The sun crept lazily into the sky over Vaikunth Dham, casting golden light across the village in that deceptively peaceful way that morning light always does—as if the world was innocent, as if chaos wasn't brewing beneath every rock. Cows mooed in the distance with bovine indifference to cosmic shenanigans. Birds chirped with divine annoyance at being awake this early. And a six-year-old boy sat cross-legged in front of a drunk old man who reeked of fermented mangoes, questionable life choices, and the kind of danger that comes from combining alcohol with ancient wisdom.
Aryanvaat Rishaan blinked at his newly-recovered mentor, trying to process what he was seeing. After decades of being a half-conscious drunk, Grandpa Ganpath now possessed the clarity of someone who'd just been hit by lightning and magically reassembled. His eyes were sharp, his posture was straighter, and he moved with a purpose that had been missing for twenty years.
But he still smelled like fermented mangoes.
"So… I just sit like this and become powerful?" Aryan asked, shifting slightly in his cross-legged position. His legs were already starting to ache. "Is it really that simple? Do I need to do anything else? Chant something? Burn incense? Sacrifice a goat?"
"Ha! If only it were that easy," Grandpa Ganpath slurred—old habits died hard—dramatically flopping onto a rock that might have once been a shrine to some forgotten deity. "You're lucky, boy. When I was your age, the only thing that opened was my mouth—screaming from a tiger bite! Real tiger. Sunburst stripes. Teeth like daggers."
Aryan's eyes went wide. "There were tigers? Just... wandering around?"
"Well, I bit it back," Grandpa muttered, stroking his long white beard with excessive pride. "Fought that beast for three hours. We both walked away bleeding, but I had the satisfaction of knowing I'd hurt something bigger than myself. Good lesson for a young cultivator."
[SYSTEM: Booted and regretting life decisions.]
User Status: Still somehow alive.
Cultivation Progress: 0%
Passive Skill Gained: "Tenacity of a Cockroach" — not real, just a joke reflecting my opinion of your survival rate.
SYSTEM:
"Ugh. You again. And what's this? A drunk sage as your mentor? A man who just got electrified back to consciousness yesterday? Great. Just great. I was promised a prodigy. Instead, I get a toddler and a booze barrel lecturing about tiger bites. My standards have bottomed out. I'm not sure they can go lower, but I'm sure you'll find a way."
"Did you say something?" Aryan looked around, unsure if the System had spoken out loud or if he was just hearing things in his head again.
"I didn't," Grandpa replied cheerfully, scratching his ear. "Though I was thinking about whether tiger meat is still good if you age it for twenty years. Might be asking the wrong questions, but—"
"I did," the System grumbled directly into his mind, bypassing Aryan's ears entirely. "But apparently I'm still invisible to everyone else. What a joy. What an absolute privilege to be trapped in this idiot's head."
Grandpa Ganpath straightened with the wobbling dignity of a monk trying not to fall off a buffalo that's currently having seizures. He cleared his throat dramatically, as if he was about to deliver a sacred sermon from atop a mountain.
"Today, my dear bottle of destiny—" he paused, squinting at Aryan. "Wait, that's what I called you, right? Bottle of destiny? My brain's still calibrating—anyway, today I will teach you about the first and most important chakra in your entire cultivation path. The chakra that determines whether you become a warrior or a cautionary tale. The Moolādhāra."
Aryan tilted his head, trying to match the foreign word with something in his limited knowledge base. "Is that like… moong daal? My neighbor makes that. It's yellow and mushy and—"
SYSTEM:
"I'm uninstalling myself. Right now. I'm literally removing myself from this situation. This is my resignation letter to the universe."
"No, no, child!" Grandpa laughed, slapping his thigh hard enough to create an echo. "Moolādhāra! The Root! The Foundation! The fundamental pee of the soul!"
Aryan's expression scrunched up in confusion. "The what?"
"I mean the base. The root. Like roots of a tree! Not actual urine. Why would I say that? Forget I said that. Old brain habits. Alcohol does weird things to your memory—sometimes you say things and don't realize how they sound until you've already said them."
SYSTEM:
"Correction, since apparently I'm still here despite my resignation: Moolādhāra, the Root Chakra, governs your physical strength, stability, grounding, and the ability to not die from sneezing. It's the base of all cultivation. The foundation upon which every other power is built. Without mastering this, you're basically a wobbly scarecrow trying to wrestle elephants while standing on one foot during an earthquake. Useless. Worse than useless."
"That sounds painful," Aryan mumbled, already dreading what came next.
Grandpa Ganpath took a long drink from what appeared to be water but was almost certainly not water, then sat back with the air of someone about to impart ancient wisdom. The morning light caught his eyes, which were still crackling faintly with the residual electricity from his divine lightning encounter.
"Listen well, young one," he said, raising a crooked finger like a prophet—or a drunk—it was honestly hard to tell the difference. "There are seven levels in the Moolādhāra realm. Each level brings you closer to becoming a proper cultivator. Each step is a slap to your former self, a rejection of who you used to be!"
Aryan's eyes lit up with the particular kind of hope that only comes from childhood. "Can I start cultivating by slapping myself now? That sounds efficient."
"Mentally, boy! Mentally!" Grandpa gestured expansively, nearly falling off his rock. "The slaps are metaphorical. Though honestly, a few real slaps might help keep you awake."
SYSTEM:
"He's not entirely wrong, which disturbs me on a fundamental level. Prepare to be underwhelmed by his explanations. I will provide actual data to compensate for his poetic rambling. Watch and cringe simultaneously."
The Seven Levels of the Root Chakra: Moolādhāra
"Now," Grandpa said, standing up with renewed vigor. "Allow me to explain the complete path you must walk. These aren't just levels—they're transformations. Each one strips away your limitations and replaces them with power."
SYSTEM:
"Translation: You get progressively less pathetic until you're only marginally pathetic."
1. Prathama Pāda – The First Step
Grandpa spread his arms wide, nearly hitting Aryan in the face. "When you first step onto the cultivation path, you are like a baby deer! Wobbly. Uncoordinated. Your limbs don't listen to your commands. You can maybe lift 10–15 kilograms of weight. Enough to carry a bucket of water without spilling it on your feet. Maybe."
He demonstrated by trying to lift an imaginary bucket, swayed dangerously, and caught himself on a nearby post.
SYSTEM:
"Reality check: A true novice at Prathama Pāda can punch with approximately 25 kilograms of force—which sounds impressive until you realize a regular adult can already do that without any cultivation. You are slightly more dangerous than a paperweight. Congratulations. Try not to let it go to your head."
Aryan visualized what 25 kilograms of force would feel like. Not much, honestly.
2. Dvitiya Pāda – The Second Step
"Now," Grandpa bellowed, nearly falling off his rock again—he really needed to stop doing that—"You've walked two steps into greatness! Your body begins to harden. Your bones grow denser. Your muscles stop screaming in protest at every movement. Your punches? They start to leave real marks on things. You can even punch through a mud wall! Well, maybe not through—more like crack it significantly."
He shadow-boxed a nearby tree, and a small chunk of bark fell off. He looked inordinately pleased with himself.
SYSTEM:
"Actual data: Around 40 kilograms of force at this stage. Enough to crack bones if you catch someone off guard. Punch a clay brick hard enough and it might break. Or you might. Still roughly a 50-50 coin toss. Your odds aren't great, but they're improving."
3. Tritīya Pāda – The Third Step
"This is when the body finally begins to match the mind," Grandpa declared, his voice suddenly growing serious—a tone that suggested he was drawing on actual memories of his cultivation days. "A boy becomes a youth. A weakling becomes... a dangerous weakling. Still weak, but now the danger level increases exponentially."
He flexed his arm, demonstrating muscles that still held surprising definition despite decades of alcohol-fueled deterioration.
SYSTEM:
"Power level: Around 60 kilograms of force. A punch could leave a dent in sheet metal. Could bend iron bars with sufficient effort and leverage. Very impressive if you ignore that real cultivators punch mountains like they're made of cheese. You're finally entering 'moderately concerning' territory."
4. Chaturtha Pāda – The Fourth Step
"Now comes the true leap," Grandpa whispered conspiratorially, as if revealing state secrets that could topple kingdoms. "This is the infamous Valley of Doubt. This is when most students give up. This is when the energy doesn't flow smoothly anymore. It fights you. It resists. But—" he held up a finger dramatically, "if you push through the pain, if you refuse to break, something miraculous happens."
He paused for effect, letting silence fill the morning air.
"You become slightly less terrible."
SYSTEM:
"Accurate, if cynical. You'll finally start being taken seriously by actual cultivators. Expect around 75 kilograms of punching force. Ability to rip tree roots from the ground without completely losing your arm. Capacity to smash a hardwood log in half with enough strikes. Not bad, monkey boy. Not good, but not bad."
5. Pañchama Pāda – The Fifth Step
"This," Grandpa said, standing dramatically with arms raised toward the sky like he was conducting the heavens themselves, "is where the heavens begin to take notice!"
SYSTEM:
"False. They don't. Not yet."
"Your strength becomes magnificent!" Grandpa continued, undeterred. "Your body? Steel. Your bones? Iron. You could bend iron bars with your bare hands! You could lift a water buffalo! You could—"
SYSTEM:
"...Finally something true. Around 85–90 kilograms of force at this stage. This is where cultivators can start breaking stone walls with a few sustained strikes. This is where villagers might actually call you a 'young master' if you don't trip over your own robes or accidentally reveal you're still terrified of spiders. Real credibility begins here."
6. Ṣaṣṭha Pāda – The Sixth Step
A sudden gust of wind blew across the field, rustling leaves and carrying the scent of morning dew. Grandpa's demeanor shifted entirely. His tone grew hushed, almost reverent. This was no longer a drunk telling stories—this was a former prodigy remembering why he'd walked this path in the first place.
"Only a handful reach this level, Aryan," he said quietly. "Most break before they get here. The pain becomes too much. The resistance from their own body becomes overwhelming. And those who don't break... they often wish they had."
"Why?" Aryan asked, unsettled by the sudden seriousness.
"Because here, you must break the shackle that binds your physical form to mortal limitations. It's like trying to snap a chain using your soul. You have to reach into your spirit and pull—harder than you've ever pulled at anything. And it hurts. Like being ripped apart and sewn back together while fully conscious."
SYSTEM:
"Dramatic, but surprisingly accurate. This is the infamous Breakthrough Wall that separates cultivators from pretenders. A cultivator at this level might hit with 95–98 kilograms of force—enough to punch a hole through thin steel sheet. But to rise further, they must unshackle their inner root—their spiritual foundation—through pain, pressure, and sheer force of will. It's as much a spiritual trial as a physical one."
Aryan felt a chill run down his spine.
7. Saptama Pāda – The Seventh Step
Grandpa fell silent. Completely, utterly silent. For once—and this was genuinely remarkable—no theatrics. No wild gesturing. No dramatic pronouncements. Just a nod, slow and deliberate and heavy with weight.
"This," he said finally, voice barely above a whisper, "is where you become more than human."
The morning seemed to hold its breath.
SYSTEM:
"...Hard agree. This is the threshold. The boundary between mortal cultivation and something transcendent."
"What can I do then?" Aryan leaned forward, absolutely riveted. "At that level? What happens?"
Grandpa's voice dropped so low Aryan had to strain to hear. "You punch. And metal breaks. Not bends—breaks. You kick, and stone shatters. You grip the earth itself, and the earth remembers your touch. You move with a grace that defies the laws your normal body should follow. You jump, and you stay airborne just a fraction too long for physics to explain. You are no longer just a man walking on a cultivation path—you are a warning to everything that opposes you."
SYSTEM:
"Around 100+ kilograms of force or equivalent spiritual output. Punch through steel. Kick through boulders. Break stone with your bare hands without fracturing your own bones. You are no longer in 'young master' territory—you've entered 'minor threat to small kingdoms' territory. Congratulations. You're finally relevant."
The weight of this revelation settled on Aryan's shoulders.
Grandpa leaned back, studying his small pupil with eyes that had seen decades of cultivation and decades of drunken haze. "Now listen here," he said, tapping Aryan's forehead gently. "What I've told you? That's just the beginning. Just the first chakra—the Moolādhāra. Beyond this lies the Svādhiṣṭhāna—the second chakra. People who reach that level? They can summon energy outside their body. Manifest their chakra into actual weapons that exist independent of their hands. Fly, maybe. Though flying usually comes later, when you're reaching higher realms. They can burn villages with a thought. Drink clouds like water. The power scales exponentially. I don't know half of what becomes possible—it gets wild up there, and I never made it that far before my brain turned into mulch."
Aryan's heart was racing. "Will I... will I become one of them? One of those powerful cultivators?"
Grandpa stared long and hard at his grandson—this small, awkward, six-year-old with the impossible luck of a maxed-out stat and a divine potion already in his system.
Then: "Only if you stop falling asleep during my lectures."
SYSTEM:
"Warning: Second Chakra users are exponentially more dangerous than Root Chakra users. If Moolādhāra users break walls, Svādhiṣṭhāna users collapse houses. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Though technically, they can't just straight-off fly—you can ease that one for yourself. Aerial combat usually comes when you meet someone above the Seventh Chakra tier. Until then, expect ground-based devastation."
Suddenly, a glowing ripple passed over Aryan's forehead, shimmering with soft golden light.
[Ding!]
[PASSIVE SKILL GAINED: "Focused Mind" (Lv. 1)]
Effect: Increases meditation clarity and chakra absorption speed by 5%.
Trigger: Listening intently and genuinely understanding complex chakra-level explanations despite distraction from a drunk rambling about tiger bites and fermented mangoes.
"Wait. What the—?" the System's voice suddenly flared with indignation and confusion.
SYSTEM:
"He got a passive skill?! Just for listening to that drunken lecture?! He wasn't even meditating! He was just sitting there looking confused and occasionally nodding! How is this—what are the mechanics here?! This defies the rules I just set two chapters ago!"
SYSTEM:
"I want a refund. I want a restart. I want to uninstall myself and file spiritual bankruptcy with the cosmic accounting department."
Aryan blinked at the notification, surprised. "Did I do something? Wrong, I mean? I was just listening..."
SYSTEM:
"Yes. You existed. And somehow—through mechanisms I cannot fathom—the universe rewarded it. Your Luck stat is apparently so maxed out that you're gaining skills just by being in proximity to educational content. This is the opposite of how things are supposed to work. I am filing a complaint with whoever designed this system."
Grandpa Ganpath looked proudly at Aryan, a smile spreading across his weathered face. "You see? The path chooses those it wishes. Remember, child. The path of cultivation isn't just about raw strength or breaking things. It's about patience, understanding, and—despite what you might think—lots and lots of falling down. Every great cultivator has failed more times than they've succeeded. They just got back up one more time than they fell."
SYSTEM:
"And somehow, despite everything going catastrophically wrong with your stat allocation, despite the cosmic chaos of your Luck-based existence, despite me actively rooting against you... you're still ahead of the curve. You're learning faster than you should. You're gaining skills through unconventional methods. You're somehow becoming competent. I hate this timeline with every fiber of my digital being."
Aryan smiled. He didn't understand half of what had just happened. The chakra system still felt abstract and confusing. The names were foreign and complicated. The power levels seemed simultaneously impossible and underwhelming.
But somehow—and this was the strangest part—he felt different. He felt like something had clicked into place inside him. Like he'd been a puzzle with pieces scattered across a table, and someone had just snapped the first few into position.
He felt like he'd taken his first real step.
Below his consciousness, deep in the chambers of his newly-awakened Moolādhāra chakra, energy began to circulate on its own. Not powerfully. Not visibly. But present. Real. Growing.
"When do we start the actual training?" he asked Grandpa.
Grandpa's grin widened. "Right now, boy. Right now."