Michael examined his status panel, his mind turning to the inheritance from his past life that had granted him the Nine-Stage Thunder Sword Body.
"My focus must be on mastering my strength, not just climbing realms," he concluded. "Right now, my power is unrefined. I'm not utilizing my gene level's full potential."
He decided to halt his cultivation. His primary goal was to solidify his foundation through martial practice; a weak base would be impossible to correct later. With twenty days until the inheritance opened, he would travel to Ravine City, using the journey to hone his skills against the beasts of the wilderness. While he doubted he would find Galactic-realm monsters on Blue Star—they were typically drawn to the richer energies of space battlefields—any combat would be valuable.
Exiting the hotel, he felt the weight of hidden gazes but paid them no mind. If anyone was foolish enough to follow, he would deal with them permanently.
According to the federation map, Ravine City was five thousand kilometers from Starlight. A high-speed train would take two days, but Michael rejected that option. He wouldn't travel by rail or air. He would go by road, using the journey to practice his Thunder Sword Art and scout the smaller cities along the way, hoping to find a trace of his future disciple, Zia.
His first stop was a vehicle dealership. He needed an off-road vehicle; air travel was too conspicuous.
The showroom displayed various models, but most were built for paved roads. Michael's eyes scanned the more rugged, armored options designed for brief forays into the wilderness. He settled on a formidable-looking machine with reinforced plating and aggressive tires.
"Defense looks sufficient to withstand a Warlord-level beast," he mused after a brief inspection. "How much for this one?"
The salesperson, surprised and delighted by such a straightforward client, quickly listed its features. "Sir, this is our latest series. It has reinforced armor, anti-impact shielding, and a self-repair module for minor damage. Perfect for travel beyond the safe zones. The price is 350 million credits."
Michael didn't bother haggling. He simply slid his card across the counter. "Process the payment and transfer the title."
The sale was completed in under ten minutes. The salesperson, eager to secure his hefty commission, worked with efficient speed.
Sitting in the driver's seat, Michael felt a strange, distant nostalgia. He had once loved cars before his life was upended. Now, this vehicle was merely a tool, a means to an end.
"Life teaches harsh lessons," he murmured to the empty cabin. "What seems important today becomes trivial tomorrow."
His next destination was a weapons shop. His current sword, crafted from Warlord-level beast bone and purchased on the battlefield, was damaged and could no longer channel his Galactic-level power. He considered forging a new blade from the bones of the ancient beast in his ring, but revealing such a material would attract unwanted, powerful attention.
He found himself once again standing before the majestic headquarters of the Golden Rise Group. The irony wasn't lost on him. Had he not been cast out, he might have proudly proclaimed this empire as his mother's. Now, the towering structure felt like a gilded prison from his childhood.
He approached the reception, where a teenage girl greeted him. "Sir, how can I help you?"
"I need to purchase a weapon above the Warlord grade. Who should I speak with?" Michael replied.
The girl's eyes widened slightly. "One moment, sir. I will inform our manager." She made a quick call.
A few minutes later, a woman in a formal dress, appearing to be in her thirties, approached the counter. When Michael saw her, his breath caught. It was his aunt, Vivienne. He kept his expression neutral, betraying no emotion.
It took her a moment to recognize the man before her—his silver hair, his imposing aura, his cold, composed demeanor were a world apart from the boy she remembered.
"Michael... is that you?" she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief.
"Yes, Aunt Vivienne," he answered, his tone even.
Of all his relatives, Vivienne had been the only one to defend him when the family cast him out. She had tried to intervene, but his mother's decision had been final.
"Oh, my god," she whispered, her hand flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes, overcome by the shock of seeing him alive and so profoundly changed.