The forest was silent except for the faint rustle of leaves.
Aelric stood still, his crimson eyes reflecting the dappled light that slipped through the canopy. The young man before him trembled, his legs barely holding him upright. Sweat rolled down his neck as he tried to keep his eyes from meeting Aelric's.
"L-Lord… are you… an immortal cultivator?" the boy stammered, voice breaking halfway through the words.
Aelric tilted his head slightly, the question echoing in his mind. Cultivator? He had never heard the term. His brows drew together faintly. This world had its own language, its own power system — words that carried meaning he did not yet understand.
The young man's fear grew with every passing second of silence. His body shook, and his lips trembled as if each breath might be his last. The air between them felt heavy, dense, alive.
Aelric took a step closer.
The crimson in his eyes deepened, like molten light drawn from an abyss.
The young man gasped — and then went still.
Aelric's gaze sharpened as red essence flickered through his pupils. In that moment, the forest seemed to fade away. Images, memories, sensations — they poured into his mind, unraveling like threads of light and shadow. The young man's life was laid bare before him, each thought and memory open like pages in a book.
He saw mountains and valleys, towns and rivers. He saw the shape of this world.
Five great lands — Central, Eastern, Western, Northern, and Southern — each ruled by powers that defined their fate.
The Central Lands stood as the heart of authority, governed by the Imperial Family of the Azure Throne, and above even them loomed something greater — the Heavenly Dao Council, a mysterious organization said to oversee balance across all lands.
The Eastern Lands were scholars and alchemists, where knowledge was power.
The Western Lands were vast and warlike, their cultivators forged through endless conflict.
The Northern Lands were said to be shrouded in eternal frost, home to beasts and sects who embraced death and cold.
And finally, the Southern Lands — where he now stood — a realm of mountain valleys, spirit forests, and minor sects scattered like fallen leaves.
In this world, strength determined status.
Cultivators were those who refined the world's energy — Qi — through their meridians to transcend mortal limits. Mortals, like the trembling young man before him, lived beneath them, barely noticed by those who reached higher realms.
The young man — Lian Zhuo — was no cultivator, merely an ordinary hunter who had wandered too deep into the forest and encountered a low-ranked spirit beast. His luck, or misfortune, had led him to cross paths with a creature far beyond his comprehension.
Aelric exhaled quietly. The faint red glow in his eyes dimmed, and the young man's body sagged, his consciousness slipping away. His memories were his own again, but fragments now missing — those Aelric had taken for himself.
He crouched beside him, searching his clothes. From a worn leather pouch, he retrieved several coins — round, metallic pieces with square holes in the center. Their surface gleamed faintly with different colors: copper, silver, and gold. Etched around the edges were unfamiliar runes, but from Lian Zhuo's memories, Aelric now knew their value.
"So this is the currency of this world…" he murmured, letting the coins clink together softly before slipping them into his sleeve.
He stood over the unconscious boy, expression cold and unreadable.
For a brief moment, the thought crossed his mind — to end the boy's life and erase all trace of their encounter. In his world, that would have been mercy — a clean end to loose threads. But he hesitated.
He was in an unfamiliar realm. He didn't yet know the weight of death here — who might come seeking vengeance, who might sense blood spilled where it shouldn't be.
Too soon to draw attention.
Aelric raised his hand, two fingers extended. A faint red shimmer passed over the young man's forehead — a thread of blood essence weaving through his mind. The boy's memories of the encounter twisted, blurred, and dissolved like ink in water. Aelric watched in silence, then gently laid him beneath the shade of a large tree near the forest's edge.
"You won't remember," he said softly. "And that is mercy enough."
With that, he turned and began walking toward the village he had glimpsed from the valley earlier.
⸻
The path wound down the mountain, narrow and uneven. As Aelric walked, his senses remained sharp. His shadow stretched long behind him, moving with faint ripples, alive in its own way — a faint reminder of the power that still dwelled within him, even in his weakened state.
When he reached the outskirts of the village, he saw two guards standing near a wooden gate. Their armor was crude but functional — light metal plates fitted over dark fabric. The spears they held were wrapped with strips of talisman paper, faintly glowing with runes.
The moment his eyes met theirs, Aelric's crimson irises flickered faintly. He saw beneath them — beyond flesh and skin, into the flow of their life force. Just below their navel, near the point the locals called the Dantian, he saw a flickering spark of Qi — small, unstable, but present.
Low-level cultivators, he thought, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly.
To them, he appeared as nothing more than a pale wanderer dressed in black. They didn't sense his power — his aura was perfectly restrained, buried beneath layers of shadow and stillness.
One of the guards stepped forward. "Traveler, state your purpose," he said, tone bored but alert.
"I'm here to rest," Aelric replied simply. His voice carried quiet authority without effort. He placed a few silver coins into the man's hand — more than enough.
The guard blinked, then nodded quickly. "You may enter."
Aelric passed through without another word.
⸻
The village streets were alive with movement. Merchants shouted prices, children ran between stalls, and the aroma of cooked meat and herbs drifted through the air. Small houses of stone and wood lined the dirt road, their tiled roofs uneven but colorful.
He walked slowly, eyes taking in everything — the rhythm of footsteps, the chatter, the faint energy that pulsed from a few passersby who were clearly minor cultivators. His gaze flicked briefly toward a market stall selling talismans and spiritual herbs; their energy signatures were faint but recognizable.
So this is how they live… he thought. Mortals and cultivators, side by side, in a fragile balance. To him, it was almost quaint.
He continued toward a building near the center of the village — a modest inn with wooden signs painted in fading gold, the words "Cloud Rest Inn" etched above the doorway. Warm light spilled from within, and the faint murmur of laughter carried through the open windows.
As he stepped inside, the smell of roasted meat and tea greeted him. Behind a small counter stood a young girl — perhaps twelve or thirteen — with round eyes, dark hair tied into twin braids, and a bright smile that lit up her face. Her clothes were simple, a clean white blouse and a blue apron tied neatly around her waist.
"Welcome, sir!" she said cheerfully, her voice soft but lively. "Would you like to eat, or are you looking for a room?"
Aelric's gaze flickered toward her. For a second, the girl faltered — not out of fear, but out of the quiet awe that his presence carried. His crimson eyes, though calm, seemed to reflect more than they should — as if they saw right through her.
"I need a room," he said calmly, his tone low but steady.
"Oh! Of course!" she said quickly, regaining her composure. "We still have one on the second floor. It's not much, but it's clean and quiet."
Aelric reached into his sleeve and placed two silver coins on the counter. "This should suffice."
The girl's eyes widened slightly. "Yes, yes! It's more than enough, sir." She smiled again, genuine and bright. "Please follow me. I'll show you to your room."
He followed her up the narrow wooden staircase. The hall was dimly lit by a few lanterns, their flames flickering gently. The girl stopped before a small door near the end and opened it.
The room was modest — a single bed with clean sheets, a small table by the window, and an old wooden cupboard against the wall. The faint scent of herbs lingered in the air.
"This is it," the girl said, turning to him with a polite bow. "If you need food or tea, please call for me. My name's Meilin."
He inclined his head slightly. "Understood."
Meilin smiled again, her round eyes bright. "Rest well, sir." Then she left, closing the door behind her.
⸻
Aelric stood in silence for a while.
The faint light from the window cast soft shadows across the room. He set the coins on the table and sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze drifting toward the wooden ceiling above.
His body still felt heavy — his blood essence sluggish, his connection to shadow faint. But it was there, alive, waiting. He could feel it pulsing faintly under his skin, the call of something ancient and hungry.
He reached into his robe and took out the cube. Its surface was darker now, the faint cracks glowing weakly. The artifact seemed to breathe in rhythm with him, as if listening.
"This world…" he murmured, his voice low. "So different… yet so similar."
He placed the cube on the table and closed his eyes, letting his awareness sink inward. He tried to gather his essence —