Il woke long before sunrise, his body exhausted and his spirit weighed down by a heaviness no one else could see. It wasn't because his body had recovered, nor because rest had given his muscles any softness. It was because the pain had jolted him awake, as if someone had poured buckets of ice water onto his bones, making him twist in his bed before he even opened his eyes. Even the faint light of the sky between night and dawn seemed colder when it touched his eyelids, as though the entire world was waiting for him to collapse under the weight of training.
He opened his eyes slowly, staring at the wooden ceiling above him. The pale lines of light filtering through the window were nothing but ghostly streaks, filling him with a sense of absolute solitude. He touched his arm and felt the stiffness under his skin—small, hardened bumps of muscle worn down by yesterday's training, as if his body was still fighting the aftermath of the day before.
But what caught his attention the most wasn't the physical pain…
It was the voice filling his mind with endless confidence—Asher's voice.
He sat in the inner seat of consciousness, back straight, eyes glowing with an alertness that had nothing to do with the suffering Il was experiencing. Not a trace of tiredness appeared on him, no sign of physical weakness, as if time itself had never affected his body.
He spoke with a cold, steady tone that left no room for argument:
"You're finally awake. Good… We have a lot to do today."
Il muttered weakly, half-asleep and half-broken by the pain:
"Asher… please… not even a full day has passed since the last training…"
Asher chuckled softly, as if Il's words were nothing but a silly joke.
"The body-foundation stage shows no mercy. And you dream of becoming a strong cultivator, don't you? Then stop whining."
Il tried to sit up, but every movement felt like knives stabbing into his muscles. He had to lean on the wall to support himself, every pulse of pain rising from his core, seeping into his bones and veins, as if his entire body was being bombarded from inside and out.
From the window, the orange glow of dawn crept in, casting long shadows across the floor—like slender fingers warning him of a merciless day ahead.
He swallowed, then gathered the courage to ask:
"Asher… what exactly are you planning today?"
Asher's voice remained calm—calm with a hidden threat behind it:
"This month, we're going to refine our body from the inside out."
Il froze for a moment, his heart speeding up as a coldness spread through his spine.
Asher continued without mercy:
"But first, we need stronger healing pills… Go replace the ones you have."
Il's shock made his voice tremble:
"What? What do pills have to do with refining the body from the inside?"
Asher smiled—a calm but cruel smile.
"In the body-foundation stage, you strengthen the skin and muscles from the outside, and the bones and organs from the inside. This makes your body purer, more capable of absorbing spiritual energy. It also expands the spiritual pathways, making it easier to open the main meridians later."
Il's face burned with disbelief, his eyes widening.
"All at once?! You're joking!"
But Asher ignored him:
"Normally, everyone does it step by step. But if you can endure pain well enough, you can do it all at once."
Il shivered, fear gripping his heart.
"Does that mean… I'll suffer everything at the same time?"
Asher's voice was iron.
"Go now… Get the pills before sunrise. There is no room for delay."
---
Later, Il stood in the middle of the training courtyard. Darkness still filled the corners, and the cold air wrapped around him.
He felt the chill of the ground through his shoes, felt his toes trembling. A deep anxiety took hold of him, but he forced himself to stay steady, even though every cell in his body screamed in fear of what was coming.
Asher spoke inside his consciousness:
"Step back. I'll take over."
Il felt himself being pulled backward within his mind—slipping into the back seat of his own consciousness—while his body became a tool under Asher's full control.
Il whispered, voice trembling:
"Just… don't break the bones, okay?"
Asher smiled without answering.
Then the training began.
His body burst into motion: lifting heavy weights, push-ups with weights on his back, jumps, sharp and precise movements… even the air around him seemed to split under the force of each strike, each motion.
Il sat within the inner space, his awareness fully tied to every muscle being drained, every wave of pain resonating through his body.
After half an hour, Asher stood before a training dummy and took a complete combat stance. Every movement he made was concentrated power—punches, kicks, elbows, knees, shoulder strikes… He fought like the dummy had murdered someone he loved.
The pain made the muscles tremble, sweat pouring down—but there was no pause.
Then Asher stepped back and walked slowly toward the wall of the courtyard—three meters high. He placed his bag down, set a healing pill on top of it.
In Il's inner mind, he shouted:
"Asher! Why are you going to the wall? What are—"
A strange feeling washed over him, pressing against his chest, making every muscle in his body quiver.
Asher began climbing the wall with frightening ease, as if pain didn't exist.
He stood at the top, looked down, and a mad grin stretched across his face.
He spoke to Il:
"It's time to temper the bones."
He clasped his hands… and jumped.
BOOM!
The impact shook the ground, and pain exploded through every bone like burning blades.
Even Asher—despite his monstrous endurance—gritted out:
"Damn! That hurts!"
He clenched his teeth, trying not to let a sound escape. His trembling hand reached for the pill, swallowed it, then sat cross-legged, beginning meditation as the pain surged wildly inside him.
Spiritual energy began flooding his body like a raging river, reacting with the pill's effect, shining through every cell, repairing and strengthening the damaged bones.
Il, inside his consciousness, didn't know how to react—pride? fear? despair?
He watched his body go far beyond human limits, surviving pain no ordinary person could endure.
The first day of extreme training…
was only the beginning.
Hell hadn't even truly started yet.
---
A week passed like this.
Il nearly lost his mind from the sheer intensity of the pain—watching his body suffer constant, merciless torment under Asher's guidance. Every moment felt like an entire lifetime of agony.
His body endured more than any human could. Sometimes Asher would jump from the three-meter wall, smashing into the ground, sending shockwaves through every cell. Sometimes his hands cracked against the floor with a brittle snap that echoed through his bones. Sometimes his feet bore crushing pressure, sometimes his back, sometimes his sides. And every time, the pain grew sharper, heavier, more overwhelming.
Even his internal organs didn't escape. During one jump, Il felt as though his stomach was tearing apart. His heart almost stopped from the sudden terror. Dizziness overtook him—he nearly passed out—but he remained conscious inside, forced to watch his body being destroyed, rebuilt, then destroyed again.
During every fall, every strike, every impact, pain crawled into the deepest parts of his body. It tested his senses, measured his will. He felt a burning in his bones, then an icy flood when the healing pills interacted with spiritual energy—restoring what was shattered, reinforcing bones, muscles, organs.
Often, his body swayed on the edge of collapse, his inner awareness watching every cell like a living chessboard, trying to understand every twitch, every vibration, every pulse of agony. Sometimes he felt anger, sometimes confusion, as though pain itself had become a teacher—forcing him to obey the rules of flesh, pushing him to understand the limits of endurance.
After each fall, Asher swallowed a healing pill, closed his eyes, and let spiritual energy crash through him—mending shattered bones, torn muscles, nearly-ruptured organs, and widening the weak points in his spiritual pathways.
Inside, Il felt a mix of awe, pride, and terror.
Awe at the unimaginable pain.
Pride that his body could withstand it.
Terror that he was watching his body get destroyed and rebuilt at the same time.
Every day, the training left nothing to chance. It wasn't simply physical exercise—it was a total examination of body and spirit together. The psychological fear of falling and impact, combined with physical torment, created a new kind of strength whenever he overcame a stage. Each drop, each collision, left a spiritual mark—making Il's body more receptive to energy, more capable of directing it to rebuild itself and refine his inner and outer strength.
As the days passed, his body slowly began to change. The blows and impacts no longer crippled him like before. His bones strengthened, his muscles hardened, his organs became more resistant. The pain remained—sometimes silent, sometimes roaring—but it constantly reminded him of the price he paid, and the power he sought.
Asher would watch silently, sometimes smiling—a calm smile that said:
"This is only the beginning…"
Il, despite the terror and agony, felt something shifting inside.
His torn-apart body was becoming clearer in its structure, more capable of absorbing spiritual energy, more ready for what came next—even if the cost was enduring even greater pain.
Hell had only begun…
But it was the only path toward the strength he desired—
strength measured only by those who could face everything
without ever retreating.