The morning sunlight lazily stretched its fingers over the slums, poking through shattered rooftops and dancing across the worn-out bricks of a barely-standing house that seemed to be held together by spite and prayer more than actual structural integrity. Inside, Aryan—still rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the particular exhaustion of a child who'd spent the night mediating between Grandpa's drunken ranting and the System's endless sarcasm—looked at his Grandpa Ganpath, who sat cross-legged on a tattered rug with more holes than fabric, polishing a cracked tea kettle like it was some ancient treasure worth kingdoms.
"Grandpa?" Aryan blinked, trying to process what his mentor was doing. "I had a weird dream last night. You were telling me to rob a palace. Like, break in, steal things, rob a palace. Was that... was that real, or did I dream that?"
Ganpath grinned like a child caught red-handed stealing sweets from the temple offering. "That wasn't a dream, my boy. That was divine inspiration. From me. Which makes it very real and very happening."
'What the hell?!'
The System, ever calm but with the exasperation of a middle-aged schoolteacher who had long given up on his students and accepted his fate as a keeper of chaos, sighed deeply in Aryan's mind.
[SYSTEM]: "I have processed over ten million hosts—hypothetically, across multiple timelines. This one's the first who's being actively led to felony by a man who thinks curry leaves are a legitimate cultivation herb and lightning-strike enlightenment is a valid teacher evaluation method."
Ganpath scratched his beard thoughtfully, ignoring the insult he couldn't hear but somehow sensing its existence. "Listen, lad. You've just stepped onto the path of cultivation. You've opened the Mooladhara—the First Chakra. That's like planting a seed in soil, right? But here's the thing: without the right manual, the right knowledge, it won't grow. It'll just rot like the last mango I left under the bed three years ago. Still there, by the way. Very educational."
Aryan hesitated, trying to follow the logic. "So... robbing the treasury of Vaikunth Dham is... what exactly? Watering the seed? Fertilizing it?"
"Exactly!" Ganpath beamed with the pride of someone who'd just explained quantum physics using fruit metaphors. "You're learning! Cultivation isn't just about personal strength—it's about resources. And sometimes, resources require a little creative acquisition."
[SYSTEM]: "He's teaching the boy felony. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Should I upload a prison break manual while we're at it? A guide to lockpicking? Some tips on social engineering guards?"
Aryan ignored the sarcastic voice echoing in his skull and tilted his head, a new question forming. "But wait, Grandpa. You never told me exactly how strong people at different Chakra levels really are. Like, you said I'm 1st Chakra, Level 1. But how strong does that make me compared to someone else?"
Ganpath stood up proudly, puffing his chest out so far it seemed to violate the laws of physics given his thin frame. "A good question! Finally, something useful comes from that small head of yours. You see, Chakra has seven levels, and each level has four distinct stages: Novice, Intermediate, Master, and Perfection. Think of it like climbing a mountain with multiple plateaus."
[SYSTEM]: "Finally, the man speaks something that isn't completely lunatic. Let me translate this before he compares power to spicy pickles or fermented rice. Again."
Ganpath held up his weathered fingers, counting off. "Say, a Novice 1st Chakra cultivator can lift about 25 kilograms—that's a large sack of rice. Can punch through a wooden plank if you put your full power behind it. Can carry two full sacks of grain without collapsing to the ground crying about your joints. Basic physical augmentation."
Aryan blinked, trying to visualize his own power. "And at the highest stage? Perfection?"
"Hundred kilograms," Ganpath snapped his fingers dramatically. "You can punch clean through metal sheets like they're paper. Bend steel bars like they're dough. Your bones won't even fracture. Your body becomes a weapon unto itself. A Perfection 1st Chakra cultivator is roughly four times stronger than a Novice of the same level."
[SYSTEM]: "Correct, for once. Each level is a mountain, but each stage within it is like developing muscle and technique to climb that mountain. Just reaching a level doesn't mean you've mastered it. That's why the Novice to Perfection progression exists. A Perfection cultivator of any level is substantially stronger than a Novice of the same level. The difference is the same as comparing a trained warrior to someone who picked up a sword yesterday."
Aryan's eyes lit up with sudden understanding. "That's... actually cool. So I'm at Novice stage, which means I can do basic stuff, but I'm far from my full potential?"
"Precisely," Ganpath nodded approvingly. "You're at the bottom of a very tall mountain. But you're climbing."
"But remember," Ganpath added, his tone suddenly growing heavier—the kind of heavy that suggested genuine danger beneath the playful exterior, "once you meet someone from Chakra 2, you'll realize how low you are in the entire food chain. It's not just one level higher—it's exponentially more powerful."
[SYSTEM]: "Let's put this in perspective for you, Host: A Level 1 Chakra 2 cultivator can casually defeat ten Level 7 Chakra 1 cultivators like they're training dummies made of straw. The power gap isn't linear—it's exponential. And beasts? Spiritual beasts are worse. A Chakra 2 Stage 7 beast could eat a human cultivator two full levels above it for breakfast and burp out the bones as dessert. The food chain is brutal and unforgiving."
Aryan felt his stomach drop. "Why are you telling me this now?! Right before I'm supposed to break into a heavily guarded palace?!"
"Because you're about to break into the lion's den to steal a cultivation manual," Ganpath grinned with the confidence of someone who'd clearly thought this through or not thought it through at all—it was impossible to tell. "A little fear keeps the legs nimble. Fear sharpens the senses. Fear keeps you alive."
[SYSTEM]: "Or paralyzed. Depending on your intelligence quotient, which I'm beginning to suspect is lower than a stone's."
Aryan suddenly remembered his new skill. "Wait, can I use Insight on you? To check your actual level? I've been wondering about that since you got struck by lightning."
He activated it instinctively, focusing his newfound perception on the old man sitting across from him. Over Ganpath's head, a floating translucent text appeared, glowing softly:
???
"Triple question marks?" Aryan muttered, confused. "That doesn't make sense."
[SYSTEM]: "Two possible reasons for that result: Either the subject is too powerful for my scanning ability to process—meaning his true level is beyond my capacity to measure. Or—and this is far more likely given his personality—he's a completely clueless mortal with zero chakra at all and the triple question marks represent the void of cultivation potential inside him."
Ganpath suddenly sneezed. "Some idiot just insulted me, I'm sure of it. The universe has a way of alerting me to disrespect, even when I can't hear it directly."
Meanwhile, in the Royal Palace of Vaikunth Dham...
The palace bustled with unusually tight security that made even the servants nervous. Guards stood at every corridor, weapons at the ready, eyes sharp and constantly scanning. Something was different. Something was wrong. The usual rhythm of palace life had been disrupted.
King Rudrayan—tall, with scars crisscrossing his forearms from battles fought in service to the realm, eternally calm in the way only kings could be—stood with his royal Bishop in the shadows of the inner court. The Bishop was an older man, his cultivation robes marked with the insignia of the 2nd Chakra realm, indicating power that went far beyond normal royal advisors.
They whispered in tones low enough that even the guards stationed nearby couldn't hear.
"The beast is restless again," the King said, his voice like distant thunder rolling across mountains. "I felt its presence fluctuating in the sealed chamber this morning."
The Bishop nodded gravely. "The dragon-blooded beast, Taarask, has reached Chakra 2, Stage 7. Even sealed beneath the treasury with the strongest enchantments we possess, it radiates pressure like a living storm. If someone disturbs the treasury, if they trigger the seals... it will be messy. Catastrophically messy. The beast will wake, and it will feed."
"We leave tonight," the King said, making a decision. "Quietly. Discretely. The capital must not know the reason. Announce it as a hunting expedition to the northern territories. No one must know the truth about Taarask's advancement."
The Bishop bowed deeply. "As you command, Your Majesty."
Unseen, behind a thick velvet curtain embroidered with golden thread, Princess Roshni—all of six years old, but with eyes that held the intelligence of someone far older—narrowed her gaze. She'd been listening the entire time. She was always listening. The servants and guards made the mistake of thinking young children were harmless and unaware. They never realized that children could slip through spaces adults couldn't, move with the stealth adults had forgotten.
Her small fists clenched.
"So Father's leaving tonight," she muttered to herself. "All the more reason to act now. All the more reason to break the rules while he's distracted."
She slipped silently from behind the curtains, moving with a grace that contradicted her age, and disappeared into the depths of the palace like a shadow.
In a Secret Chamber Within the Palace...
Princess Roshni stood before her mirror, her face set with determination. She began tying her hair back into a tight, practical bun—not the elaborate, decorative braids expected of a royal princess, but a functional warrior's knot.
Her black stealth suit hugged her tiny frame perfectly, custom-tailored by the palace's most discreet craftspeople. It was made from fabric treated with cultivation techniques to dampen her chakra signature and muffle sound. Despite her age—barely six years old—her movements were precise, trained, and far too agile for any normal child. This wasn't a game. This was something she'd been training for.
She spun once, slowly and deliberately, her fingers weaving an advanced hand technique—movements that suggested years of martial training, despite her youth.
"I'm Level 3 of Chakra 1," she muttered to herself, gauging her own power. "That's decent enough for most palace guards. That's decent enough for someone my age. But I need to reach Level 4 before the Martial Arts Tournament. I won't let those bratty princes mock me again. I won't let Father's generals suggest that a princess is too 'delicate' for real cultivation."
She glanced at the ornate window of her tower, looking down at the treasury building far below. The guards were reduced because of the King's preparations. The seal over the treasury was supposedly unbreakable.
Supposedly.
She smirked—not with malice, but with the confidence of someone who'd been preparing for this moment. "The treasury holds what I need—the Flowing Water Manual. A cultivation manual that'll let me advance my technique and understanding. The guards won't notice someone this small. They're trained to watch for adult thieves, not six-year-old princesses."
She cracked her knuckles, chakra flowing softly through her body in preparation.
"And if they do notice me? Well..." Her smile turned predatory. "I hope they've trained their ankles. I'll use them to cushion my fall when I leap from the rafters."
Back in the Slums...
"So you're saying," Aryan frowned, his expression caught between confusion and mounting dread, "that we should break into the royal palace treasury, sneak past multiple Chakra-level guards, grab a precious cultivation manual, and sneak out again... without getting caught. Without dying. Essentially."
"Yes," Grandpa nodded with the confidence of a man who'd either planned this brilliantly or hadn't thought it through at all.
[SYSTEM]: "This plan is so monumentally stupid, it's almost genius. Almost. But not quite. It's hovering in that dangerous zone between brilliant and catastrophic."
"But what if we die?" Aryan whispered, voicing the concern that wouldn't stop echoing in his mind. "What if we get caught and they execute us or something? What if the guards are too strong?"
"Then we'll die proud," Ganpath said solemnly, lifting a rusted spoon like it was a weapon of justice instead of a utensil. "We'll die trying to become stronger. That's the cultivator's way."
[SYSTEM]: "Note to self: Next host selection must be conducted only after a full mental health screening and a basic IQ examination. Preferably by someone who isn't a cosmic accident."
Aryan sighed deeply, accepting the madness of his situation. "Alright... but you're staying behind, right? You're not coming with me?"
"Of course. My arthritis is acting up something fierce," Ganpath coughed suspiciously—the kind of cough that suggested nothing was actually wrong and he was simply looking for an excuse. "Besides, I'd be too obvious. Two people trying to sneak in? Double the chance of getting caught. One small child? That's almost believable. Almost."
Aryan glared at his mentor with the full force of a six-year-old's righteous indignation. "You're sending me alone."
"Not alone, my boy," Ganpath corrected. "You have the System. And you have Insight to detect guards before they see you. And you have Luck maxed out to an absurd degree. Those are better backup than an old man with arthritis."
[SYSTEM]: "He's literally sending a six-year-old child to rob a military fortress while he sits at home sipping tea and eating biscuits. If I ever write a memoir, this entire chapter will be titled: How Not to Be a Mentor: A Case Study in Irresponsibility."
Later That Night, in the Darkened Alleys Near the Palace Walls...
The night had settled over Vaikunth Dham like a thick blanket, stars barely visible through the haze of smoke from cooking fires and incense. Aryan crouched in the shadows of an abandoned building, his small form pressed against the cold stone wall. His eyes scanned the golden-lit perimeter of the royal palace—guards stationed at intervals, but fewer than usual. Something was different tonight.
A voice echoed directly in his mind, cutting through the silence:
[SYSTEM]: "Observe the walls carefully. Triple patrols instead of the usual single rotation. Increased guard rotationsevery twenty minutes instead of the normal thirty. Something has changed. Either the King is away—which might explain the reduced numbers despite the increased alertness—or something significant is happening inside the palace. This is a variable I didn't account for."
Aryan's heart began racing. "But that's good, right? Fewer guards means easier infiltration?"
[SYSTEM]: "Or bad. Depending on how you define 'dying horribly.' The fewer guards could indicate they're confident in other defensive measures. Magical seals. Trained beasts. Traps. The palace isn't unguarded—it's just differently guarded."
Aryan took a deep breath and activated his Focused Mind skill. The world around him seemed to narrow, the noise of the city fading into background static. His thoughts became crystalline clear—each path calculated, each possibility weighed, each decision optimized.
His perception sharpened. The guards' positions became predictable. The blind spots in their patrol patterns became visible. The timing of their rotations became rhythmic and measurable.
Even the System sounded... impressed.
[SYSTEM]: "...You know, back in my early days, across earlier timelines and earlier hosts, we used to call that mental clarity and tactical awareness. Now apparently it's a 'Skill.' I want a refund from the cosmic accounting department."
Meanwhile, Deep in the Treasury Corridors...
Princess Roshni tiptoed through the treasury corridors with the precision of someone far older than six. She moved under floating lanterns that cast dancing shadows across the stone walls—lanterns powered by cultivation techniques and suspended by permanent enchantments. Her small hands moved with calculated efficiency, each step placed perfectly to avoid making sound, each breath controlled and measured.
She knew the layout of these corridors intimately. She'd spent weeks memorizing every corridor, every guard post, every archway and alcove. She knew the exact timing of the guard rotations—had counted their footsteps, measured their pace, predicted their patterns.
She was six years old, and she was playing a game with very real stakes.
I'll find that manual, she thought, her small jaw set with determination. I'll break through Level 3 and reach Level 4. I'll win the tournament. And Father won't be able to stop me this time. Won't be able to tell me I'm too young or too small or too delicate for real cultivation.
She paused as a sound echoed down the stone hall—footsteps, heavy and deliberate, from a guard making their rounds.
She pressed herself flat against the wall, her breathing becoming shallow, her chakra signature dampening further through conscious effort.
The guard passed three meters away, completely oblivious.
She waited thirty seconds to ensure they'd gone, then continued forward.
But then—another sound. Different. Softer.
Movement. Careful, measured movement.
Her eyes narrowed. The footsteps were too small for a guard. Too light. Too... young.
She wasn't alone in the treasury corridors.
Someone—something—else was here.
And they were moving in the same direction she was.