After arising from meditating, only now did De-Reece realize how hungry he was.
"Right," he thought to himself. "I need to eat."
Taking out the snake, he expertly filleted it, regretting the lack of seasonings in this new world. Still, food was food. He set off to gather firewood, his path winding through the forest of massive oak-red trees stretching high into the sky. Their towering forms made him feel small — a reminder that, despite his recent progress, he was still at the base of an insurmountable mountain.
He gathered dry branches and twigs, methodically checking their weight and snapping them to ensure they were dry enough to burn. The silence of the forest pressed down on him, each crack of a branch echoing louder than it should. His mind wandered back to the Heavenly Demon's words — strength through mastery, not recklessness. Even in something as simple as collecting firewood, there was an eerie sense of purpose now, as though every act, no matter how small, was another stone on the path to his growth.
During the journey, De-Reece practiced, leaping from tree to tree. At first, his steps were clumsy, his control over the Phantom Shadow Steps still unrefined. But as the hours passed, a strange feeling crept over him — freedom. The wind rushed past his face, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like he was untethered from everything. No death, no battles, just motion.
Then the weight of memory hit him — the faces of his lost brothers, the sound of their laughter — gone. The sensation of freedom evaporated as quickly as it came, replaced by a cold emptiness.
Grinding his teeth, he refocused, pushing his Qi down into his newly opened leg nodes. Though the flow still felt awkward — like trying to redirect a river through half-built canals — it was better than before. The choice to open the shoulder Yangwei point first gnawed at him. If he had opened the leg nodes instead, his movement would have been smoother by now. His steps would be faster, his control sharper. It was a mistake born of haste — one he vowed not to repeat.
By the time he stumbled across a small deposit of rock salt, his Phantom Shadow Steps had grown steadier, the flickers of movement less erratic. It wasn't mastery, but it was something.
"Better than nothing," he muttered, pocketing the salt into his spatial pouch.
On his way back, De-Reece froze. A monkey tribe — brown-furred creatures with red stripes running down their backs — perched in the distance. War paint? No, just the natural color of their fur. Their faces bore husky-like markings around their eyes, giving them a fierce, almost tribal look. The leader, larger than the rest, gnawed on a thick root, its gaze scanning the forest with a sharpness that spoke of intelligence.
De-Reece's hand hovered over his zombie knife, but he shook his head. Not yet. He would challenge them eventually — test himself against their speed and strength — but now was not the time. Quietly, he retreated.
Back at the cave, he prepared his meal, breaking down the rock salt into finer grains and sprinkling it over the snake meat. Each bite was a revelation — not because of the flavor, which was still bland and metallic — but because he could feel the faint pulse of Qi within the meat. It wasn't much, but it was something. The snake's lifeforce had not completely dissipated, and with each swallow, a whisper of energy trickled into his own meridians.
His eyes widened in amazement. "Even eating can strengthen me?"
After finishing his meal, De-Reece crossed his legs and ran his Qi through his newly opened meridians. The flow was rough, still burdened by the imbalance from his shoulder Yangwei point, but he pressed forward. When he felt a stable circuit form — however crude — he retrieved the body-tempering pills left by the Heavenly Demon. Without hesitation, he swallowed one.
The pain was immediate.
It felt like molten iron coursing through his veins, each pulse of Qi clashing violently against his unrefined pathways. His muscles screamed in protest, his bones felt as if they were being chiselled from the inside out. De-Reece bit down on his lip hard enough to taste blood, riding out the agony until, at last, the storm passed.
When his breathing finally slowed, he felt… renewed. Stronger. Like his body had been reforged, every fibre of his being honed sharper than before.
A glimmer of light caught his eye — a mirror tucked away in the corner of the cave. For the first time since coming to this world, he saw his reflection.
Shock hit him like a hammer.
The face staring back wasn't the 26-year-old man he remembered. It was younger — leaner — with skin smoother than it had been in years. His body, though still broad and muscular, seemed just shy of fully matured.
"Sixteen?" De-Reece muttered, running a hand through his hair.
He hadn't noticed it before — all the chaos of fighting, training, and surviving had kept him too preoccupied — but there was no denying it now. He was in his younger body.
"Well, damn," he whispered, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. He had always looked older than his age, even back then, but this… this was something else. One thing puzzled him, though. His dreads were still there — a style he hadn't grown until later in life. It was a strange comfort like a piece of his old self had refused to be left behind.
Shaking off the confusion, De-Reece's gaze landed on the glowing golden fruit resting beside the alchemy tools and the Formation and Arrays book.
He still didn't know what to do with it. Eating it blindly seemed reckless, yet the power it exuded was undeniable. Despite his study of the formation arrays and alchemy books, there was no mention of this strange fruit. Not even a hint.
He thought back to the Heavenly Demon's words and, thinking of the sword he had hidden, went to retrieve it. It was magnificent — heavy, but not bulky in appearance. The blade seemed to be made from some black obsidian-like metal, perhaps a fusion of the two. Intricate designs lined its surface, flowing like dark veins of power. Flawless in its craftsmanship, it was a sword — but its shape was deceptive. Some might mistake it for a blade at first glance. It looked versatile, capable of both sword and blade techniques, a reflection of the Heavenly Demon's approach — adaptable, lethal, unpredictable.
De-Reece began training with the sword, channelli ng his Qi through his node points, but the techniques in the book didn't come naturally to him. His broader, bulkier frame clashed with the fluid, elegant strikes described by the Heavenly Demon. The forms demanded agility and grace — quick, sweeping motions that seemed at odds with De-Reece's powerful, grounded stance. Each swing of the sword felt off, like wearing clothes tailored for someone else. His strikes were too heavy, his footwork too rigid.
Time slipped away as the sun crawled across the sky. Hours of repetition blurred together — strike, step, parry — and each failure stoked the simmering frustration within him. The book spoke of moving Qi like a flowing stream, guiding it seamlessly from node to node, but De-Reece's Qi felt more like a crashing wave, wild and untamed.
By midday, his muscles screamed from overuse. Sweat clung to his skin like a second layer. He forced himself to stop, gnawing on the last scraps of snake meat, only to find the energy gained was meagre — a whisper of what it had been before. A grim reminder that relying solely on these beasts for Qi would never be sustainable.
Gritting his teeth, De-Reece refused to let the day slip away. Rather than forcing himself into the Heavenly Demon's mold, he tried something different — heavier, more deliberate strikes. He channelled Qi into his legs, stabilizing his stance, and let his sword arm swing with the strength of his entire body, not just his wrist or elbow. He began blending sword and blade techniques, shifting between quick slashes and bone-crushing chops.
The results were crude, unpolished — but they were his. With each swing, he felt the faintest spark of something new. It wasn't mastery, not even close, but it was a step forward — a weapon style shaped by his own hands, not a shadow of another's.
Finally, he sat down, breathing deeply, the weight of the sword resting against his lap. His arms ached, his muscles burning from the relentless repetition of swings and stances, but his mind buzzed with determination. Rather than mimic the Heavenly Demon's style, he began blending elements of both sword and blade combat, drawing from his own strengths. His strikes became heavier, more deliberate — not the swift, elegant cuts described in the book, but crushing blows powered by the raw force of his bulkier frame.
He shifted his footwork too, anchoring himself like a mountain before letting his sword arc through the air, using momentum rather than grace. The energy within his Qi nodes pulsed in response, not flowing like a gentle stream but crashing like a wave, wild and untamed. Each swing sent a ripple of energy through his veins — sloppy, but growing steadier with each attempt.
Hours blurred together as he hacked at the air, again and again, until the sun began to set. His breathing was ragged, his legs threatening to buckle, but there was a spark in his movements now — a rough, unrefined technique born from his own instincts. It wasn't mastery, not even close, but it was his. The beginning of something new.
Exhausted, De-Reece slumped to the ground, his body screaming for rest, but his mind refused to yield. Every muscle ached, every joint throbbed, but there was no room for weakness. His brothers were out there somewhere — lost, scattered — and he would find them. No matter the cost. He clenched his fists, the cold stone of the cave biting into his palms, a painful reminder that sheer strength alone wouldn't be enough. He needed more. Tools, knowledge — something beyond brute force. The Heavenly Demon's words echoed in his mind: mastery, not recklessness. With a sharp breath, De-Reece's gaze shifted to the other paths laid out before him — alchemy and formations. If raw strength couldn't carve a path to his brothers, then perhaps the subtle art of manipulating the world around him would.
Realizing he lacked the ingredients to pursue alchemy, De-Reece turned his focus to formations. The Heavenly Demon had left no alchemical herbs behind — either used up or never deemed important enough to stockpile. It made sense, De-Reece realized. The alchemy and formation books were likely not the Heavenly Demon's works — more like tributes, desperate offerings from the weak hoping to buy mercy or favour. The books lacked the same fierce, personal touch he'd felt in the sword manual.
The Formation and Arrays book, however, offered another path — manipulating the world itself through elemental forces. If he could master formations, he wouldn't just rely on his own strength — he could bend the battlefield to his will, crafting zones of control, concealment, and destruction.
The book spoke of elemental infusions — water for fluidity and concealment, wind for movement and misdirection, earth for stability and defense, fire for raw destruction, gold for sharpness and cutting power, and metal for structure and reinforcement. Each element could be woven into a formation, their properties harmonizing or clashing depending on the user's intent.
Starting small, he followed the most basic formation in the book — a simple concealment array using water and wind elements. Painstakingly etching symbols into the dirt, he drew thin, flowing lines for water — soft curves meant to spread his Qi like a mist — and sharp, erratic slashes for wind, adding a layer of shifting motion. When he channeled his Qi along the drawn lines, the air itself seemed to ripple. Stepping back, he found the 3x3 meter area in front of him wavering like a mirage — a crude invisibility formation, blending the fluidity of water with the ever-moving veil of wind.
Encouraged, De-Reece pushed further, attempting a basic offensive formation. This time, he combined fire and metal elements — fire for destructive bursts and metal for precision. The symbols were more complex, demanding sharper focus and precise Qi flow. The fire runes curved aggressively, spirals feeding into jagged metal sigils that braced the formation's frame. Twice his Qi sputtered out, breaking the formation mid-process, but on the third attempt, a faint crimson glow lined the array. When he threw a small stone into the centre, the symbols flared — a thin arc of energy, like a molten blade, slashed upwards and split the stone cleanly in two.
It was basic, but it was a start. With formations, he wasn't just a lone fighter — he could shape the very battlefield itself, commanding the elements and weaving their forces into his design.. If he could master formations, he wouldn't just rely on his own strength — he could bend the battlefield to his will. Starting small, he followed the most basic formation in the book — a simple concealment array. After painstakingly etching symbols into the dirt and channelling his Qi along the drawn lines, he felt a slight shift in the air. Stepping back, he found the 3x3 meter area in front of him wavering like a mirage — a crude invisibility formation.
Encouraged, De-Reece pushed further, attempting a basic offensive formation. The symbols were more complex, demanding sharper focus and precise Qi flow. Twice his Qi sputtered out, breaking the formation mid-process, but on the third attempt, a faint crimson glow lined the array. When he threw a small stone into the centre, the symbols flared — a thin arc of energy slashing upwards and splitting the stone cleanly in two.
It was basic, but it was a start. With formations, he wasn't just a lone fighter — he could shape the very battlefield itself.
As De-Reece slumped against the cold stone of the cave, the ache in his muscles a steady reminder of the day's relentless training, his gaze wandered to the scattered books around him. His sword lay across his lap, the dark obsidian-metal blade humming faintly with the remnants of his Qi. The crude, unrefined fusion of sword and blade techniques he had begun forging was only a start — a foundation. Yet, something gnawed at him.
The formations.
The invisibility array had been a revelation — blending water and wind elements, he had managed to distort the air itself, crafting a 3x3 meter veil that shimmered like a heatwave. But it was unstable. The ripple effect flickered at the edges, and he suspected it would collapse with the slightest disruption to his Qi flow.
And the offensive formation — while it had successfully combined fire and metal elements to produce a slashing arc, the cut lacked precision. The stone had split, yes, but not cleanly. The molten edge had scorched the ground beneath it, a wild burst of flame and steel rather than a controlled strike.
De-Reece frowned, his mind turning like a millstone.
"I'm treating these like weapons," he muttered, clenching his fist. "But formations aren't swords or blades. They're... something more."
He grabbed the Formation and Arrays book again, flipping through the worn pages until he found the section on elemental infusions. It spoke of balance — how each element carried its own essence, its own rules.
Water: Fluid, adaptable, used for concealment, healing, or erosion. It could envelop or devour over time. Wind: Elusive, swift, for movement and misdirection. It never stayed still, always flowing. Earth: Solid, unyielding, a force of defense and foundation. It was the backbone of any lasting formation. Fire: Wild, destructive, the raw pulse of power. It surged without care for stability. Gold: Sharp, precise, often used for cutting, carving paths through any obstacle. Metal: Structural, reinforcing, binding elements together like iron frames a building.
The key, the book emphasized, was harmony. Elements didn't simply coexist — they reacted. Fire devoured wind but could be smothered by earth. Water and wind danced fluidly, while metal carved through them both.
De-Reece's thoughts twisted back to his swordwork. The same imbalance he'd felt while blending blade and sword techniques — that clashing of speed and power — mirrored the elemental struggles within these formations.
"What if I… merge them?"
The idea struck like lightning.
He dragged his sword to his side, stabbing it into the ground before him. With a slow breath, he etched a new formation, larger than the others — a 5x5 meter array. This time, he wove fire and metal at the core, drawing harsh, jagged symbols that fed into one another, like a molten blade cutting through steel. Around the perimeter, he looped wind and water sigils, forming a swirling barrier to corral the chaotic energy within.
As his Qi flowed through the design, the formation sparked to life. A fiery core roared at the centre, but the wind-water shell kept the flames from spiralling out of control, twisting them into a focused spiral. The outer layer shimmered — not quite invisible, but blurred, making the formation's heart a flickering, unpredictable blaze.
De-Reece stepped back, his breath shallow with anticipation. He hurled another stone into the center. The moment the rock crossed the boundary, the swirling wind funneled it directly into the molten core — the combined elements snapping together. A razor-thin arc of flame shot out, cutting through the stone mid-flight. This time, the slash was clean, the cut precise.
The formation collapsed a second later, the elements destabilizing — but not before leaving a deep, charred groove along the cave floor.
Sweat dripped from De-Reece's brow. His heart pounded — not from exertion, but from possibility.
"If I can do this with formations," he whispered, his mind racing, "what happens when I merge these elements into my sword techniques?"
The thought was a spark — the promise of a new path, one where raw strength met elemental control. De-Reece didn't want to simply learn the Heavenly Demon's techniques.
He wanted to create his own.
As the last embers of the collapsed formation faded into the stone, De-Reece's mind roared with possibility. His sword still rested in the ground, the obsidian-metal blade drinking in the ambient Qi that pulsed from his experiment. The precision of the elemental slash, the blend of fire's raw destruction and metal's honed focus — it struck a nerve deep within him.
This… this is what I've been missing. The thought throbbed like a heartbeat. The Heavenly Demon's techniques were never mine. They were his chains, his rules. But this… this can be mine.
He rose to his feet, the ache in his muscles forgotten, and gripped the hilt of his sword. If formations could weave elements into a structured, explosive reaction, why couldn't he channel the same principles into his swordplay? The Heavenly Demon's techniques had always felt like shackles — elegant, graceful, and utterly unsuited to his raw, unyielding power. But with this… he could forge something new.
I'm not him. The words burned as fiercely as the fire he had just summoned. I'm not his shadow.
Closing his eyes, De-Reece guided his Qi, splitting it into threads. He visualized the elements — fire for strength and momentum, wind for speed, earth for stability, and metal for precision. The threads tangled at first, the elements clashing, but he bit down on his frustration and focused.
Balance. Fire rages — wind feeds or scatters it. Metal cuts through both — but without earth, there's no control.
He started with fire and metal — the combination he had just tested. His Qi blazed along the blade's edge, the metal element reinforcing the structure as fire surged, contained but fierce. When he swung, the blade left a faint trail of heat in the air, not wild like before, but a razor-thin arc of warmth that hissed as it met the cool cave air.
Good… but not enough.
Next, he added wind. The challenge was immediate — the wild current of air pushed against the fire, threatening to scatter it, but De-Reece shifted his stance, letting his legs root into the ground like earth. Stability. The foundation. His Qi flowed like a river along the blade's surface, wind feeding the fire, causing the thin line of flame to twist and flicker with erratic speed.
Too fast. Too wild.
Strike. Step. Parry.
He repeated the sequence again. And again. Each swing carved a story into the air — of imbalance, of struggle, of relentless pursuit.
But after only a few exchanges, his chest tightened. His breath grew ragged, and the fire on his blade flickered. His Qi was draining too fast.
De-Reece halted mid-step, gasping as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. His grip trembled, and his knees nearly buckled. Dammit… He had barely trained for a few hours, and already, his reserves were dangerously low.
I'm burning through Qi faster than I can control it. The realization struck like a hammer. In a real battle, I wouldn't last more than a few minutes.
He looked down at his sword, the obsidian-metal blade now dull and lifeless. The infusion of elemental Qi had drained him at an alarming rate. Every strike, every enhancement—it was costing him more than he could afford.
I'm strong, but I'm not invincible. What good is all this power if I can't sustain it?
He sheathed the sword, forcing himself to slow his breathing. He needed to rethink his approach.
Instead of channeling Qi through the blade constantly, perhaps he could release it in bursts—small, controlled moments rather than an all-consuming flow. Maybe only certain strikes should carry elemental power, conserving his energy while still maximizing impact.
The Heavenly Demon had brute-forced his way through many challenges, but De-Reece couldn't afford to. He wasn't just trying to imitate power—he was trying to refine it.
Panting, De-Reece lowered his weapon. His arms were like lead, his Qi barely a flicker within him, but his mind blazed brighter than ever.
This… this is just the beginning.
The Heavenly Demon's shadow still loomed over him — but now, De-Reece walked a different path. One forged not by imitation, but by creation. One built with discipline, control, and adaptability.