The Hollow had given Arthur a new beginning—but not yet a path forward.
Though his physique and Scroll Realm had awakened, the knight technique devoured, and the Nameless Potential Core absorbed, his unique cultivation method remained incomplete. The scroll had only formed the base of a new path, and until that technique reached full stability, he could not continue cultivating.
The silence of the forsaken Hollow became stifling. Its death-stained stones echoed with memories of long-forgotten battles. Cracks laced the chamber where his awakening had occurred. His very presence was eroding the surroundings.
The scroll warned him: "Further cultivation without advancement of technique stability risks internal collapse."
Arthur understood what that meant.
He needed to leave.
---
For days, he wandered the deep tunnels beneath the Hollow, searching.
Ancient halls lined with shattered statues, rusted weapons embedded in stone, and the bones of failed cultivators marked his path. The world above had forgotten this place. It was a tomb.
But eventually, he found it—a crack in space, hidden behind a collapsed pillar in a remote corner of the lowest ruins. A small rift, shimmering with unnatural silver light.
Arthur stared at it. "Is it stable?"
The scroll pulsed. "Unstable, but traversable."
He stepped through without hesitation.
---
Pain.
Space twisted. His body felt torn apart and reformed a dozen times. Then—light.
He crashed onto cobblestone.
The scent of baked bread, blood, and sweat filled the air. The noise of a busy street swarmed his ears—shouts, hooves, laughter, and curses.
He had arrived in a city.
A small city, nestled in the borderlands of the Aetherfall Kingdom—a minor yet stable human nation that stood at the edge of the known continent.
Its name: Crimson Stone City.
---
Crimson Stone was a rough place.
The city was built at the edge of monster territory and served as both a trade hub and frontline bastion. It was ruled by a local City Lord, a magician at the Peak of the 2nd Stage, appointed directly by the Aetherfall Kingdom's ruler—a 3rd Stage peak powerhouse known as King Ravelyn, the Arc-Throned.
Arthur quickly learned the basic structure of power here:
The Aetherfall Kingdom was divided into thirteen provinces.
Each province had cities and towns managed by appointed magicians or warriors.
Cultivators here followed a Western magic system—focusing on absorbing external energy through meditation, contracts with elemental spirits, or bloodline enhancements.
Arthur's system was completely alien.
Which made him dangerous.
And invisible.
He quickly found lodging at a modest inn called the Broken Fang, spending the last of the silver coins found on a corpse back in the Hollow. The food was bland, the bed was hard, but it was shelter.
He spent the evening listening.
Adventurers spoke of monster bounties. Mercenaries drank away failure. Guards whispered about the arrival of a rare merchant guild known only as the Vault of Echoes—a traveling archive that sold rare techniques, potions, and relics. Some said they were neutral across empires. Others believed they answered only to forgotten gods.
Arthur's interest peaked.
The next morning, he left early.
---
The Vault of Echoes – Crimson Branch stood in the heart of the trade district.
Three stories tall, built from red marble and inlaid with mana crystal veins, it loomed above the surrounding stalls. An iron-eyed guard stopped him at the entrance, but after a brief scan, let him in with a grunt.
The interior buzzed with quiet power. Shelves of books, scrolls, and locked cabinets filled the building. Cultivators moved from section to section, whispering deals, bargaining for manuals and tomes.
Arthur approached a nearby shelf titled:
[Beginner Techniques – Tier F to Tier D]
He reached for a book: "Stone Skin Enhancement – Tier E"
The moment his fingers brushed it, the scroll within his body pulsed.
<
Arthur paused.
"No. Record only."
<
Arthur frowned. Destroying the book meant alerting Vault security—and probably getting himself killed.
"Then give me an option."
<
So he needed a way to feed the scroll.
Beast cores were the simplest solution.
They came from monsters—crystallized hearts of energy.
And monster hunting was one of the highest-paying jobs in the region.
Arthur had his answer.
---
That night, he returned to the Broken Fang and rented a room for one more day. He sharpened a blade taken from the Hollow and reinforced his clothing with scraps of mana-touched leather from a scavenged ruin.
The scroll throbbed quietly within him, now eager.
He whispered to himself:
"I'll hunt. Not just for cores. Not just for money."
"I'll hunt to feed my path."
And so, with the first light of dawn, Arthur stepped out into the wild.
Toward the Crimson Edge Forest.
Toward monsters.
Toward growth.
---
The Crimson Edge Forest was dark, filled with twisted trees and rotting roots. Fog rolled across the ground, veiling the scent of beasts.
Arthur walked for an hour before the first encounter.
A Shadow-Spine Wolf lunged from the underbrush.
Its cultivation aura marked it as Initial 1st Stage.
Arthur ducked the pounce and slashed its throat. His body was leaner now, stronger. The scroll guided his movements like instinct.
The beast died instantly.
The core was small, dull.
But it was enough.
He fed it to the scroll.
<
Hours passed. More beasts came:
A Bark-Scaled Boar with hide tough as metal.
A Fireclaw Lynx, leaving flame with each step.
A Sporewing Owl, whose breath clouded his vision.
Arthur killed them all. Some took seconds. Others left wounds.
By dusk, he had slain seven monsters—all between Initial to Mid 1st Stage.
The scroll's energy bar surged.
<
He grinned.
Then came something new.
Voices.
He found a group of adventurers. Three men and one woman. All young, armed, and wary.
They watched him emerge from the woods, covered in blood and grime, dragging a Crimson-Tusk Lizard corpse.
"You hunt alone?" one asked.
Arthur nodded.
The leader, a spear-wielder with a silver chainmail, narrowed his eyes. "That's a peak 1st Stage beast. You killed it solo?"
"I did."
Their eyes widened.
They offered fire, food, and shared rumors. Arthur learned that peak 1st Stage monsters were considered too dangerous for most teams under the 2nd Stage.
Yet he had hunted one down.
And he wasn't even cultivating their system.
He left them before sunrise.
With three more cores, a bag of sellable beast hide, and the quiet thrill of growth.
---
Before returning to the city, Arthur pressed deeper into the forest.
That's when he found it.
A clearing steeped in silence.
At its center stood a beast unlike any he had faced. Sleek, black-furred, with crystalline antlers and silver scales running its limbs.
The scroll vibrated.
<
Perfection-level.
Arthur remembered what he had overheard—most beings only reached Initial, Mid, and Peak in a realm before pushing to the next. Perfection was a rare fourth sub-stage, the final refinement before a realm breakthrough.
Such monsters were prized. Their beast cores ten times more valuable. Their bodies, used to craft foundation pills and elixirs.
He couldn't pass the chance.
But it would not be easy.
The fight was brutal.
The stag was fast, intelligent, and its antlers radiated spatial force. It moved like a phantom, charging and vanishing, horns crashing through air.
Arthur used terrain. Threw stones. Dodged behind trees. Slashed and stabbed and rolled through dust.
The battle stretched into hours.
He bled. His shoulder was torn open. His thigh numbed from a glancing blow.
But in the end, he stood. Barely.
The stag collapsed.
He carved its core from its chest, trembling.
It glowed deep violet.
The scroll pulsed hungrily.
Arthur breathed through pain, a grin slowly blooming.
He had hunted his first perfection-level prey.
And with this core, he could purchase a high-grade energy source or even barter it for a technique without ever needing to spend coin.
The path forward had just widened.
---
That night, Arthur found a tree cave within the forest—a natural hollow beneath the roots of a thousand-year-old duskwood tree.
He cleaned the space, set basic wards using scraps of monster hide, and sat cross-legged within.
The perfection core hovered before him, radiating dense energy.
He placed it against his chest. The scroll flared, threads of light lacing his body.
Energy poured in. His meridians trembled.
Within his inner world, his Scroll Realm Throne—a semi-formed crystalline seat of power forged by devoured techniques—shook violently.
The throne absorbed the energy, growing in size and complexity. A second layer of glyphs appeared, spiraling around its base.
Arthur felt his body shift, bones creaking, muscles realigning.
His breath became silent.
Hours passed. Sweat dripped. Teeth clenched.
Then…
A soft pulse.
<
The throne stabilized. Its glow was deeper now—no longer the pale imitation of a beginning cultivator, but the proud flame of a path forged alone.
Arthur opened his eyes.
He was stronger.
The forest felt quieter.
The hunt… had just begun.