It was the dead of night, and the stars in the heavens shone with resplendent light.
Beneath the night sky, a young silhouette sat on a boulder, his dark eyes reflecting the galaxy above. His long black hair touched his back and shone with a dull radiance. His breath was steady, his gait calm, and to his left lay a sword bigger than himself.
A gentle breeze blew; the trees rustled, the grass swayed, and his long black hair fluttered into the wind.
After a period of time, the boy's eyes shifted to a book on his lap. On the cover, three words could be seen in bold letters: Three Realm Ascension.
The youth smiled to himself and started to speak in a quiet voice.
"In this world, you can become anything, do anything, so long as you have the means to bear the consequences. There are also many different paths and societies who follow them, such as science and technology, magic and alchemy, sword and aura cultivation, divinity, skills, martial arts, etc."
There was no wrong path, only what one chose. At the peak of each path were Gods, Calamities, Devils, Saints, and more. Choosing any of these paths would be beneficial for any young person, but they all came with their respective dangers. Each side had their enemies, and the biggest of them all was the Anti-Gods. The very name sent shivers across the spine of all who heard it; this organization was the largest, most dangerous, and most feared in all the worlds.
Looking at the book in his hands, he continued, "Setting out alone to develop your own way is the best way."
He flipped from the cover to the front page. Written in bold letters was: Body. Below that, a signature could be seen: Great Fanatic Ye.
The young man chuckled, for he knew this man personally. This man was a crazy old geezer who terrorized the village kids with an ugly smile and rotten teeth. He always preached about his ways but got shooed off by the town guardsmen.
Azaasel had always been curious about the old man. One day, when the guards were at the tavern, he went up to the old miser and asked, "Can you teach me your arts?"
The old geezer jumped for joy, his wrinkled face twisting into a smile. "Yes, yes! What's your name, little one?"
"Azaasel."
"Good, good."
He then placed his old, wrinkly hand onto the little boy's shoulder, and in a flash, they disappeared. It was then that he learned everything from the old man—but the old geezer didn't train him yet, for the arts he developed had specific requirements.
Back to the present, he flipped to the second page of the Old Fanatic's book and quickly scanned through it.
The first realm of Body was to develop muscle, tendon, skeleton, and fascia. The second realm was to develop the four senses: internal sense, muscular sense, external sense, and the last one—to feel the world. The third realm was to develop Adrena. It was simply to extract adrenaline, mix it with nature mana, then fuse it into the blood.
He flipped to the next page and saw that each realm had its specific training routine. He stared at the signature below the page, his fingers gently caressing it.
This brought him back to a time in the Master's cave dwelling where he was being taught about the outside world. For four years, he had sneaked out of the village to learn this old man's ways, but the elder was still talking about sects and factions and all this "crap." Azaasel stood up angrily, his little face puffing up.
"Master Ye, how come you haven't taught me any of the magic techniques? You lying old man!"
"Little brat! Let this elder discipline you!" Elder Ye flew into a rage and hit him on the head with an old, worn-down stick.
Azaasel burst into tears. The "Crazy Ye" now felt bad, and after some time, he asked, "How old are you?"
Azaasel replied snarkily, "Four hundred."
The old man hit him on his head again, causing another fit of crying. After he calmed down, Azaasel spoke. "I'm eleven, and I'll be turning twelve the day after tomorrow."
Hearing this, the old man paused. "It's that time."
He reached into his matted hair and took out an old book. Azaasel was disgusted, and the old man showed his teeth, so Azaasel quickly hid his expression. The last time the old man bit him, his arm got infected; if not for the village priest, his hand would have been cut off.
The old man spoke, his tone resolute. "The time has come for you to set out on your journey."
Puzzled, Azaasel looked at him. The old man's eyes glowed with a golden light. "I've taught you enough. Here is my last gift to you."
The golden essence soon escaped and enveloped the space. Azaasel covered his eyes, and when the golden light disappeared, he removed his hand and stared at the elder. The elder suddenly started to cough blood and fell to the ground. His complexion became pale.
"Old man, are you okay?!" Azaasel rushed over, his face flushed with panic. "Don't worry, I'll get the priest to heal you up!"
But the elder stopped him. "No priest can fix this. For when I fell from the Heavenly Realm, the backlash crippled my cultivation. My time to depart was imminent, but looking for a successor, I preserved my life using various techniques."
Cough, cough. The old man coughed up several mouthfuls of blood.
The crazy old man died that day, and young Azaasel buried him at the back of the mountain. He went home and packed his things. His mother saw him, and he spoke in a childish voice, "I'm going on an adventure!"
His mother laughed and rubbed his head. "Silly boy. Be sure to come back."
In the dead of night, he ran away. He wondered how his parents were going to feel about his disappearance by sunrise. He laughed a childish laugh, not knowing the dangers that lay ahead.