"A cultivator's path is simple—bleed, breathe, and break until Heaven admits it was wrong about you."
The world of Asterion was vast, but its laws of cultivation were simple—if one wished to defy fate, they had to climb through realms that shaped both body and soul. Every step forward was a rebellion, and every failure a reminder that Heaven was still stronger.
The Mortal Phase
In this realm of mortals and aspiring cultivators, there existed three realms, each with nine stages, forming the foundation of all power.
1. Origin Vein Realm – The Awakening of the Flesh.
This is where the journey begins. Hidden within every being are countless invisible channels, slumbering like forgotten rivers.
When one awakens the Origin Veins, the spark of chaos begins to flow through the body for the first time.
Painful, exhausting, and humbling—most cultivators faint the first time their veins open. But once the ninth stage is reached, the body becomes a conduit strong enough to bear the pressure of chaos energy.
2. Chaos Pulse Realm – The Rhythm of Life.
Here, chaos begins to breathe. The flow of energy forms rhythmic pulses within the veins—each beat a cycle of life, each pulse a refinement of the body.
Those who enter this realm gain endurance beyond mortals and strength that can crush steel. At the ninth stage, the body no longer rejects chaos—it hungers for it.
3. World Seed Realm – The Birth of Creation.
At this point, the cultivator's journey stops being physical and becomes metaphysical.
Within the Dantian—the core of the body—a seed begins to form. A seed that represents the cultivator's path, belief, and potential.
Whether it grows into a world of fire, ice, sword, or soul depends on the cultivator's will.
When this World Seed is planted, the cultivator becomes capable of creation itself. But like all seeds, it needs roots.
And that… is where the next phase begins.
The Master Phase
Only one in ten thousand ever reach this step.
This is where the world within begins to take shape—a living reflection of the cultivator's soul.
4. Primordial Root Realm – The Anchoring of Existence.
The seed sprouts. Roots extend through flesh and soul, stabilizing the chaos within.
At each stage, the body transforms; blood turns purer, bones grow denser, and even one's shadow becomes infused with will.
The ninth stage marks the creation of harmony between spirit and flesh—the moment a cultivator can truly call themselves Master.
5. Chaos Bloom Realm – The Awakening of Power.
In this realm, the inner world begins to flourish. Clouds gather within the void of one's Dantian, rain falls upon the spiritual land, and life—true life—forms within.
This is the realm where cultivators first experience "weather" within their Chaos World. Some see storms, others fire, a few, serenity.
It is also the realm where one's emotions begin to shape reality.
6. Domain Heart Realm – The Birth of Divinity.
The Chaos World develops a beating core—a Domain Heart.
This core synchronizes with the cultivator's will.
The stronger the heart, the more control the cultivator has over space itself.
At the ninth stage, one's Chaos World becomes a true parallel world, capable of devouring or nurturing others.
Beyond this lies the Spirit Master Phase, also called the Soul Phase, and even higher stages unknown to most cultivators. But those are stories for another time—for the world itself trembles when such beings walk.
Now, far away in the Black Moon Sect, one of the six branches of the Black Sky Sect, the sun hung lazily in the misted horizon, its light barely cutting through the drifting clouds.
Unlike its name suggested, the Black Moon Sect was not a den of assassins or shadows.
No, they were something much more elegant.
They were swordsmen of the moon — cultivators who danced with grace rather than brute force, wielding blades that shimmered like starlight. Their movements were poetry in motion, and their duels… divine.
At the peak of the mountain, a figure stood on a flat stone platform, his robes fluttering in the wind. His name was Rion Kaze, a master of the Black Moon Sect and one of its most troublesome disciples — depending on who you asked.
He was currently staring into the endless sky, hands behind his back, wearing the expression of a man who had just realized his life had gone horribly sideways.
"Ah," he sighed dramatically, "the world is beautiful when you ignore your problems."
He smiled faintly, tilting his head toward the horizon, completely lost in thought — or pretending to be.
That was when a small flicker of light shimmered beside him. The air rippled, and a disciple in black armor materialized, bowing respectfully. The man bore the insignia of the Black War Sect — crimson streaks that resembled flowing fire.
"Master Rion," the man said, offering a scroll. "A mission from the central sect."
Rion turned lazily, taking the scroll with the enthusiasm of a man being handed his own death warrant.
"From the War Sect, huh? Oh, that's never good news." He cracked open the seal and began to read, his brow arching with each line.
His lips twitched.
Then he sighed. Loudly.
"…Asterion?" he muttered. "Why in all the nine realms would they send me to Asterion?"
The messenger simply bowed. "It's an order from your elder. You are to protect the Crown Prince of Asterion during the upcoming royal banquet."
Rion stared at the scroll for a long moment. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Oh no. Oh, no, no, no… not again."
The messenger blinked. "Again, sir?"
Rion groaned, tossing the scroll into the air and catching it again. "My elder—Master Rukai—must've lost another bet with the War Sect elder. And guess who has to pay the debt?" He jabbed a finger at himself dramatically. "Me. Always me!"
The messenger tilted his head. "Sir, is this… normal?"
"Normal?" Rion laughed bitterly. "Let me tell you something, kid. In this sect, we don't lose bets—we just assign disciples to pay for them."
The messenger's face went blank. "…So this mission is a gambling consequence?"
"Exactly." Rion exhaled loudly, then looked at the horizon with mock solemnity. "Ah, the life of a genius sword cultivator… used not for glory or honor, but as collateral."
The messenger opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it. Rion waved him off.
"You're dismissed, kid. Go tell your elder I'll take care of it. I'll even make sure the prince doesn't die—though, honestly, I make no promises if he's annoying."
The disciple nodded, relieved, and vanished into mist.
Rion stood there, alone again on the mountain's edge, the scroll in his hand fluttering in the wind.
He stared at it for a long while, then sighed.
"Well," he said aloud, "looks like I'm going to Asterion."
He turned his head to the empty space beside him. "Hey, you hear that? I could use your help on this one."
Silence.
He frowned. "Come on, don't ignore me again."
More silence.
"…Fine." He rolled his eyes. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My treat."
The silence persisted.
Rion crossed his arms and muttered, "You stubborn spirit—"
And then BOOM!
A thunderous shockwave rippled through the peak as a figure descended from the sky, landing in a swirl of blue energy that cracked the stone beneath his feet.
The impact sent a gust of wind that nearly threw Rion off balance.
When the dust cleared, a tall man stood before him, hair like flowing bluish, eyes glowing faintly like a calm storm.
" the newcomer used looked at Rion with a deadpan expression.
Rion blinked, then grinned.
"Knew that'd get your attention."