The cave was his sanctuary, an endless abyss where time ceased to exist. Every breath, every heartbeat, was synchronized with the flow of qi, the life energy that thrummed through his veins. He had come here to seek power beyond mortal comprehension, to shatter the boundaries of his cultivation. Years, centuries—perhaps even millennia—passed without a thought for the world outside. To him, the passage of time was inconsequential. Only the path forward mattered.
Deep within the caverns, his figure sat cross-legged on a stone platform, his body suspended in an eternal state of meditation. His skin shimmered faintly as the qi flowed, untainted and pure, through his meridians. Every now and then, faint echoes of the world above would reach him: distant tremors, faint roars. But he was too deep, too focused. Nothing could break his trance.
Until the day the world died.
It started with a rumble, unlike anything he had felt before—a shiver that traveled through the very bones of the earth. For a moment, his concentration wavered, his brow furrowing as the disturbance grew into a roar. His eyes opened, glowing with the brilliance of cultivated energy, and in that instant, he sensed it—a cataclysm beyond his imagination. A force unlike anything the Murim world had faced.
He felt it all—trees torn from their roots, rivers evaporating, mountains collapsing, and the very ground turning to magma. His spiritual sense extended outward, and he saw it: the heavens themselves had unleashed a punishment upon the world. A meteor, vast and burning, crashing into the planet with a force that could shatter continents. And as it did, everything—every soul, every sect, every relic of ancient knowledge—was consumed in an instant.
There was no escape, no salvation for the living. The surface of the planet became an inferno, a sea of molten rock, as all life was eradicated. The qi he once sensed as vibrant and boundless became a turbulent, chaotic force, swirling without purpose. But as the world above burned, all that life essence—the energy of millions of souls—was drawn into the depths of the earth, converging upon the cave.
And it found him.
The life essence, condensed and pure, surged into his body like a torrent. It was power beyond comprehension, the collective energy of a dying world merging into a single vessel. His body shook, his veins bulging as he struggled to absorb the vast, violent force. It was too much—an overwhelming flood that could tear him apart. But he clenched his teeth, forcing his cultivation to stabilize. This was an opportunity, a gift forged in destruction.
Time became meaningless once more. Hours, days, centuries—all faded as he absorbed the essence. His power grew, breaking through realms he had only dreamed of. The cave became a cocoon of energy, sealing him off from the ruins of the world above. In the end, there was silence. Deep, undisturbed silence.
And then, he woke.
His eyes snapped open, and the once-dormant cave shook with the surge of his power. The stone walls, once familiar, now seemed foreign and ancient, covered in layers of dust and debris. His senses expanded outward, searching for the qi that once flowed so freely, but he felt...nothing. The world outside was still, quiet in a way that made his skin crawl. He rose, the movement stiff, as if he hadn't moved for ages.
"Ten thousand years..." he muttered, the words echoing through the empty cavern. "How long have I been in seclusion?"
He reached out, extending his spiritual sense beyond the cave, and what he found was unimaginable. The vibrant qi of the Murim world was gone, replaced by...something else. The air was thick with an artificial essence, and the hum of unfamiliar energy rippled through his senses. It was not the qi he had known, nor was it demonic energy. It was something new—something entirely alien.
He stepped outside, the cave opening into a world that had changed beyond recognition. The once lush forests, the towering peaks, and the serene rivers—all were gone. Instead, vast structures of steel and glass loomed above him, glinting in the sunlight. He watched as strange metal beasts—vehicles—roared past on smooth, black pathways. Humans walked in droves, dressed in strange garments, staring into glowing screens that floated in their palms.
This was not the world he knew. The Murim world—the sects, the masters, the ancient arts—had all vanished. The power he had cultivated, the knowledge he had gained, felt like relics of a forgotten age. He took a deep breath, his senses overwhelmed by the new world. The air was clean, almost too clean, and it lacked the natural essence he had spent his life mastering. This was a world of technology, not cultivation.
But the energy he had absorbed from the cataclysm long ago still resided within him, a reservoir of immense power. He clenched his fist, feeling the surge of life essence, and a smirk tugged at his lips.
"A new world... but the path of cultivation is eternal."
He watched the humans of this era, noting the absence of any martial aura, the lack of warriors who walked the path of cultivation. Had they forgotten it entirely? Was he the last cultivator remaining in this modern age? The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.
"Very well," he said to himself, his eyes burning with a newfound determination. "If the world has changed, then I will change with it."
But first, he would need to understand this new world—their machines, their cities, their power. He stepped forward, his silhouette merging with the throngs of people, a relic of an ancient age in a world that had long moved on. Yet, deep within, he knew that the path to power was never straightforward. This was merely another beginning.
And as he walked into the heart of the city, he made a vow: to reclaim the lost knowledge of cultivation and rise once more, even in this world of steel and glass.