The aftermath of the Awakening was a whirlwind Caleb hadn't expected. Yesterday, he was a nameless orphan sweating in the dirt; today, he was the village's "Golden Child." Neighbors who had barely nodded to him now arrived at his shack with warm bread and wide, expectant smiles.
Caleb, however, remained grounded. He returned to his fields one last time, the rusted hoe rhythmic against the earth. He needed a plan. The "Work-Study" slot covered tuition, but not the hidden costs of city life—decent food, better clothes, and the myriad of resources a Spirit Master required.
Over the next three months, he moved with the efficiency of a seasoned merchant. He harvested his final crop, paid the mandatory imperial tax, and sold every remaining grain of wheat. Under the mediation of Arthur, he leased his ancestral plots to neighbors at a low but steady rate. It wasn't a fortune, but in the city, every bronze counted.
On the eve of his departure, Caleb sat at his scarred wooden table, counting his hoard. Copper coins clinked against silver in the dim candlelight.
"Twenty-seven silver coins and thirty-four bronze," he murmured, his fingers tracing the rim of a coin. In this world, the economy was steep: One Gold Spirit Coin was worth 100 Silver, which in turn was worth 10,000 Bronze. For a boy who used to earn ten bronze for a full day's weeding, this was a small kingdom.
A heavy knock sounded at the door. Caleb swept the coins into two leather pouches, tucking them away before opening the door to find Arthur and a group of village elders.
"Grandpa Arthur? Uncles? Please, come in. I'll boil some water."
"No need, Little Cael," Arthur said, staying on the threshold. He looked at the boy with a mixture of pride and a strange, heavy sadness. He reached into his coat and produced a worn, heavy cloth bag. He pressed it into Caleb's calloused palms with trembling hands.
"The city isn't like the village," Arthur's voice was uncharacteristically stern. "You'll be there for months, maybe a year, before you can visit. This is from all of us—a contribution to your future. Study hard. Become a Master. Don't let the city swallow you up."
Caleb felt the weight of the bag—the collective sweat and sacrifice of families who had very little to give. He didn't refuse. He bowed deeply, his voice thick with a promise. "I won't let you down. I will become a Spirit Master that Oakheart Village can be proud of."
The scene felt like a village sending its only scholar to the Imperial Exams. To these people, Caleb was no longer just an orphan; he was their representative in a world that usually ignored them.
The following dawn was grey and misty. Caleb stood at his doorway, looking back at the small shack where he had spent six years merging his two lives. He closed the door, latched it for the last time, and walked toward the village entrance.
A bullock cart waited there, driven by Arthur's son, the burly Victor.
"Get on, Cael! We've a long road ahead," Victor shouted, hoisting Caleb's bundles of clothes, dried meat, and bedding into the back of the cart.
The journey to Nuoding City was a chorus of Arthur's stories. The old man spoke of legendary Title Douluos who could topple mountains and the divine glory of the Spirit Hall. To Arthur, it was folklore; to Caleb, it was a roadmap.
As the morning sun burned off the fog, the massive silhouette of Nuoding City rose from the plains. It was a chaotic sprawl of stone and iron, a far cry from the quiet green of the province.
They navigated the cobblestone streets until they reached the towering gates of Notting Junior Soul Master Academy. The entrance was a twenty-meter-wide expanse of reinforced iron, guarded by high stone walls that whispered of prestige and power.
Standing before the gate was a scene Caleb recognized instantly. An old man in ragged clothes and a young boy with dark, quiet eyes were being blocked by a sneering gatekeeper. The gears of fate were already turning.