The village was unusually quiet that afternoon.
Kailash had been practicing his Qi absorption technique near the well when he noticed the change.
Usually, the village was alive with the sounds of people chattering, kids playing, and farmers returning from the fields.
But now, there was an eerie calm, like the whole place was holding its breath.
He looked around, noticing that a small crowd had gathered near the entrance of the village.
Curious, Kailash sheathed his Beginner's Sword and headed over, walking through the villagers who were murmuring amongst themselves.
As he pushed his way to the front of the crowd, he saw him.
A man, slumped against the large oak tree near the gate, breathing heavily.
His clothes were torn and stained with blood, and his face was hidden behind a hood.
His hand clutched a wound on his side, and the dark red liquid was dripping slowly to the ground.
Yet, despite the state of his body, there was something about him that demanded attention.
The air around him felt different, he radiated an almost suffocating presence, the kind that made the hairs on the back of Kailash's neck stand up.
This wasn't some random traveler. This was a cultivator.
"Who is he?" Kailash whispered to Ajit, who had appeared beside him, equally transfixed by the stranger.
"Don't know," Ajit muttered, eyes wide. "But he looks like trouble."
The village elder, Old Man Raghav, stepped forward cautiously, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Stranger, you're hurt. We mean no harm. You may rest here if you need, but we don't want any trouble."
The man let out a rough laugh, the sound filled with both pain and mockery.
"No trouble, old man... just... need to rest..."
His voice was raspy, and each word sounded like it took all his strength.
Kailash watched as a few villagers moved to help him, lifting the wounded cultivator and carrying him toward a small hut at the edge of the village.
The tension in the air didn't leave, though.
It was as if everyone knew this man brought more with him than just his injuries.
"You think he's dangerous?" Kailash asked Ajit, who was still staring after the stranger.
Ajit shrugged. "Look at him. He's bleeding all over the place, and he still has that... aura. He's not like us, Kailash. He's not some farmer with a hoe. He's seen things."
Kailash nodded, but his curiosity burned brighter than his fear.
This man was a cultivator.
A real one.
If he survived, maybe he could answer some of Kailash's questions, questions about cultivation, about the world outside their small, simple village.
Later that evening, after most of the villagers had dispersed, Kailash found himself outside the small hut where the man had been taken.
He hesitated.
He knew he shouldn't disturb someone who was clearly on the edge of life and death, but his desire to know more outweighed his common sense.
"You really think it's a good idea to go in there?" Ajit's voice startled him from behind.
Kailash turned, surprised to see Ajit lingering near the edge of the hut, arms crossed. "It's not about good ideas," Kailash replied.
"I just need answers. This guy, he's a real cultivator. Who knows when I'll get a chance like this again?"
Ajit frowned, but didn't stop him. "Your funeral, man. If he kills you, I'm not cleaning it up."
Kailash rolled his eyes and knocked on the door softly.
There was no answer, but he pushed it open anyway, stepping into the dimly lit room.
The man lay on a small straw mat, his hood now pulled back to reveal a sharp, pale face etched with scars.
His eyes, though half-closed, flickered toward Kailash as he entered.
"What do you want, kid?" the man rasped, his voice like gravel. "Come to watch me die?"
Kailash swallowed, his bravado fading slightly under the man's gaze. "No... I... I just wanted to talk."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Talk? You think I have time for talk?"
He chuckled darkly, though it quickly turned into a cough, and more blood trickled from his lips. "What does a kid from a backwater village like this want to know about cultivation?"
Kailash hesitated, then sat down on the floor across from him. "I've been trying to learn. I've gathered some Qi... but it's slow. It's harder than I thought."
The man snorted. "Harder than you thought? Kid, you haven't even started." He leaned back against the wall, grimacing in pain. "You think cultivation's about gathering a few points of Qi and swinging a sword around? That's what all you village brats think. But let me tell you, cultivation isn't glory. It's pain. It's loss. You don't just 'get stronger.' You fight for every damn breath."
Kailash blinked, his mind racing to catch up with the man's words.
He had read about cultivation in Webnovels, where the protagonists went through hardships, sure, but they always came out stronger, more powerful, more legendary.
It was always about the glory in the end.
The legendary techniques, the awe-inspiring battles.
"But... there are stories," Kailash said quietly. "Stories of cultivators who rise to the top, who become powerful enough to change the world."
The man's laugh this time was bitter, and his eyes gleamed with something darker. "Stories? You think the stories are real, kid? They're not. They leave out the parts where you bury your friends. Where you watch your master fall in front of you and can't do a damn thing to save him. They leave out the nights you're crawling through the mud, praying you won't be the next one to die."
Kailash felt a chill run down his spine.
This wasn't what he had expected.
He had come here to learn about cultivation, to hear about power and growth.
Not... this.
"So... what's the point?" Kailash asked, his voice quieter now. "Why do people do it?"
The man closed his eyes, his breath ragged. "Because once you start, you can't stop. You can't go back to being weak. Once you taste power, even the smallest bit, it consumes you. It's like a fire. And you'll keep chasing it, even if it burns everything you have left."
Kailash sat there, speechless. The man's words were heavy, pressing down on him like a weight he hadn't felt before.
He had always thought of cultivation as a way to escape his weak, ordinary life.
A way to become someone, something more. But this man... he had seen the other side. The side that no one talked about.
After a long pause, the man opened his eyes again, softer this time. "You're young. You've still got a choice. Walk away from this path while you can. Go back to your fields, to your simple life. It's safer."
Kailash shook his head slowly. "No. I can't do that."
The man studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Of course, you can't. None of us ever can."
Silence filled the room for a while after that, only the crackling of the small fire breaking the stillness.
Kailash didn't know what to say.
The excitement he had felt about becoming a cultivator, about gathering Qi and growing stronger, was now mixed with something fear, uncertainty.
Was it really worth it?
The man shifted slightly, wincing in pain. "If you're going to stick with this... then listen carefully. There's more to cultivation than just Qi. It's not just about power. It's about control. If you can't control the Qi in your body, it'll tear you apart from the inside. Start small. Focus on mastering the basics. Don't chase after techniques you don't understand."
Kailash nodded slowly "I understand."
The man chuckled weakly. "No, you don't. But you will. Eventually."
Kailash stood up, bowing slightly. "Thank you. For the advice."
As he turned to leave, the man spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Kid... what's your name?"
"Kailash."
"Well, Kailash... when you get stronger, remember this: power isn't just about what you can do. It's about what you're willing to lose. And believe me... you'll lose more than you ever thought possible."