A few weeks ago in Tokyo.
Inside one of the most luxurious penthouses in the heart of Tokyo, three men sat on an elegant couch. The apartment was vast, with modern decor that screamed wealth and power. To their left, a colossal glass wall replaced the traditional concrete structure, offering a stunning view of the Tokyo skyline. The low-lying morning clouds only partially obscured the sight, but in the distance, the majestic peak of Mount Fuji was still visible.
Each of the men wore ornate robes—one red, one white, and one black—embellished with intricate golden embroidery. Despite the luxurious fabric that covered them, parts of their imposing tattoos were still visible, hinting at their status within their clandestine organization.
Before them stood a beautifully crafted table adorned with golden details that resembled oriental dragons. Resting on the table were three untouched glasses filled with the finest sake money could buy. Yet, what truly caught the eye was not the alcohol but the five mysterious books that lay neatly displayed between them. Each tome was unique, with distinct colors and designs. Some seemed ancient, worn with time, while others looked newly made. None, however, bore any language known on Earth.
"So, cultivation is now possible…" said the man in white, his voice smooth yet edged with curiosity. He was a middle-aged man, bald and with an imposing posture similar to the others present. The tattoos on his face masked his age, but they spoke volumes of his rank and importance. "To become stronger than gods, how can that be even true?"
"Indeed. And what do we do about it?" asked the man in red. His short black hair was streaked with gray, and the tension in his voice was palpable. "We might face significant trouble soon."
The two men were directing their questions to the third in the room. They looked at him with a certain respect, showing that he was the great leader of the organization. Despite their organization's vast influence, acquiring these five books had been no easy feat. Powerful factions across the world were vying for them, and now the men were left to decide how best to use this newfound power, wary of the potential consequences for their empire.
"I don't know about either of you," the black-robed man said quietly. His deep, commanding voice carried an air of ancient wisdom. The golden embroidery of his robe accentuated his long, white beard, and his hair was tied in a traditional samurai bun. He was the eldest of the group, and the confidence of his years showed in the calmness of his demeanor. "But I will be the strongest."
The two men relaxed their tense shoulders as he said that. Indeed, so what if people would become stronger and could pose a threat to their organizations? They would only need to be even stronger! And they already had the resources to do so.
"Bah! You can barely lift these books with your old bones!" the bald man joked, the tension in the room breaking.
Quickly each of them got a cultivation book of their liking. Moments later, only two books laid on the table.
"And the rest?" Asked the bald man.
"We do what we've always done: reward our most loyal men." The eldest smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth with a single gold tooth in the corner. "Send the order. We'll hunt the rest of these books. The world is changing, and we will ensure it changes in our favor."
With that, they began to discuss their future plans, their voices brimming with ambition.
*******
Present Day.
As Hei Niyanyu flew over the city, he was momentarily stunned by the immense size of it. Not only was the city large, but the skyscrapers had such a unique aesthetic that left him awestruck.
As he descended awkwardly, getting used to his 'new' strength, he cursed under his breath.
"Nascent Soul Realm… I can barely manage to fly," he growled, frustration clear in his voice. His power had been reduced to a shadow of its former glory, and he struggled to come to terms with it. "At least I can barely use my domain to fly."
The shadows had once again covered his body and no one below had noticed his presence. In fact, no normal human was capable of that. Still, as he swept his divine sense over the city, his mind raced with complaints about his circumstances. Tokyo's chaotic energy was foreign, its massive crowds and bizarre machines both fascinating and unsettling.
He inspected the city more closely, narrowing in on the symbols scattered across the signs and buildings. "These letters…" he muttered to himself, noticing their striking resemblance to the script from his homeworld, though altered slightly. It was a mixture of ideograms—unfamiliar, yet not entirely alien.
Even though he couldn't read the language, solving this problem required little effort. With his strength, extracting knowledge from someone's soul was as easy as stealing candy from a child. Of course, this technique could be dangerous if used against someone stronger, but against mere mortals? They wouldn't even notice.
Spotting an elderly shopkeeper nearby, Niyanyu directed a thin strand of Qi toward the man, skimming the surface of his soul. The process was painless—just a fleeting chill that the old man dismissed as nothing more than a passing breeze.
"So, Tokyo, huh?" Niyanyu raised an eyebrow, intrigued. A city with a population exceeding 14 million, one of the largest on Earth and among the most technologically advanced in the world. He was genuinely impressed—not that he hadn't seen bigger cities before, but never one of this magnitude without the presence of Qi.
Most worlds with such little Qi remained primitive, their societies barely past the tribal stage. Yet here was a civilization that had flourished without cultivation.
After further investigation—through methods most would consider unconventional—he discovered the reason behind this anomaly: something called technology.
Where Qi formations and cultivation techniques would typically handle complex tasks in cultivation worlds, these earthlings had devised artificial means to achieve the same results. However, what fascinated him most was the sheer ignorance of the people who used this technology. Despite relying on it daily, most had no understanding of how it actually worked.
"Well… I suppose that's not too different from my world," he mused.
Just as the path of cultivation was vast and impossible for any single person to master in its entirety, so too was this so-called technology. The key difference? Here, knowledge was widespread. In the cultivation worlds he had known and lived, one needed great fortune or talent to acquire powerful techniques. A master was essential, and wealth alone was never enough.
With mixed feelings, Niyanyu drifted through the night, shadows twisting around him like living tendrils. No human could sense his presence as he soared above the cityscape, silent as a wraith.
"Better get started…" he muttered, exhaling slowly. There was no escape, no way to contact the outside world. For now, he could only obey. If he pleased the Celestial Star Sect, perhaps he would indeed be released. After all, they weren't known to be a demonic sect.
"At least being a villain is something I know how to do." A smirk played on his lips as his divine sense expanded.
Then, he found what he was looking for.
**********
Inside a dimly lit shed at the city docks, five burly men sat around a battered wooden table, engrossed in a game of cards. Cigarette smoke thickened the air, mixing with the scent of cheap whiskey. The men—tattoos marking their allegiance—had muscular arms and loaded firearms resting at their waists.
*PACK!*
The table rattled violently as one of them slammed his hand down.
"HA! I won again!" The man roared with laughter, greedily sweeping the pile of cash toward himself. "Matsuyo the Great remains undefeated!"
"Shit! Here goes my weekly income again!" one of the losers groaned.
"Damn it Matsuyo, you're cheating!" Said another.
"Ugh, here we go again. 'Matsuyo the Great'—seriously, man?"
Matsuyo leaned back in his chair, flashing a smug grin. "Me? Cheating? I'm an honest man! A true gentleman!"
"Yeah, right…"
The fifth man, broader than the rest, tapped his fingers against the table, his gaze shifting toward the dock entrance. From the money in front of him, it was clear that he had also won quite a few times. "Alright, enough. The next shipment is almost here. One last round?"
"I'll pass," one of the thugs muttered, tossing his cards onto the table. His pile of cash had long since disappeared. "Unless you guys want me sleeping on the streets again…" He leaned back, exhaling. "By the way, what's so special about this cargo, anyway? Why are we even here?"
Despite their rough appearance, these men weren't just common thugs—they each commanded a crew of at least thirty under the Yakuza's hierarchy.
"Not sure." Matsuyo shrugged, lighting another cigarette. He was smart enough to follow orders without prying into the higher-ups' business.
"You're not even a little curious?" Another asked.
"I'm still breathing because I don't ask those kinds of questions." Matsuyo smirked, tapping his temple. "Better to keep my head on my shoulders."
For a moment, the group fell silent, the only sounds the faint lapping of waves against the dock and the occasional crackle of burning tobacco. Then, the strongest of them leaned in, lowering his voice. Even Matsuyo found himself leaning closer.
"I heard… It's a cultivation book. Like the ones on the news."
"Nah," Matsuyo scoffed. "Those can't be real."
"They are," another chimed in eagerly. "We all got the same message—whoever proves their loyalty and earns enough merit will be given one!"
"Yeah, and don't forget about the cash reward," the poorest of them added.
At the mention of money, the men's interest peaked.
"Tell me more, brother."
The strongest thug glanced around before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is privileged information. The order hasn't been made official yet."
They all nodded in understanding.
"My cousin told me the higher-ups are willing to offer one million yen to anyone who reaches the first stage of body cultivation."
"Holy shit!"
"That's more than I make in a year!"
"But… wait," the dumbest one hesitated, scratching his head. "How are we supposed to do that without the books?"
A gruff voice cut through the thick smoke—one that didn't belong to any of them.
"By using the ones available online, you idiot!"
The words were mocking, almost amused.
The five men stiffened. That voice—it came from directly behind them.
Between the swirling smoke and dim light, a massive figure materialized. Over two meters tall, it towered above them, shifting between motion and stillness, as if the shadows themselves clung to its form.
A cold shiver ran down their spines. The security was tight. No one should have been able to get in without triggering an alarm. Yet, here it was.
Even so, the men 'professional' thugs had a code: Attack first, ask later. Without hesitation, they sprang to their feet, drawing their guns and pulling the trigger.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Rounds of bullets flew directly at the shadow figure, which simply raised one finger.
Then—
The bullets froze mid-air!
"What the—?!" Matsuyo's voice cracked.
The bandits were stunned and looked at each other in bewilderment. Did they drink more than they should?
The projectiles hovered, outlined by the shifting smoke, suspended inches from their target.
"Those little toys of yours are amusing." The voice was hoarse, laced with mockery. "Now… let me show you what a cultivator can do."
The shadowed figure stepped forward, yet the darkness moved with him, distorting his outline as though reality itself twisted in his presence.
A wave of suffocating dread washed over the thugs. Their instincts screamed at them to run—to do anything—but their bodies refused to move.
The shadow waved his index finger.
Instantly, four of them collapsed, dead before they even hit the ground. Only Matsuyo remained, gasping for air as an invisible force clamped around his throat. His vision blurred. His limbs refused to obey. He couldn't even scream.
The figure advanced slowly, shadows curling around him like living things. Matsuyo felt its breath ghost over his face.
Then, at last, the darkness peeled back, revealing the faintest glimpse of a face. Matsuyo opened his eyes wide, he wasn't looking at a human - it was a demon.
"Take me to your boss!" The Demon ordered.