He watched Amara's convulsions subside, her breathing ragged, before he left the room. A contented hum vibrated through his chest. He was a nine-year-old Foundation Establishment cultivator, a feat almost unheard of. Pride swelled within him, a warm, exhilarating sensation. Now, he could delve into his studies at the Vavilon academy of cultivation without the nagging worry of unwanted attention. The other girls, no matter how ambitious or powerful, would pose no real threat.
He stood taller now, a sturdy nine-year-old. His 1.3 meters of height and fifty kilograms of solid muscle were a testament to the nourishing food, advanced cultivation materials, and perhaps, the latent strength inherited from his unknown father. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, his physique already hinting at the powerful man he would become. He also possessed a surprisingly mature endowment for his age, a fact he attributed to either his heritage or the peculiar regimen of his early childhood. He did not know why, but he knew the knowledge. It was there, an unbidden truth.
He knew a day would come, sooner rather than later, when his body would betray his youthful facade, when his burgeoning desires would render him vulnerable to the insatiable hungers of Lucy and Amara. He pictured their intense gazes, their hands reaching, and a shiver, both apprehension and excitement, ran down his spine. The thought of being "milked dry" by them was both daunting and alluring.
For now, he relished this brief reprieve, this period of calm before the storm. The academy awaited, holding promises of knowledge, power, and perhaps, a few more surprises.
The two free days at the academy, Friday and Saturday, stretched before him. He decided to use them to further his knowledge, burying himself in the vast library of the academy. He poured over ancient texts, scrolls detailing forgotten cultivation techniques, and histories of this strange new world. The academy was a treasure trove of information, and he was determined to extract every ounce of it.
He spent hours in the library, the quiet hum of concentration filling the air. Other students sometimes drifted in and out, but he remained focused, absorbing the knowledge like a sponge. He felt a profound sense of satisfaction, a hunger for understanding he had not known before. This was his purpose, his path.
Returning home on Saturday evening, he found Eva preparing a light dinner, humming a tune under her breath. Amara sat at the small table, braiding her long, dark hair, a thoughtful expression on her face. The scent of simmering herbs filled the air, a comforting aroma that always signaled home.
"How was your day at the library?" Eva asked, turning from the stove, a warm smile gracing her lips.
"Good," he replied, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "I learned a lot."
Amara looked up, her fingers still intertwined with her hair. "Anything interesting?"
He considered her question for a moment. "I learned about the history of Vavilon," he began, drawing up a chair. "How it became one of the last bastions of humanity after the Great Cataclysm." He recounted tales of ancient wars, powerful cultivators, and the rise of the matriarchal society. He spoke of the strange energy that permeated this world, the very essence of cultivation, and how it shaped everything, from the landscape to the social structure.
Eva listened intently, her eyes wide with wonder, occasionally interjecting with a question. Amara, however, maintained a thoughtful silence, her gaze fixed on him, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.
When he finished, a comfortable silence settled over them. Eva resumed her cooking, and Amara returned to her braiding, but the atmosphere had changed. A sense of shared knowledge, of a broadened perspective, now hung in the air. He felt a deeper connection to them, a bond forged not just by blood, but by understanding.
The next morning, Sunday, brought a sense of anticipation. Tomorrow, a new week of classes began. He had spent his free days productively, cultivating both his body and mind. He felt ready, more prepared than ever, to face whatever challenges the academy, and this new stage of his life, threw his way. He knew he was still just beginning. Many more battles, both internal and external, awaited him. He welcomed them. The path of cultivation was not for the faint of heart, but he was no longer a timid child. He was Andrew, a nine-year-old Foundation Establishment cultivator, and he was ready for anything.
Word of Andrew reaching the Foundation Establishment stage at nine years old spread like wildfire through the Vavilon Academy. Whispers followed him down hallways, giggles erupted when he passed, and girls' eyes lingered on his developing physique. He remained oblivious, or at least pretended to be. The commotion washed over him like an inconsequential breeze. He had more pressing matters.
He sought out the class monitor, a stern-faced girl with spectacles perched on her nose. She looked up from her desk, an unreadable expression on her face.
"I have some questions," Andrew began without preamble. He stood before her, a compact pillar of intent.
"About what, exactly?" she asked, her voice clipped.
"Broadening my horizons," he replied. "Specifically, what's happening outside Vavilon. What other cities exist? What dangers? How can I fight better now that I'm Foundation Establishment? What paths can I pursue to grow my fighting capabilities? And anything else you think is relevant for me to know."
The monitor's eyebrows rose slightly. She tapped a finger against her chin. "For general knowledge about the wider world, you can attend the General Knowledge class. It's usually for students at the Bone Forging level, but given your advancement, you may find it useful. That will cost one merit point per class."
Andrew nodded. He had his seed that he will give up to the age of 12. One drop of semen for 100 merit points. So, he did not care about merit points.
"As for fighting," she continued, her gaze sharpening, "the best fighting class here is with Miss O'Donnell. It's ten merit points per class. You'll need to register with her directly."
A flicker of interest ignited in Andrew. "Miss O'Donnell?"
"Indeed. I must warn you, however. She isn't one for charm or flattery. If you go to her with any… expectations about your age or level, you'll find yourself on the receiving end of a swift kick, not an advance." The monitor's lips almost twitched upwards. "She's tough. She demands respect and effort."
Andrew's face remained impassive, but inside, a smile stretched across his thoughts. This was exactly what he wanted. Someone who would push him, not fawn over him.
"And for personal tutelage on power growth paths suitable for a Foundation Establishment cultivator?" he asked.
"That would also be Miss O'Donnell," she confirmed. "She is a senior cultivator of the golden core, a rare case unaffiliated with any of the Golden Core power level families. Her methods are her own, and highly effective, but again, she is not sympathetic to any soft approaches. She will push you to your limits, and then some."
Andrew felt a surge of exhilaration. This Miss O'Donnell sounded formidable, a true master. He yearned for guidance that would hone his raw talent into finely tuned power.
"Thank you," he said, a genuine note of satisfaction in his voice. He turned, already formulating his next steps. The general knowledge class first, to fill the gaping holes in his understanding of this world, then straight to Miss O'Donnell. He had merit points to spend, and a thirst for knowledge and power that nothing else could satisfy. The girls' whispers, the stolen glances, faded into the background. They were irrelevant. His path lay clear.
Andrew made his way to the improved qi-intense training room, the academy's generous reward for his Foundation Establishment breakthrough. The air within hummed with concentrated energy, a subtle pressure on his skin. It was his for free, a rare privilege, and he could bring four others. Lucy and Amanda waited inside, their faces alight with a mixture of excitement and expectation.
Lucy, a whirlwind of restless energy, bounced on the balls of her feet. Her blue eyes sparkled. Her blonde hair, usually a neat cascade, already showed signs of coming undone.
Amanda, ever observant, watched Lucy with knowing amusement. "You look like you're ready to burst, Lucy," she commented, a small smile playing on her lips.
Lucy threw her hands up, her movements exaggerated. "You have no idea! I've been cooped up. I need to move, to feel the qi flow." A flush spread across her cheeks. "I need… a release."
Andrew understood. Lucy, with her extroverted nature, always sought an outward expression for her burgeoning power. And he knew exactly what kind of release she craved. Amanda did too.
"The room is all yours," Andrew said, gesturing to the expansive space. "No one will bother you here. It's perfect for Foundation Establishment cultivators, and even better for those still on their way."
Lucy did not hesitate. Her movements became fluid, a predatory grace to them. Her shirt came off first, tossed carelessly into a corner. Her leggings followed, revealing long, toned legs. She stood there, naked, her supple body gleaming in the soft, ambient light of the room. Her breasts, full and firm, rose and fell with her quickened breath. Her hips, wide and inviting, swayed almost imperceptibly.
Amanda watched, an unblinking gaze. She had seen Lucy naked before, in various states of arousal, and she understood the ritual. It was a pre-cultivation cleansing, a way for Lucy to shed her inhibitions before truly embracing the energy of the room.
Lucy dropped to her hands and knees, her back arching. Her head tilted back, her eyes closed, a soft moan escaping her lips. Her hips began a slow, rhythmic grind against the floor. She was not shy. She never was. The raw, unbridled sexuality she exuded was a force of nature, a part of her cultivation, or so she often claimed.
Andrew had seen this ritual countless times before. His body usually remained unaffected, a silent observer. But today, something shifted. As Lucy moved, her primal dance a hypnotic rhythm, a warmth bloomed in Andrew's groin. It hardened, growing taut, pressing against his shorts. He felt a sudden, unfamiliar weight, a throbbing sensation he had only vaguely registered before.
Amanda, her eyes still on Lucy, shifted her gaze. She glanced at Andrew, then down, her eyebrows knitting together. Her index finger shot out, pointing.
"What's that?" she asked, her voice a reedy whisper.
Lucy, mid-grind, her eyes still closed, froze. She felt Amanda's sudden tension, the abrupt shift in the atmosphere. She opened her eyes, turning her head. Her gaze followed Amanda's pointing finger, landing on Andrew.
Her eyes widened. Her rhythmic movements ceased. Her breathless moans caught in her throat. She stared, unmoving, at the undeniable evidence of Andrew's burgeoning manhood.