It had been almost two days since Silas entered the pagoda, and his training was still in its infancy. The faint hum of the pagoda's energy filled the air around him, its rhythm steady and unchanging. He sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, his back straight, his hands resting on his knees. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow as he focused inward.
Most of the lessons so far had revolved around one critical aspect: sensing spiritual energy. Silas had attacked the process with relentless determination, but progress was slow.
In moments like this, Silas couldn't help but reflect. Since recovering, he'd been running at full speed, constantly pushing himself to his limits. But now, here in the structured quiet of the pagoda, he finally allowed himself to breathe. This was different—slower, more deliberate.
The system's voice cut through his thoughts, its tone as neutral and detached as ever.
"Host, all cultivation techniques progress through the same six universal stages of completion: Initial Completion, Minor Completion, Intermediate Completion, Full Completion, Half-Step Grand Completion, and Grand Completion."
Silas let the information settle, his brows furrowing slightly.
"The Diamond Body Refinement Technique follows this framework," the system continued. "Each step of cultivation—muscle, bone, and organ—can be measured using these stages. Your current focus is on the muscular foundation."
Silas adjusted his posture slightly, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension creeping up his back. It wasn't the first time the system had mentioned these stages, but hearing it applied so directly to his training made the weight of the process feel more real.
"Initial Completion indicates the technique is functional. Minor Completion reflects stability and effectiveness. Intermediate Completion shows advanced refinement. Full Completion fulfills the technique's intended purpose. Half-Step Grand Completion surpasses expectations. Grand Completion optimizes the technique to perfection."
Silas exhaled slowly, processing the details. "Sounds straightforward," he muttered, though his tone suggested otherwise.
The system didn't respond to his comment. Instead, it continued its clinical explanation. "For your choosen cultivation technique Foundation Establishment is divided into the reinforcement of muscles, bones, and organs. Each stage of completion applies independently to these aspects. Progressing through each ensures a stronger base for future cultivation."
Silas rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers brushing against sweat-dampened skin. "So right now, I'm at step one of step one," he said, half to himself. "Good to know."
The hum of the pagoda shifted slightly, signaling the next phase of his training. Silas took a deep breath and closed his eyes again, letting the system's words fade into the background. He focused instead on the faint warmth gathering in his core, the first threads of spiritual energy swirling in his dantian.
"Back to work," he muttered, steeling himself for the cycles ahead.
Silas grunted, rolling his shoulders. "If this is normal," he muttered under his breath, "cultivation isn't for the faint of heart."
The Diamond Body Refinement Technique used heat, provided by the pagoda as part of the master class, to "soften" the muscles. But this heat wasn't soothing or gentle. It was invasive, clawing its way into the fibers of his muscles, prying them apart and tearing through them like molten fingers. The purpose, the system had explained, was to create pathways for spiritual energy to flow. The experience, however, felt more like a trial by fire.
Each wave of heat was heavier than the last, as though the technique itself were testing his endurance. The warmth started at the surface, spreading slowly before burrowing deep, deeper than he thought possible. It wasn't immediate pain—at least, not yet. It hovered on the edge, a dull ache that radiated outward, making his arms and legs tremble as his body fought to resist the intrusion.
Hours of this had taught Silas how to cope. He wasn't new to discomfort, nor was he unfamiliar with pain. His past life had been a long, excruciating battle with paralyzing flares that left him frozen, unable to act but fully aware of every agonizing second. Back then, he had learned to block it out—not through strength, but by sheer necessity.
Now, as the heat rolled through him, he employed the same technique. Where once he had used music to focus, drowning out the flares with familiar melodies, now he focused on the steady rhythm of cultivation. His breathing became the beat, the energy flowing through his dantian the melody.
But this was different. Back then, the pain had been cruel, purposeless, leaving him broken and powerless. This pain had a purpose—it was progress. And for Silas, that made all the difference.
He was pretty sure he was in some kind of state of shock and at times he still questioned his reaility until he had killed his first man, that had felt to real. He could see where pain had driven him into this world and this was all a figment of his imagination, though he would have never thought of something like this, but in this moment he decided to accept it as his reality, this was better than being paralyzed and constantly in pain for nothing.
Still acceptance didn't make it easy. As the heat softened his muscles, Silas clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening as the ache built into something sharper. He exhaled slowly, forcing his focus to remain steady.
Once the muscles were softened, he began the next step: channeling spiritual energy into his dantian, the central reservoir of energy within his body, and then guiding it into the torn pathways created by the heat. This was no reprieve. The energy didn't soothe—it burned. It surged into the exposed fibers like liquid fire, embedding itself deep within and forcing the muscles to rebuild stronger.
"Heat, soften, reinforce," he whispered, repeating the steps like a mantra.
The process was slow, deliberate, and utterly exhausting. Each cycle left Silas drenched in sweat, his arms and legs heavy with fatigue. His breath came in shallow gasps, but he didn't stop. Pain was nothing new to him—this was just another battle, and he wasn't about to lose.
As the cycle ended, Silas exhaled sharply, shaking out his trembling arms. His stomach growled loudly, breaking the tense silence. He chuckled weakly, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Guess I need to eat," he muttered, reaching for the small satchel beside him.
As Silas's stomach growled, he reached toward the stack of MREs he had brought along. He grabbed one, turning it over in his hands. "Better than starving," he muttered, beginning to tear at the seal.
Before he could open it, the system chimed in, its neutral voice cutting through the silence.
"Host, consuming processed foods from Earth is not recommended. Their impurities will disrupt your cultivation progress and degrade your optimized body."
Silas froze, lowering the MRE slightly. "My… optimized body?"
The system's response was immediate. "During your awakening, the Host prioritized healing. The results were not limited to repair. Your body has been optimized—free from defects, genetic inefficiencies, and hidden conditions. It is functioning at peak capacity, making it ideal for cultivation."
Silas blinked, turning the MRE over in his hands as the system continued.
"Most individuals unknowingly carry physical flaws or latent conditions that inhibit cultivation, requiring costly resources or decades of effort to overcome. You, however, are starting from an ideal foundation. Consuming impure or processed foods will undo this advantage, introducing instability into your system."
He glanced down at the MRE, its dull packaging suddenly unappealing. He placed it aside with a reluctant sigh. "Okay, so what am I supposed to eat, then? It's not like I have a spiritual grocery store handy."
"If the Host lacks natural, spiritual foods, they may be purchased through the pagoda. Options include spiritual rice, fruits, and other items from awakened Earth. These foods are rich in energy and support cultivation."
Silas grumbled as he opened the system's interface, scrolling through the list of available items. "So, I pay you to keep me from starving. Convenient."
The price for a satchel of spiritual rice wasn't outrageous, but it was another reminder that every merit point mattered. He reluctantly tapped to confirm the purchase, watching as the satchel materialized in front of him.
The rice shimmered faintly in the dim light of the pagoda, its grains smooth and luminous like tiny pearls. Silas opened the package, the faint warmth inside radiating outward.
"At least it's pre-cooked," he muttered, grabbing a handful.
The first bite was unlike anything he'd tasted before. Warmth spread through his body, subtle but immediate, soothing the ache in his muscles. The rice wasn't just filling—it was alive, its energy sinking into him with each bite.
"Not bad," Silas admitted as he quickly finished the portion. He could already feel the dull throb in his muscles recede slightly, replaced by a comforting, grounded warmth.
His eyes flicked back to the MREs, their drab packaging now looking strangely out of place. He shoved them further aside with a grimace. "Stick to the rice," he muttered, repeating the system's advice.
The moment of reprieve didn't last long. The system's voice chimed in again, as clinical as ever.
"Host, return to training. Repeat the process: heat, soften, reinforce. Progress remains steady."
Silas sighed, leaning forward to stretch his legs. "No rest for the wicked, huh?"
As time passed, Silas began to adjust to the relentless rhythm of cultivation. The system's assistance, though curt and often maddening, had proven invaluable. Its advice, though clinical, was precise, and its occasional jabs kept him sharp.
During one particularly grueling session, Silas muttered through clenched teeth, "You're sure this is 'normal,' right?"
The system responded immediately. "Yes, Host. Unless, of course, you are weaker than projected."
Silas snorted, wiping sweat from his brow. "Right. Glad I have you to keep my morale up."
Inside the pagoda, the spiritual rice he had been eating remained a reliable comfort. Each portion glowed faintly, radiating a warmth that dulled his aches and kept his energy up. The rice was smooth, faintly sweet, and nourishing in a way no Earth food had ever been. But Silas knew the rice wouldn't last forever. He needed something portable for when he left.
After consulting the system, he purchased a week's supply of dried spiritual jerky, a dense, smoky-smelling meat that radiated faint heat. When it materialized, Silas tore open one of the packages and inspected the contents.
The jerky was slightly tough but packed with energy, each bite flooding his body with a subtle warmth. "Not bad," he muttered, setting the rest aside for travel.
The system interrupted, as always. "Host's choice is adequate. The spiritual meat will sustain energy for extended periods of travel and training."
Silas rolled his eyes. "Good to know I'm adequate, as usual."
Another item appeared shortly after: a small, smooth stone etched with glowing fiery patterns. It was warm to the touch, faintly pulsing in his palm.
"This item enhances cultivation by generating heat. Activation requires spiritual energy, either cultivated or drained from external resources. The efficiency will increase if the Host aligns with the greater Dao of Fire or the lesser Dao of Heat."
Silas frowned. "Right. And the catch?"
"Understanding the Dao cannot be told. It must be experienced."
Silas groaned, rubbing his temples. "Cryptic as always. Thanks for nothing."
Finally, he remembered something else the system had mentioned: a complimentary ring of holding. Sitting back, he decided it was worth asking.
"Alright," he said aloud, "I'll take my complimentary ring of holding."
The system's response came with what Silas swore was a smug edge.
"Complimentary? Host's concept of 'free' is amusing. Cannot believe you actually asked."
Silas sighed, muttering under his breath, "Dumb system. Does everyone get one like this, or am I just the lucky one?"
The system ignored him and continued. "System is authorized to offer a ring of holding on credit. The ring holds up to ten backpacks' worth of space. Upon activation, the system will tax half of the stored items until credit is paid."
Silas frowned. "Is it a fair deal?"
"In Host's circumstances, yes."
He didn't need to read between the lines to know he was being ripped off. But with no other storage options, he muttered, "Fine. I'll take the ring of holding."
A small silver ring appeared before the monolith. Its surface was smooth, inscribed with glowing runes that shimmered faintly. Silas picked it up, slipping it onto his finger as the system prompted him to channel spiritual energy into it.
The ring glowed softly, and a small, dimensional space opened before him. Testing it out, he placed his dried jerky, large knife, and rifle inside. Each item disappeared the weight of the item gone. He called the knife which appeared in his hand.
"Not bad," he admitted grudgingly.
But the system wasn't done.
Silas listened carefully as the system outlined the mechanics of the ring of holding, its precise tone offering no room for ambiguity.
"If the ring is removed and put back on, the system will tax 25% of the items stored within. The ring cannot be accessed unless it is worn. If the ring is removed and taken, it will automatically return to the Host within 24 hours if contents were not examined.
The system continued. "If the Host possesses a second ring of holding, upon examining its contents, the Host will have 30 minutes to transfer items to their original ring before the system enforces a full transfer and voids the second ring. Only one ring of holding is allowed per party."
Silas processed the rules quickly. The 30-minute window created a risky but clear opportunity—anyone who managed to steal the ring would only have a short time to examine and take its contents before it reverted to its original owner.
Silas made a mental note: never open a ring unless there's enough time to examine and move the contents, and he had a day to do it.
He glanced at the three items he'd stored in the ring: his dried spiritual jerky, rifle, and large knife. It wasn't much, but it was all he needed for now. The ring was light on his finger, the faint glow of its runes barely noticeable.
The system's rules were simple enough, but the implications were clear. Rings of holding would spark competition and chaos, driving conflict in a world where survival was already the only law.
With his preparations complete, Silas turned toward the door of the pagoda.
"Well," he murmured, stepping forward, "here we go."
The door creaked open, the cool air of the outside world brushing against his skin. Silas squared his shoulders, took a steadying breath, and stepped into the unknown, leaving the mini pagoda behind.