Wei Shen's journey out of the "Forest of Lost Souls" took a full week. He was in no hurry. He moved with steady, calculated steps, using this final trek in the wilderness to fully acclimate to the immense power that now flowed through his body. The ninth level of Qi Condensation, enhanced by his unique and dark "Blood Qi," granted him incredibly sharp senses and an endurance far beyond anything he had imagined. The second and third-level spiritual beasts that would have posed a fatal threat in the past were now mere minor annoyances he avoided with disdain, or killed with a single swift strike if they crossed his path, just to keep his combat instincts sharp.
Finally, one afternoon, he saw the end of the forest. The giant trees began to give way to barren rocky hills, and beyond those hills, he saw high, dark-colored stone walls stretching like the spine of a sleeping dragon. This was "Blackrock City," the first true bastion of civilization he had seen since arriving in this world.
He didn't enter directly. That would have been the height of folly. He found a high, hidden vantage point on one of the hills and spent the rest of the day observing. He studied everything with his cold eyes, his mind analyzing data like a supercomputer. He watched the guards at the gate, their strength, their shift routines, their method of inspecting travelers. He watched the people entering and leaving: bustling merchant caravans with their goods, and some cultivators from small sects wearing different robes.
"Every city is a system with its own rules," Wei Shen thought. "And entering without understanding these rules is the first step toward failure."
Then, he looked at his reflection in a small, stagnant pool of water nearby. What he saw was a wild beast. A lean young man, his face sharp and smudged with dust and dried blood, his long, unkempt black hair falling over his shoulders, and his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint that did not belong in the world of men. His clothes were tattered rags, and the two ivory daggers crafted from boar tusks hung from his rough leather belt, clearly proclaiming his savage origins.
"This appearance… will immediately attract the wrong kind of attention," he decided coldly. "It will attract guards, thieves, and anyone looking for trouble. Before I begin hunting in this city… I must wear a new mask, a mask that conforms to their rules."
As dusk approached, and the city entrance became crowded with returning workers and farmers, Wei Shen joined a group of miners whose clothes were no less dirty than his own. He concealed his face with his torn hood, lowered his head, and entered the city without being noticed, like a drop of water dissolving into a murky river.
---
"Blackrock City" was noisy and chaotic. The outer streets were narrow, paved with uneven stones, and the wooden and stone buildings were packed together as if competing for air. The smells of spices, sweat, animals, and coal smoke all mingled in a strange concoction.
Wei Shen ignored all of this and headed directly towards the inn district in the less impoverished neighborhoods. He found a modest but relatively clean inn, bearing a faded wooden sign on which was written "The Quiet Gazelle Inn."
He entered quietly. The innkeeper, a fat man with a thick mustache, gave Wei Shen a quick, appraising look. Before the man could say anything or refuse to host this savage-looking young man, Wei Shen placed two low-grade "spirit stones" on the wooden counter before him.
The innkeeper's eyes widened slightly when he saw the spirit stones. His tone changed immediately. "Welcome, young master! A room? Certainly! Our best room is available."
"I want a room for three days," Wei Shen said in a cold, neutral voice. "And I want hot water. Lots of it."
Minutes later, Wei Shen was in his room. It was simple, containing a wooden bed, a table, a chair, and a copper washbasin. But it was a paradise compared to the dark cave he had spent the last few weeks in.
The first thing he did was fill the basin with the hot water brought to him by one of the inn's servants. It was the first time he had felt real hot water on his skin since arriving in this world. It was a strange moment, a mixture of physical comfort and that subtle feeling that this was a luxury he didn't yet deserve. He spent nearly an hour washing, removing the layers of dust, mud, and dried blood that had covered his body like a second skin. It was like a purification process, washing away not just the filth of the forest, but also a part of his outward savagery.
After he finished, he looked at his long, tangled hair. He gripped one of his ivory daggers and, with a surgeon's precision, began to cut his hair. He didn't choose any complex style, but a practical and simple cut, short in the back and slightly longer in the front, which made the sharp features of his face stand out more clearly.
Then, he put on a new set of clothes he had bought from a simple shop on his way to the inn: sturdy trousers of dark cloth, a simple gray shirt, and a black cloak with a large hood. Practical clothes that didn't attract attention, but they were clean and intact.
When he finally looked at his reflection in the polished bronze mirror hanging on the wall, he saw a completely different person.
He was no longer the savage boy who had emerged from the forest. Standing before him now was a strikingly handsome young man, with sharp features as if carved from jade, and pale skin that now, after removing all the filth, had acquired a faint, unnatural luster, as if radiating internal power. His neatly cut black hair highlighted his broad forehead and his dark eyes.
But the eyes… they were the center of everything. They were not the eyes of a seventeen-year-old. They were deep, terrifyingly calm, carrying a cold glint like that of a mind that had lived for eons and witnessed the unimaginable. That faint crimson flicker that sometimes appeared seemed to have settled deep within his pupils, gleaming subtly with every movement of light, like two sleeping embers in a bottomless well.
It was a strange and unsettling mixture: a young man's face of sharp, pure beauty, and eyes that held boundless wisdom and cruelty. He knew this appearance would attract the attention of women with a kind of mysterious fascination, and would awaken jealousy and caution in men.
"A good mask," Wei Shen thought with cold satisfaction. "The mask of a mysterious, noble young man from a major sect, not a bloodthirsty vagabond who just came out of the wilderness."
After he finished changing his appearance, he sat on the wooden chair and took out the booklets and scrolls he had looted from the "Fallen Leaf Sect's" library from the storage bag he had taken from the deceased sect leader.
He spent the rest of the night reading voraciously, his mind absorbing information like a dry sponge. Most of the information was rudimentary, but it painted a clearer picture for him of the fundamentals of this world.
"So, the world of cultivation is not limited to just individual combat strength," he thought as he read one of the booklets. "There are auxiliary professions, each with its role. 'Pill Makers' who mix spiritual herbs to create pills that help heal or accelerate cultivation… and 'Formation Masters' who create defensive and offensive formations using spirit stones and banners… and 'Beast Tamers' who establish bonds with spiritual beasts to use them in combat."
Then, his eyes fell upon a small, worn-out booklet titled, "Principles of Forging Primary Spiritual Weapons."
"Weapon forging…" he muttered, feeling that old passion, the passion of Arthur the arms emperor, awakening deep within him. He had always believed that a weapon was the true extension of a living being's will, and that crafting the perfect killing tool was a form of absolute art.
He read the booklet with intense concentration, but his focus quickly turned to contempt.
"Primitive… incredibly primitive," he thought, tossing the booklet onto the table. "They rely on random methods, on hammering, heating, and cooling without any real understanding of material composition or physical properties. They rely on luck and the purity of raw materials, and lack any scientific methodology. No wonder their weapons were fragile and inefficient."
He looked at his two ivory daggers made from boar tusks, which he had placed on the table. They had served him well in the wilderness and had witnessed his first bloody steps in this world. But he knew they were no longer sufficient. In a city like this, and in the upcoming confrontations with real cultivators possessing real spiritual weapons, they would be just two pieces of bone.
"You have served your purpose," he said in a low voice, as if bidding farewell to old companions. "But efficiency demands constant upgrading."
He picked up the "Green Jade Leaf Sword" he had taken from the deceased sect leader. It was a low-grade spiritual sword, but it was far better than the ivory daggers.
"I need a real weapon," he thought, his eyes gleaming with cold ambition. "A weapon I forge… myself."
He looked out of his room's window at the scattered lights of "Blackrock City." "But before that," he added in his mind, "I need better knowledge of real forging techniques, finer materials… and a suitable forge I can use."