Il sat on his seat in the dining hall, his face swollen and purple from the brutal training. The swelling around his eyes made him look like he had taken dozens of punches, while the pain pulsed through his arms and neck in hot, throbbing waves. He tried to lift the spoon to eat, but his hand trembled so violently it seemed as if even the air was too heavy to hold.
The warm smell of the soup stirred his stomach, which growled in desperate hunger, but the mere touch of the spoon against his fingers sent a sharp wave of pain tearing through his entire body. For a moment, he felt closer to collapsing than to eating.
His mother—Miranda Ren—looked at him with sharp eyes that held both worry and suppressed anger. Her strictness wasn't an act; it came from a real fear for his body, and another fear that she might lose a son to recklessness.
"What did I tell you about injuring your body during training?"
Her voice was steady, but carried a weight that made the space between them feel heavier.
Il trembled as he tried to respond, his voice coming out weak, as if he were a child facing down a storm:
"I'm sorry… I got a little carried away while training. I already took some healing pills, so don't worry."
He attempted lifting the spoon again, but his arm shook violently. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek and fell into the bowl. No one noticed…
Except Asher.
Asher stood behind him inside the mind-space, arms crossed as if watching a play whose ending he already knew.
A fragile body… but the will is there. Good.
Miranda let out a long breath, then spoke with a tone as sharp as a whip:
"This is not an excuse to damage your body like this! You must train under the instructor's supervision with your cousins, or you will be punished. Is that clear?"
Il felt as if the ground shook beneath him from the intensity of her anger. He nodded quickly, voice trembling:
"Yes… yes, I understand… I won't repeat it again!"
His heart pounded so hard it hurt more than his injuries. His hand trembled not just from pain, but fear. Yet when he looked at his mother, he felt a small hint of gratitude… because beneath her harshness, she wanted something for him he couldn't see yet.
From the depths of his mind, Asher's voice echoed—low, calm, and terrifyingly clear:
"This is just the beginning… Pain is not your enemy. Today, you learned more than strength; you learned your limits. And the real danger begins when you ignore the signs."
Il closed his eyes for a moment, gathering whatever was left of his will. He gripped the spoon again, fighting the trembling in his hand. Every bite was a battle; every movement felt like a tiny blade dragging through his muscles. But something inside him insisted on continuing—on proving to his mother that he wasn't weak.
Miranda remained silent for a moment, watching him struggle. Then she spoke in a calmer tone, still heavy with authority:
"Training is important, but your body is the only tool you have to gain strength. Do not neglect it, and do not cross your limits, or you will never reach what you aspire to."
Il nodded, though even that small motion sent a flare of pain through his neck. He swallowed the last spoonful and felt something strange… a mixture of fear and determination. His battered body was no longer just a container of pain—it had become a living lesson of control and discipline.
Inside the mind-space, Asher sat in a transparent command chair, one hand on his chin while the other slid across an illusory screen displaying Il's physical information.
He smiled faintly, with a shadow of something darker behind it:
"We've begun… this is the true start of the ascent toward transcendence."
He raised his eyes toward Il, who was eating painfully slowly.
"And remember… pain is not the end. It's the means."
Then, with a soft, sinister glint in his eyes, he muttered:
"Just wait, Il… the real training will begin very soon. This? All of this? Just a warm-up."
Il, oblivious to the hellish plans forming in Asher's mind, only felt a strange shiver crawl down his spine.
---
Il left the dining hall with heavy steps, his body screaming with every movement. The pain climbed from his arms, ribs, and even his legs, as if every strike he had delivered to the training dummy had returned upon him tenfold. The long corridors leading to his room felt endless, and the dim lights couldn't hide the fact that he was barely holding himself together.
And yet… beneath the pain…
There was something else.
A quiet whisper—
A silent strength smiling inside the agony.
Asher's voice.
"Do not collapse now… this is only the first day."
Il exhaled, too exhausted to reply. He pushed open the door to his room and stepped inside. It was simple: a wide wooden bed, shelves filled with basic cultivation books, a small training board in the corner, and a window overlooking the family courtyard.
He fell onto the bed and shut his eyes, trying to gather what little balance he had left. But Asher spoke:
"Get up. We need to accelerate recovery."
Il opened his eyes with difficulty.
"Asher… can you at least… wait? My bones feel crushed."
Asher chuckled softly.
"That is exactly why we should start now."
After several silent seconds of suffering, Il sat in a meditation posture. He folded his legs, placed his palms on his knees, and began regulating his breathing as he had learned since childhood.
The moment he entered a focused state, the atmosphere around him shifted.
The spiritual energy in the room trembled gently, like invisible creatures waking and gathering around him. The air grew heavier, then lighter, before faint wisps of pale-blue energy began flowing toward his body.
With each slow breath, the spiritual energy seeped into his pores, sliding into him, rearranging what was damaged and easing the swelling. The pain didn't vanish—but it became more bearable, more manageable.
As the spiritual dust gathered around him, Asher finally asked the question he had been waiting for all day:
"Il… what is the correct way to pass the Body Foundation Stage in this world?"
Il opened his eyes a little, then closed them again.
"You have my memories… don't you already know?"
"I do… but I want your explanation. I want to hear how you see it."
Il inhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts:
"The Body Foundation Stage is the beginning for every cultivator. It's the stage where the body becomes capable of holding spiritual energy without collapsing. There are three main steps:
First: strengthening the muscles and bones through continuous training—
but without destroying the body… like you did today."
Asher laughed inwardly.
"Minor details."
"Second," Il continued,
"Purifying the body from impurities. The purer it is, the faster and easier the energy absorption becomes."
"And the third,"
"is expanding the spiritual pathways inside the body. These pathways carry spiritual energy to and from the spiritual core. If you expand them too quickly… they tear."
He paused before adding quietly:
"That's why instructors always supervise us during this stage. It's the stage where most beginners die."
Asher remained silent for a moment before replying with cold clarity:
"Good. Then all I need to do… is push you to your limits every day, and surpass those limits every week."
Il shuddered.
"That's… not what I meant!"
But Asher wasn't listening.
He could feel every part of the body—every strand of spiritual energy moving inside it.
He was studying it.
Taking it apart.
Rearranging it from within.
After dozens of minutes of meditation, the swelling eased, the heat of pain cooled, and Il let out a long breath of relief. Spiritual energy spread through his bones, filling the fine cracks created by the harsh training.
"Better…" Il whispered, opening his eyes at last.
Asher smiled:
"Now you can sleep. Tomorrow… we'll repeat the process, but harsher."
Il gasped:
"Asher! No! I can't—"
"Sleep."
The voice faded like a shadow slipping behind the fog.
Il collapsed onto the bed again, his body lighter, more painful, and more afraid of whatever Asher was planning.
But he knew one thing…
This was only the beginning.
The beginning of hell.
---