The village of Greenfall, nestled in the farthest reaches of the Xuan Empire, was a place long forgotten by the grandeur and glory that thrived in the heart of the empire. Here, life was simple, as the people lived by the seasons, harvesting their crops and occasionally hunting the wild beasts that roamed the nearby forest. It was a quiet life, and for the villagers, that was more than enough.
But for Liang Zhen, this simplicity gnawed at his soul.
Standing at the edge of the village, Liang Zhen stared into the dense, mist-covered woods, his grip tight on a worn-out hunting bow slung over his back. His brown hair fluttered slightly in the morning breeze, and his dark eyes reflected the faint glimmer of morning sunlight breaking through the clouds.
He was just sixteen, but his heart burned with an unquenchable thirst for more—more than the life of a farmer's son, more than hunting wild beasts to survive, more than this insignificant, forgotten village. He had dreams, dreams of power and greatness, dreams that had long been out of his reach.
Because, unlike others his age, Liang Zhen had failed to awaken a battle spirit.
In the world of Xuan Domain, to awaken a battle spirit meant to step onto the path of cultivation. With a battle spirit, one could harness Yuan Qi, the spiritual energy of Heaven and Earth. For most, their battle spirits were humble things—simple tools like hammers or fishing nets, or sometimes, if one was lucky, a beast or weapon of moderate power. It didn't matter, because any battle spirit was the key to beginning one's cultivation.
But for Liang Zhen, there had been nothing.
"I should've awakened something," he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. He had gone through the awakening ceremony like everyone else at fourteen, yet no spirit had answered his call. For two years, he had been the laughingstock of the village. Even the weakest of them had managed to awaken a basic tool spirit, but not him.
To the villagers, his fate had been sealed the moment he failed. He would live the rest of his life here, an ordinary boy in an ordinary place, forever tied to the mundane.
But Liang Zhen refused to accept that.
"I'm not just some forgotten nobody," he whispered, his eyes narrowing as he stared deeper into the mist. "I will become strong, no matter what it takes."
His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden crack of a branch behind him. Spinning on his heels, Liang Zhen found himself face-to-face with a group of familiar figures. Wei Chang and his gang—three older boys who had always enjoyed mocking him.
"Still staring at the forest like some daydreamer, Liang?" Wei sneered, his hulking frame casting a shadow over Liang Zhen. "What, hoping that some mystical spirit beast will pop out and bless you with a battle spirit? Give it up, you're already a lost cause."
The other boys snickered, their jeers ringing in Liang Zhen's ears. He had heard it all before. Their words, once sharp as knives, barely grazed him anymore.
He straightened up, meeting Wei's gaze with unwavering eyes. "I'd rather dream than live the rest of my life stuck in this hole, waiting for scraps of power like you."
The smile vanished from Wei's face, his expression darkening. He stepped forward, towering over Liang Zhen. "You've got quite the mouth for someone without a battle spirit. Maybe I should remind you where you stand."
Just as Wei raised his hand to strike, a loud growl echoed from the forest, freezing everyone in place. The mist seemed to thicken, and the air grew tense, as if the forest itself were holding its breath. The sound was unmistakable—it was the roar of a spirit beast.
Wei and his friends took a step back, their bravado quickly fading. "What the hell was that?" one of the boys muttered, his voice trembling.
Liang Zhen, however, felt something stir deep within him. The growl resonated in his chest, like an ancient call he had long forgotten. Before he could stop himself, his feet moved toward the forest.
"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Wei shouted, but Liang Zhen ignored him. He didn't know why, but something was pulling him into the depths of the woods.
He ran. Branches clawed at his clothes, and the mist swirled around him as he plunged deeper into the forest. The growling grew louder, more intense, and his heartbeat quickened in response. His mind was racing. What kind of spirit beast was this? And why did it feel like it was calling to him?
After what felt like an eternity, he burst into a small clearing. And there, in the center of the clearing, lay a massive creature, its body covered in golden scales, but bloodied and battered beyond recognition. A spirit beast. A Golden Horned Wyvern—a powerful beast that only appeared near places of immense Yuan Qi concentration.
But this one was dying.
Its golden eyes met Liang Zhen's, and in that moment, something ancient and primal awakened within him. The beast let out a final, low growl, and from its chest, a faint glow began to emerge. A small, glowing totem, shaped like a coiling dragon, floated toward him.
Liang Zhen's breath caught in his throat. He could feel the immense power radiating from the totem as it hovered in front of him. His instincts screamed at him to reach out and take it.
Hesitating only for a second, Liang Zhen extended his hand. The moment his fingers touched the totem, a surge of energy exploded through his body. His veins burned as if molten lava was flowing through them, and his mind was flooded with visions of dragons, ancient battlefields, and primordial forces beyond comprehension.
The last thing he saw before the darkness consumed him was the image of a massive dragon coiling around the sky, its roar shaking the heavens.
And then, silence.
Liang Zhen collapsed to the ground, the Dragon Totem clutched tightly in his hand. Unbeknownst to him, his path as a cultivator had just begun.