The first light of dawn filters into the courtyard, casting soft gold over the stone paths and dew-kissed gardens. The mountain air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and fresh earth.
Kalia steps out of her room, hair still damp from washing, eyes still a touch sleepy. She stretches, then pauses as she notices De-Reece waiting by the meditation pond, seated with Solar beside him.
He looks up at her approach.
"Morning," she says, rubbing her eyes.
De-Reece gestures for her to sit. As she lowers herself onto the stone bench, he produces three jade containers from his storage pouch, placing them gently between them.
Kalia blinks. "What's this?"
"For you," De-Reece says simply. "Five body tempering pills, five spirit solidifying pills, and five meridian cleansing pills."
Her mouth opens, then closes. She stares at the containers as if they might vanish.
"De… these… this is worth—"
"I don't care about the cost."
She looks up, searching his face. "Where did you even get these?"
He doesn't lie, but neither does he tell the whole truth. "Traded with cultivators in Ironhold. Some… were trophies."
Her brow furrows. "You should be using these yourself."
He shakes his head. "I have what I need. These will help you catch up faster. We can't afford weakness when we don't know whats ahead of us."
"Im sure you don't want me leaving you behind when I go into the inner sect no?"
Kalia hesitates, fingers brushing the cool jade. "I'll pay you back."
"You already are," he says softly. "You're still here."
She blinks rapidly, looking away.
Solar nudges her arm gently with her nose, as if offering encouragement.
Kalia smiles faintly, her voice quiet. "Thank you, De."
He stands, rolling his shoulders. "I've accepted a sparring proxy mission this morning. I'll be back before midday."
Kalia's eyes widen. "Already? You never stop."
"The mountain doesn't wait," he says.
She watches him for a moment longer, then nods. "Be careful."
He turns, Solar following at his heel.
As he walks down the garden path, Kalia whispers softly to herself.
"I'll catch up… I promise."
The sparring platforms on the southern side of the outer sect grounds are quieter than the main arena — reserved for private lessons, mentor-student challenges, and small-scale matches posted through the contribution hall.
De-Reece arrives at the designated platform just as two younger disciples — perhaps fifteen or sixteen — exchange nervous glances. Standing between them is a senior disciple with a cold, sharp face and an air of impatience.
The senior glances up as De-Reece approaches.
"You took the proxy posting?"
De-Reece nods. "I did."
The senior disciple sniffs dismissively. "They need discipline. Don't hold back. But don't cripple them, either."
His words are careless, but De-Reece catches the resentment behind them. These boys are relatives, or perhaps personal students, given to him to train — and clearly, they have not met expectations.
The two younger disciples draw their practice swords. Their stances are stiff, forced, but their qi signatures are promising. Raw talent. No refinement.
De-Reece steps onto the platform. "Both of you. At once."
The boys exchange surprised looks. One swallows nervously.
"Senior, that's—"
"If you hesitate in battle, you die," De-Reece says simply. "Begin."
They charge together.
De-Reece doesn't move immediately. He watches their approach, measuring their footwork. The first swings wide — too aggressive, leaving his ribs open. De-Reece sidesteps, taps his wrist with two fingers, and the sword flies from the boy's grip.
The second boy fares slightly better, feinting high and striking low — but he lacks stability. De-Reece twists his body just enough to redirect the strike, then sweeps his leg, sending the boy sprawling.
The first boy recovers his sword and tries again, frustration mounting. His swings are stronger now but uncontrolled. De-Reece deflects the blade on the side with his palm — qi hardening his skin — and pushes forward, driving the boy off balance.
"You're angry," De-Reece says calmly. "Anger is noise. Noise wastes energy."
The second boy tries to flank him, but De-Reece spins, using the first boy's own momentum to block his partner's strike.
They fall apart, panting.
The senior disciple watches from the sidelines, expression unreadable.
De-Reece softens his tone. "Again. But this time, watch each other's movements. You're partners, not rivals."
They attack once more, this time hesitating less. Their coordination improves by degrees, but De-Reece continues to deflect and redirect, offering openings, testing whether they notice. By the third exchange, they start to adapt.
He calls the match to a halt.
The boys kneel, sweat dripping from their brows.
"Thank you, Senior," one whispers breathlessly.
De-Reece steps off the platform, offering a short nod to the watching senior disciple.
The senior's expression has changed — less arrogance, more caution.
"You're stronger than you appear," the senior says quietly.
De-Reece's gaze remains steady. "Appearances are meant to be deceiving."
He turns, walking away before more questions can follow.
As he returns to the estate, he reflects on the encounter. The two young disciples were raw, but teachable. The senior disciple… perhaps someone to watch.
Solar greets him at the gate, and Kalia is already waiting in the courtyard, her training sword in hand.
"How was it?" she asks.
"Educational," De-Reece says with a small smile.
She grins. "For them or for you?"
He glances at the distant peaks of Mount Kunlun, eyes narrowed.
"Both."
The Dao Pavilion sits atop a gently sloping hill, its white stone steps polished smooth by generations of seekers. Serenity hangs thick in the air, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the faint chime of hanging bells stirred by the mountain breeze.
De-Reece and Kalia enter alongside dozens of new disciples, each whispering nervously until a presence silences them.
An elder steps forward — not imposing like Instructor Huo, but radiating calm wisdom. His silver robes shimmer faintly, embroidery forming endless swirling patterns — cycles of nature, movement, and stillness.
His voice is soft, yet it carries effortlessly across the pavilion.
"The Dao is not a path. It is the absence of one. It is not knowledge. It is understanding without explanation. It is not power. It is purpose."
The disciples fall silent, captivated.
The elder continues.
"Many of you come here seeking strength. But strength without direction becomes destruction. In cultivation, we define our Dao — sometimes through the blade, sometimes through alchemy, sometimes through the pursuit of balance. Your spirit root guides this pursuit."
De-Reece stiffens. The words hit him like thunder in clear skies.
Spirit roots…?
He had read about such things in stories — relics of cultivation novels from his past life. But here? In this world?
Ahh fuck he remembered now he had heard the phrase back in kalia's village, but has glossed over having never heard it again.
He keeps his face still, but inside, his thoughts race.
The elder gestures, and an attendant unfurls a long scroll, symbols glowing faintly across its surface.
"Your spirit root is the foundation of your elemental affinity. Fire, water, earth, wind, lightning, metal, wood — all stem from your root. Some have single roots, others dual, and the rarest among you may possess triple affinities."
Kalia leans in, whispering, "I didn't know it worked like that…"
De-Reece's silence deepens. He wonders — does he even have a spirit root? If so, what would it be? Would his origins in another world affect it? Would the medallion?
The elder's voice softens.
"Spirit roots are ranked: Mortal, Earth, Sky, and Heaven. Mortal roots limit cultivation. Earth roots provide stability. Sky roots are rare and revered. Heaven roots… are the stuff of legend. None have been confirmed in this world for generations."
De-Reece's mind churns.
Could I… no. It's impossible. Or is it?
The idea of the unknown gnaws at him.
The elder's tone remains measured.
"But do not be chained by your root. A weak foundation can be built upon. A strong one can crumble without discipline."
Kalia raises her hand hesitantly.
"Elder… can spirit roots evolve?"
The elder smiles, patient and wise.
"With fortune, perseverance, and deep understanding of one's Dao, yes. But the seed is yours alone. You may refine it, but not replace it."
Kalia lowers her hand slowly, her expression contemplative.
"In time," the elder continues, "you will each face your spirit root assessment. Do not dread it. It is not judgment — it is knowledge."
With that, he turns and leaves.
The class disperses slowly, whispers swirling in his wake.
As they descend the steps, Kalia glances at De-Reece.
"You seem quiet."
He exhales softly. "Learning."
She watches him for a moment. "You'll find your answer soon enough."
He doesn't reply.
He only wonders:
What will that answer be?