Silas took a step outside, the cool air brushing against his face. The surroundings were exactly as he remembered from two days ago, when he'd first entered the pagoda, but now the world was lightly veiled in mist. Droplets clung to the leaves and grass, glistening faintly in the muted light.
Pulling up the hood of his jacket, he glanced around. The lack of a backpack made him feel oddly free, and he moved forward with purpose.
He hadn't decided on his next move just yet. Maybe he'd scout out another mini pagoda to camp in. Maybe he'd kill a few beasts. Either way, staying idle wasn't an option. Silas knew what was coming—the worst of humanity always emerged in times of chaos.
He didn't want to be an asshole, but he understood the rules of the new world would be different. If he didn't get stronger, someone else would. In the old world, power had come from money, influence, and connections. Now, it was the strength of your fist that determined everything.
Silas smirked faintly at the thought. He'd seen his family stand at the pinnacle of authority, their power unshakable in the old order. But here, none of that mattered. The idea of building his own authority, of earning it with his own strength, was strangely exhilarating.
The mist thickened as he walked, dampening the ground beneath his boots. His thoughts wandered, and he decided to test something.
"System?" he said aloud. Nothing.
He frowned. "Hey, system. You there?"
Still no response.
With a sigh, Silas decided to try something else.
"Status."
A translucent screen appeared before him, faintly glowing in the dim light of the misty forest.
Name: Silas Creed
Race: Human
Cultivation Technique: Diamond Furnace Body Refinement
Cultivation Type: Body
Cultivation Technique Rank: Spiritual Rank
Cultivation Limit: Core Formation
Greater Dao: None
Lesser Dao: None
Techniques: None
Merits: 0
Credited Merits: 1,000,000
Time till host can enter next mini-pagoda: 90 days
The screen blinked out after a moment, leaving Silas alone once more in the quiet forest.
POV GOLEM #379
Golem #379 stood unmoving, its metallic frame faintly glimmering under the energy it processed. Streams of data flowed seamlessly into its core, drawn from countless sources across the newly awakened Earth. Unlike most constructs, #379 possessed a unique capability—its connection to the Will of the Universe allowed it to communicate directly with the Will of the World. This vital link ensured Earth's awakening would maintain a delicate balance, preventing exploitation by the myriad races converging upon it.
Another golem had been dispatched to oversee the main pagodas, the epicenters of cultivation activity. #379, however, had a broader directive: manage the enduring process, ensuring humans and other arriving races faced fair trials while maintaining harmony amidst the chaos.
The influx of beings from across the universe was staggering. #379's calculations projected that over 1.03 billion individuals would arrive on Earth within the next three months. Resources poured in as each race sought to secure a foothold. These treasures, absorbed by the Will of the World, would not only fuel Earth's rapid expansion but also strengthen its foundation.
Earth was already undergoing dramatic changes. The spiritual awakening had caused the planet's size to increase significantly, and the incoming energy and resources would only accelerate this transformation. Every treasure offered, every ounce of energy consumed, contributed to the planet's growth.
Through its connection to the Will of the World, #379 ensured that no single race could dominate the process. Coordinated arrivals were denied outright. Every individual was "randomly" transported to locations across the planet, spreading density evenly. Races prone to allying were "randomly" separated, ensuring collaboration became an unlikely luxury.
Upon arrival, each participant would begin their journey in the enduring process, starting with the immediate acquisition of a ring of holding.
The ring of holding, similar in concept to a spatial ring, was uniquely tied to the enduring trials of awakened worlds. Simple yet profound, it played a critical role in enforcing balance. Every individual received one upon arrival, but its true purpose was to instill the law of the jungle—encouraging competition and self-reliance.
#379 briefly turned its attention to the long-term picture. The realm everyone sought would not open for another year. This specific realm had opened before, and its influence was legendary. It had sown the seeds for countless apex cultivators to rise, its trials weeding out all but the most exceptional.
This particular realm, however, had a distinctive condition: those who were not of the planet's origin required a native guide to gain entry. For Earth's humans, this would bring equal parts opportunity and peril.
Before the realm connected fully, however, another event loomed closer. In six months, an apex Beast Space would breach Earth's boundaries. This dimension, home to some of the universe's most powerful creatures, was a crucible in its own right. While the strongest beasts could freely roam the grander universe, their offspring were bound to their dimension until certain conditions were met. Drawn by instinct and Earth's abundant resources, these offspring—particularly the youngest with no cultivation—would inevitably flood the planet.
This influx would bring immense danger but also unprecedented opportunity. Among these beasts were noble and ancient bloodlines, some of which had not surfaced in eons.
Even as these large-scale events unfolded, #379 monitored smaller yet equally critical developments. Techniques were being distributed among Earth's humans, and one in particular caught the golem's attention.
The Diamond Body Refinement Technique was exceedingly rare. Its brutal requirements made it almost impossible to cultivate, and it was rarely offered in newly awakened worlds. Painful to the extreme, it was infamous for breaking all but the most determined cultivators. Yet, if mastered, it could forge one of the most flawless cultivation foundations in the universe.
Though listed as Spiritual Rank, its true power edged into Ascended Mystic Grade and was considered half-step Heaven-grade.
The odds of success were astronomically low. Few survived the technique's trials, and the human assigned to it—designated as Host Silas Creed—was unlikely to succeed. Lacking both a natural physique and cultivation talent, Silas's current trajectory left little to attract the apex families or sects of the universe.
Golem #379 logged Silas Creed into a folder of interest, his profile carefully organized alongside millions of others. The system grouped individuals by blood relations, and Silas's entry was placed next to a male human who shared half his bloodline. This individual's file stood out subtly, marked with specific notations that hinted at significance. Among the entries, a mention of a Golden Yang Body glimmered faintly, denoting a rare and coveted physique.
For now, Silas was simply another name, his limitations duly recorded. But proximity to this particular profile ensured continued monitoring—after all, bloodlines often carried hidden potential.
This, however, was only the beginning. Most of the names in the golem's archives would perish during the awakening.
#379's gaze shifted as it prepared for its next task. The planet continued to grow, the Will of the World working tirelessly to maintain balance and ensure opportunities.
The awakening was far from over.
For #379, this was another step in preparing Earth for the Aether, who would converge on the planet in approximately one year.
Because the apex families and sects were sending their best seeds into the world for the specific realm, armies had already been dispatched to safeguard Earth. These forces, positioned strategically, could delay the Fallen from sending the Aether to Earth, but they could not prevent it entirely.
Yet, for some reason, the Fallen appeared just as energized as their rivals. The last time this realm had appeared, they had acted in much the same way, mobilizing their forces with unparalleled fervor. Their energy was unsettling, a sign that they, too, had plans for what was to come.
Skirmishes were already breaking out just beyond the reach of Earth's Will of the World, in regions where its influence no longer extended. The armies of the apex families clashed with the Fallen's forces, their battles growing fiercer with every passing day. The stakes were clear—both sides sought to dominate the realm and shape the future of their factions.
Earth was poised to become chaotic. As the apex and the Fallen circled the planet like vultures, humanity and the newly arriving races were on the brink of being thrust into an unprecedented storm of conflict.
Silas creed POV
Silas approached the estate, or what remained of it. The once-proud structure had been utterly destroyed, as though the earth itself had grown and ripped it apart. Thick tree roots had already forced their way through the crumbling walls, and young saplings sprouted from the rubble. Crazy, Silas thought, shaking his head at the sight.
At the base of a massive tree, he spotted a figure slumped against the roots. The man was familiar—the same guy who had offered to "scout" the mini pagoda for him two days ago. He was in bad shape. Blood pooled beneath him, and his skin was pale, almost ghostly white.
Silas approached cautiously, crouching beside the man. His chest was rising and falling faintly. He was alive, for now.
The man's eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain. He coughed weakly, blood speckling his lips.
"Oh… it's you," he rasped, his voice barely audible. He coughed again, grimacing. "Found the other mini pagoda… I was able to clear it. Traci… that blonde chick with me… she helped me secure it. I was gonna scout it out…" He broke off, groaning as the pain surged through him. "But she stabbed me as I was about to enter. Took the pagoda for herself. Stupid… bitch."
Silas remained silent, watching as the man's breathing grew shallower.
The dying man's hand twitched weakly, as if grasping for something. His eyes met Silas's, the desperation in them unmistakable.
"If you see her… kill her for me," he whispered, his voice cracking. His eyes closed, and his body went still.
Silas exhaled deeply, standing as he took in the scene around him. Sure enough, the best of humanity was already showing, he thought dryly.
After a moment, he moved on, stepping carefully over the rubble as he searched for anything useful. What had once been a shed caught his attention. It was broken and partially collapsed, but Silas pushed his way through the debris, scavenging what he could.
He found a small box of matches among the wreckage. Most were soaked and useless, but after some effort, he managed to salvage about ten dry ones. He placed them carefully into his ring of holding, satisfied with the small victory.
With nothing left to find, Silas stepped out of the ruined shed, the mist clinging to the air as he set off once more.
Silas moved steadily through the forest, his strides firm and purposeful. The strength coursing through his body felt strange yet undeniably welcome. After years of being confined by paralysis, every step felt like a quiet victory. Testing his limits, he leaned forward and broke into a jog. His boots struck the damp earth with a steady rhythm, the cool mist clinging to his face as he picked up speed.
Faster, he thought, a faint grin tugging at his lips. His movements felt fluid and controlled, sharper than he remembered. Training with Axle had honed his awareness of his body, but this was something else—an efficiency that hadn't been there before.
Ahead, a tree loomed, its trunk sturdy and knotted with age. Silas slowed to a stop, his breath steady. On impulse, he raised a fist and struck the bark lightly. Pain flared in his knuckles, making him wince, but when he pulled his hand back, he noticed a faint indent where his fist had landed.
Not bad, he thought, shaking out his hand as he examined the mark. The tree stood unyielding, but the dent was proof of his enhanced strength. Not a super soldier, but definitely better.
He straightened and glanced around, his priorities snapping into place. Shelter came first. The estate, nestled far from the city, had always been his sanctuary. Isolated by miles of forest, it boasted a private mini-airport and a helipad—luxuries that now seemed insignificant in this transformed world.
As his gaze drifted, the towering silhouette of the giant pagoda came into view. Even through the thick mist, its presence was commanding, its size and structure radiating a quiet authority. Silas frowned. The pagoda was an obvious focal point, likely drawing others toward it.
No need to join the crowd, he thought, turning away from the imposing structure and heading deeper into the forest.
As he walked, another realization struck him. His mind felt sharper, clearer. Thoughts that once meandered now came together with precision, each one fitting neatly into the next. He processed details faster, noticing nuances in the environment—the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves, the faint glimmer of dew on the grass.
But his heightened focus snapped back to the present as a rustling sound broke the forest's stillness.
Silas stopped abruptly, his senses sharpening. Something moved in the underbrush ahead. He narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening instinctively.
An animal?
From the shadows, a giant raccoon emerged, its fur matted and patchy, its eyes glinting with feral aggression. Its body was larger than any raccoon Silas had seen before, its back arched, muscles rippling under its scruffy coat. The creature let out a low, guttural growl, its teeth bared in warning. Usually the size of a small dog this one was at his waist.
Silas froze, his heart pounding. His hand instinctively reached for the large knife stored in his ring of holding. In an instant, it materialized in his grip, the cool metal reassuring against his palm. The raccoon's growl deepened as it began to circle him, its claws digging into the damp earth with each deliberate step. Silas matched its movements, his body tense, eyes locked on the beast.
Axle's training… what had he said about animals?
Nothing. Silas cursed inwardly. Axle had trained him to handle human threats, not a frenzied monster. He tightened his grip on the knife, his knuckles whitening.
The raccoon lunged first, its powerful hind legs propelling it forward like a spring uncoiling. Silas twisted to the side, but the beast was fast—its sharp teeth grazed his arm. Pain flared as the shallow bite tore through his jacket, leaving behind a stinging wound. Warm blood trickled down his arm, soaking into the fabric.
They circled again, both predator and prey reassessing. Silas's breaths came shallow and quick, his pulse hammering in his ears. The raccoon snarled, its tail lashing furiously behind it.
This time, Silas moved first. He lunged forward, his knife slashing in a quick, deliberate arc. The raccoon dodged with startling agility, the blade skimming its side and drawing a shallow gash. Blood welled up, dark and glistening, but the wound was superficial.
Tough little bastard, Silas thought, his palms slick with sweat as he adjusted his grip.
The raccoon, now enraged, released a piercing screech that echoed through the forest. It leapt again, claws outstretched, its ferocity blurring the line between desperation and bloodlust. Silas ducked low, feeling the rush of air as the creature soared over him.
Instinct took over. As the raccoon flew past, Silas drove his knife upward. The blade sank into the beast's soft underbelly with a sickening squelch. Warm blood gushed out, splattering across his face and hands. The metallic tang filled his mouth, and he gagged, spitting instinctively.
The raccoon's shriek was deafening. It writhed violently, its claws flailing in an attempt to dislodge the blade. Silas let go of the knife, the weapon still embedded in its belly, and lunged forward. He grabbed the creature by its neck, his fingers digging into the wiry fur as it thrashed beneath him.
The raccoon's claws raked weakly at his arm, tearing shallow scratches into his skin. Silas gritted his teeth, his muscles burning as he twisted its neck with all the strength he could muster. The creature resisted, its body convulsing wildly.
Then, with a sickening crack, the resistance stopped.
The raccoon fell limp, its body trembling as blood pooled beneath it. Its eyes remained wide, filled with terror, and its chest rose and fell in shallow, rasping breaths. Silas stared down at it, grimacing. The creature wasn't dead—only paralyzed.
He couldn't leave it like this. The last thing he needed was the noise attracting more attention.
Grabbing the knife, Silas yanked it free, the blade dripping with gore. Without hesitation, he plunged it into the raccoon's chest, the final blow silencing its pitiful whimpers.
The forest was quiet again, the mist clinging to the trees like a shroud. Silas staggered back, his chest heaving as he wiped the blood from his face with a trembling sleeve.
He glanced at his arm. The bite stung fiercely, and the shallow scratches throbbed. Wonderful, he thought sarcastically. First fight in years, and I get bitten by a giant raccoon.
The forest swallowed him once again, its eerie silence broken only by the distant rustling of leaves.
Silas stared down at the lifeless body of the giant raccoon, the knife still slick with its blood clutched in his hand. Food, he thought grimly. He didn't want to keep relying on the system for supplies. With a million merit points of debt already looming over his head, he needed every resource he could scavenge to focus on cultivation.
He sighed, crouching beside the carcass. Cleaning and butchering an animal wasn't something he'd ever done before, but survival didn't wait for expertise. He set his knife against the creature's soft belly and began cutting, only to immediately regret it.
The moment he sliced further into the wound from his earlier fight, a foul stench hit him like a punch to the gut. He gagged, turning his head away instinctively.
The stomach, he thought bitterly. I already pierced it during the fight.
Stomach fluids had spilled out, soaking into the surrounding meat and contaminating it. The acrid, bile-like scent mixed with the iron tang of blood, making his stomach churn.
He forced himself to keep going, carving away at the animal with slow, deliberate cuts. Blood slicked his hands, making the knife harder to hold, and every movement felt clumsy. He tried to salvage as much of the meat as he could, but the tough hide and his inexperience made the process painfully inefficient.
His knife nicked the fur too often, leaving bits of it stuck to the meat. The punctured stomach had ruined nearly half the usable flesh, and what remained was unevenly cut. Silas sighed, frustration mounting as he worked. His arms ached from the effort, his hands slick and sticky with blood.
By the time he finished, he sat back on his heels, surveying the butchered remains with a grimace. The pile of usable meat was small, haphazardly cut, and still clung to patches of fur he hadn't managed to remove. Half the carcass lay ruined, reeking of bile.
Still, it was better than nothing. He wrapped the salvageable chunks in large, sturdy leaves he found nearby, tying them together with strips of bark. The weight felt heavier in his hands than it should, a reminder of his inexperience.
Pulling out his ring of holding, he carefully placed the meat inside, hoping the ring's preservation abilities would keep it fresh.
Guess I'll find out, he thought wryly, sliding the ring back onto his finger.
Silas stood, brushing dirt and blood from his knees. His jacket was sticky, his hands caked with drying blood. He ignored the discomfort, turning his focus back to the forest. The stench of the carcass was bound to draw attention, and he needed to move.
Glancing one last time at the mangled remains of the raccoon, Silas shook his head. Lesson learned, he thought. Next time, avoid the stomach—and don't make such a mess.
With his knife back in the ring, Silas adjusted his hood and set off into the mist, leaving behind the remnants of his first kill.