces of the Roaring Stone Mountain.
And the air itself was thick with Mana. The concentration here was far greater than in the village below. Every breath filled his lungs with power waiting to be claimed.
This place was a somewhat perfect place to try.
The throbbing and slight weakness of that invisible muscle had somewhat lessened as the time since he last spoke "Persevere" had allowed it to recover. He should be able to say it once more if necessary.
He thought about how he should go about this.
To make a claim was one thing.
To make it true was another.
But as he thought about the Nine Circles of Cultivation, he found himself whispering aloud, the words forming as his thoughts crystallized into conviction.
"Why must I focus on my flesh, then bones, blood, marrow, and then organs?"
Uncle Adam leaned forward slightly, listening intently.
"Why can I not jump to one or the other to gain the boons others have no access to until that level?"
His dark eyes sharpened with possibility.
"Why not draw in Mana to refine not just my flesh, but also my bones, blood, marrow, and organs simultaneously?!"
...!
The thought was heavy and grand.
And he was excited to get started.
Because if he did not instantly kill himself, if he succeeded in what no one had ever attempted before, would he not be capable of holding power with his style of cultivation that ordinary Warriors, or even the other Young Lugals blessed with Land and Sky Physiques, would never be able to match?
He was expectant and looking forward to the possibilities!
The path before him was dark and unknown, but for the first time in years, Damian Vakochev felt like he was walking toward something rather than running from everything.