The crisp morning air carried the scent of damp earth as Kazel walked beside his father. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows on the dirt path ahead. His father led him with a steady pace, his hands tucked behind his back in a relaxed yet firm posture.
As they approached their destination, Kazel's steps slowed. His golden eyes swept over the scene before him, and his expression shifted from curiosity to disbelief. The structure before him—if it could still be called that—was more ruin than sect. The wooden planks of the gate were half-rotted, the entrance barely standing. The training grounds were overgrown with weeds, and the walls looked like a single strong gust of wind could bring them crumbling down.
Kazel's lips parted slightly as he took in the sight. His father stopped in front of the gate, turning back to look at him.
"What is this?" Kazel finally asked, his voice carrying more surprise than anything else.
His father gave a short chuckle, though there was something nostalgic in it. "What? You don't remember? You used to play here all the time." He shook his head, exhaling. "Well, I suppose it's no surprise. Your memory must still be a little clouded."
Kazel's brows furrowed, but before he could question that, his eyes landed on the broken sign at his feet. He bent down and picked it up, brushing away the dust. The faded lettering barely held together.
"The… Immoral Sect?" he read aloud, a flicker of amusement in his tone.
His father glanced at the sign, then reached into the grass and pulled out a missing piece, handing it over with a small smirk.
"You're missing a part," he said.
Kazel fit the piece back into place, and the lettering shifted.
"The Immortal Sect."
He let the name settle in his mind, and as he looked up at the abandoned training grounds, his expression turned more contemplative than scornful.
"What happened here?" he asked, scanning the empty space where disciples should have been.
His father exhaled, the lines on his face deepening. "They're gone. This place… is a relic of the past. The last gift your grandfather left behind."
Kazel remained silent for a moment, staring at the worn-down training grounds.
"How?" he finally asked.
His father's gaze lingered on the sect for a long moment before he shook his head. "No one wanted to be a student of an abandoned sect like this," he admitted. "And without students, there was no one to maintain it. So, here it stands." He ran a hand along one of the broken pillars, his voice carrying a quiet fondness. "That's why I never bothered cleaning it up."
Kazel was still for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but firm.
"This is where we're training?"
His father nodded. "This is where you'll learn soul cultivation."
Kazel glanced at the ruins again, and this time, his lips curled slightly. Not in disdain, but something else.
Pride.
His father turned to him as they walked deeper into the abandoned sect. "Kazel, do you remember how soul cultivation works?"
Kazel crossed his arms. "Refresh my memory."
His father nodded. "Soul cultivation depends on integrating a spirit beast into your soul. The stronger the beast, the stronger the cultivator—but there's a risk. If your soul isn't strong enough to handle the beast, it can kill you."
Kazel's eyes glinted with interest. "Then the key is finding the strongest beast your soul can handle."
"Exactly," his father affirmed. "Some spirit beasts are welcoming, while others are aggressive. A compatible beast will merge smoothly, but an unruly one might resist, requiring force to tame it."
Kazel glanced at his father's sword. "And the boar? The one you summoned?"
"That was my Two-Tusk Boar, a Common-ranked spirit beast," his father said. "It enhances my physical strikes, making my weapon hit harder. That's an example of a Buff Type spirit beast."
Kazel raised a brow. "Buff Type?"
"There are two types of benefits a spirit beast can provide," his father explained. "One is Buff Type, which strengthens your body, weapon, or defenses. The other is Unique Spirit Arts, which grants special abilities—techniques that can change the flow of battle."
"Can a beast grant both?"
"Some do," his father admitted. "But those are rarer and usually harder to control. Spirit beasts are also ranked by their rarity and power—from Common, Uncommon, Rare, Legendary, and Divine."
Kazel scoffed. "So Divine is the strongest?"
His father smirked. "Obviously. But even within each rank, there are levels. Each beast is graded from One-Star to Three-Star. A Three-Star Common spirit beast can match a One-Star Uncommon beast in power. Generally speaking, the difference isn't absolute, but it's a rough guideline."
Kazel exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Then the goal is simple. Find the strongest beast my soul can take—and then push beyond that."
His father chuckled. "Ambitious as ever. But don't get ahead of yourself. If you integrate a beast too powerful for your soul, it won't just fail—it'll kill you."
Kazel's expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes. He had no intention of staying weak. "Then let's get started."
Kazel narrowed his eyes. "What about integrating more than one spirit beast?"
His father stopped walking for a moment, glancing at him. "It's possible," he admitted. "But extremely dangerous."
Kazel tilted his head. "Dangerous how?"
His father sighed, resuming his pace. "Your soul is like a vessel. If it's strong enough, it can hold more than one beast. But the problem isn't just the burden on your soul—it's the beasts themselves."
Kazel's brows furrowed. "They fight?"
"Exactly," his father nodded. "Spirit beasts have their own instincts, their own will. If two incompatible beasts are integrated into the same soul, they may turn on each other. Your very soul would become a battleground. They will fight, claw, and tear at each other—trying to devour the other."
Kazel smirked. "And if one wins?"
"The survivor remains, but the damage is done. The loser might be devoured entirely, or worse, it might survive in a crippled state, leaving you with an injured soul. A wound like that… it doesn't heal easily. Some never recover."
Kazel tapped his chin thoughtfully. "So, if someone is reckless, they might end up with a crippled cultivation."
His father gave him a pointed look. "Or no cultivation at all."
Kazel let out a small chuckle. ( Heh. Then the key is either choosing the right beasts—or being strong enough to make them submit. )
Kazel's smirk deepened. "What about the star levels? Can a spirit beast grow stronger?"
His father nodded. "Yes. A spirit beast isn't set in stone. It can be nurtured, strengthened—if you know how."
Kazel crossed his arms. "How?"
His father's gaze turned serious. "By feeding it the essence of other beasts."
Kazel's eyes flickered with intrigue. "Devouring, huh?"
"Something like that," his father confirmed. "A spirit beast can increase its star level by absorbing the essence of others, but it's not as simple as just consuming them. The process is delicate. Some beasts refuse to absorb foreign essence. Others become unstable and lash out. And, even if done successfully, the growth is slow—painfully slow."
Kazel hummed. "So, the stronger the beast, the harder it is to nurture?"
His father nodded. "Exactly. A three-star level means a beast has awakened three abilities. But reaching maximum stars, even for a Common beast, is incredibly difficult. Most cultivators never even push their beasts that far."
Kazel's eyes gleamed with interest. "I see… so those who do are the true powerhouses."
Kazel leaned back slightly, his arms crossed as he recalled the girl from the Rising Stone Sect. His mind lingered on the fox he had sensed within her, a rare and beautiful creature.
"The fox," he muttered, glancing at his father. "What was that?"
His father frowned, his expression shifting at the question. "Did you go to the Rising Stone Sect?"
Kazel nodded, unfazed by the sudden shift in his father's tone.
A sigh left the man's lips. "The fox you saw is called the Snow Fox. It's a Rare spirit beast." His father's gaze softened slightly, as if realizing something. "That girl… she's really talented."
Kazel scoffed. "Talented, huh?" He tapped his fingers against his arm before tilting his head. "How did she even get a hold of something like that?"
His father's expression darkened. "It's the sect. They must have been holding onto it, waiting for the right student—one strong enough to host it. And… Salma was the one."
Kazel narrowed his eyes slightly. A spirit beast like that wouldn't just be handed out freely. It meant the sect had been investing in her, believing she was worth the risk. They're grooming her.
His fingers twitched slightly before he turned back to his father. "Then what about the Immortal Sect?" He gestured around at the crumbling walls, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Do we have our own?"
His father hesitated, a complicated look flashing in his eyes.
His father let out a heavy sigh, his gaze distant. "We had one… back in the glory days. But now, we have nothing."
Kazel, however, only smirked. "That's fine, father." His deep blue eyes glinted with amusement as he turned to face him. "If we don't have one, we'll just take one."
His father stiffened. "Kazel—"
"I am the hero in times of chaos." Kazel's voice was unwavering as he looked toward the patriarch's seat. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he ascended the worn steps. The old wood creaked under his weight, but it didn't deter him. He sat down with a sense of ownership, draping one leg over the other. From here, he could see everything—the empty training grounds, the broken pillars, the remnants of a once-glorious sect.
His lips curled upward. "And now, I see that we are facing turbulent times."
His father could only watch in stunned silence as Kazel leaned back, his hands resting on the armrests like a ruler surveying his domain.
"I can already see it, father," Kazel continued, his voice laced with conviction. "A thousand men—no, a million men—chanting my name, following my footsteps." His deep blue eyes burned with ambition, as if he could already hear the roar of the crowd in his mind.
His father swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "K-Kazel… are you okay?"
Kazel let out a chuckle, tilting his head back slightly. "Better than okay, father!" His fingers tapped against the wood as he grinned. "I can't wait for you to see what I'm seeing right now."
Kazel stretched his arms before standing up from the patriarch's seat, his smirk lingering.
"Alright, get down there. Let's start cultivating," his father said.
Without protest, Kazel nodded and descended the steps with slow, deliberate strides. He reached the center of the worn-out training ground, the morning air crisp and still around them.
"To have a strong soul, one must first have a strong body," his father began, his voice calm but firm. "I want you to meditate and feel the surrounding energy."
Kazel raised a brow. "Meditation… You mean like emptying my mind?"
His father shook his head. "No, I want you to turn inward—feel your soul."
Kazel blinked. "What?"
"Trust me. It will become like second nature to you, like breathing," his father reassured him. "Close your eyes and fill your thoughts with what you desire. That's usually a good start. Once you focus, you'll enter your Soul Space."
"Soul Space?" Kazel repeated, intrigued.
"It's the place where your spirit beast will reside once you integrate one," his father explained. "Right now, it should be empty."
Kazel was silent for a moment. After seeing the Snow Fox and the boar's abilities firsthand, he couldn't refute the existence of such things. If this world followed a different set of rules, then he would learn them. Without hesitation, he sat down, legs crossed, back straight. His sharp blue eyes slowly closed.
His father gave a slight nod of approval.
Then—
Kazel's breath hitched. His eyes opened instinctively, but what he saw was no longer the ruined sect's training grounds. Instead, he stood in an endless white expanse, stretching as far as the eye could see. His bare feet pressed against a surface that felt damp, yet there was no sensation of coldness.
"This is…" Kazel slowly lifted his hand, studying his own palm. His voice was laced with awe. "So this is my Soul Space… Magnificent. This is something entirely new! None in my world had anything like this!"
A thought struck him like lightning. His expression turned sharp.
"Wait a minute…" His brows furrowed. "What happened to my real body? Am I vulnerable right now?"
His gaze shifted upwards, where the white emptiness met a vast, endless darkness. Suspended within that darkness were countless spheres of faint, white light, flickering like distant stars.
"Is that… the surrounding energy?" he mused.
His father had told him to feel it. But how?
Kazel narrowed his eyes before a smirk tugged at his lips. "Hold on… If this Soul Space is inside my body, then doesn't that mean I am the Soul Space itself?"
The realization sent a spark of excitement through him. If that was the case… he should be able to control it.
Lifting his hand, Kazel willed one of the floating white spheres to approach him.
The response was instant. One of the glowing orbs detached itself from the darkness above, drifting downward. As it neared, it entered his Soul Space and dissolved into him without resistance.
The moment it disappeared, Kazel felt something shift inside him. A subtle, yet undeniable sensation. His smirk deepened.
"It wasn't removed… it was absorbed."
Kazel crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. "Right, time to tell him," he muttered to himself. "Leaving this place should be just as natural, right? All I have to do then is…"
With a sharp breath, he willed himself back.
His blue eyes fluttered open, and the familiar sight of the rundown training ground greeted him. His father sat nearby, leaning against a wooden post with his arms crossed.
A loud, steady snore filled the air.
Kazel raised an eyebrow. "Hah… seriously?"
But as he turned his gaze upward, past the broken ceiling, his smirk faded. The moon hung high in the sky, its soft glow illuminating the ruins of the Immortal Sect.
His expression darkened slightly.
"Time flew so fast… I thought I was only in there for a moment."