Kaede's mouth fell open, words caught somewhere between outrage and disbelief. "Takara—what the hell are you doing?!"
Sana's eyes darted between them, face flushing deep crimson. "This is… this is insane—"
Oliver looked away, scratching the back of his neck with a strained chuckle. "You're crazy, you know that? Absolutely mental." His voice dropped, almost muttering. "...but you've got guts, I'll give you that."
Takara lowered her shirt again, almost bored. "So? Are you going to tell me, or was it just a coward's bluff?"
He stared at her for a long moment, the humor in his voice fading. "You really don't mess around, do you?" he murmured, the words almost a challenge. His hand slid forward, fingers curling around the soft heat beneath her bra, squeezing just enough to make her breath catch.
"I'll tell you about it when we get somewhere safer; right now we might as well be sitting in a predator's next feast."
Her breath came out in a short, tight exhale, the flicker of surprise in her eyes quickly buried under the same unreadable mask she'd worn before.
"Fine," she said, but the word held no retreat—only a quiet, measured acceptance.
Oliver's gaze lingered for a beat too long before he finally withdrew his hand, flexing his fingers as if reluctant to let the sensation go. He stood, scanning the treeline, his usual careless demeanor tempered by something sharper.
"Let's move," he said, jerking his chin toward the shadowed path ahead. "If something's watching, it's already decided whether we're worth the trouble. I'd rather not be here when it makes its move."
Kaede still looked rattled, her steps hesitant as she followed, eyes darting between the two of them as if unsure which was more dangerous—whatever lay in the forest… or Takara herself.
Oliver stretched, "Luna-Chan lead the way, " he argued, patting her head, as she started up a conversation, neither of the three girls could understand, as she asked why he touched Takara's chest and why they were following behind them.
He answered all her questions as he eventually mounted her like a horse. Before also taking the time to get to know his new group members, while his spiritual sense was spread far behind them.
—
Back at the clearing.
A group of surviving macaque—dragging a naked, bound woman tight-roped with vines—stumbled upon what could only be described as a bloody massacre. Dismembered limbs lay strewn close together, slick with fresh gore. Their faces paled at the carnage, and they rushed toward the fifth remaining macaque.
He stood in the middle of the corpses, a hulking bear sprawled lifeless at his feet. Spirit threads, tangled around the beast's carcass, pulsed weakly before beginning to fade—the Qi that should have sustained them seeping uselessly into the ground.
But the macaque paid the fading threads no mind. Instead, it gripped one of the black-shafted arrows buried in its flank. With a sharp, rippling flex of muscle, it tore the shaft free—flesh and sinew distorting around the point before it came free with a wet sound. Another arrow followed, its barbed head twisting under the skin before it slid out.
When it finally turned to face the others, they froze.
Its face was a ruin. The bone beneath had caved inward in grotesque angles, as if a boot had stomped down again and again until nothing of its original features remained. One eye socket was a hollow crater leaking dark fluid, the jaw hanging half-broken yet twitching. And still… it breathed.
Still… it lived.
Its left hand hung loosely at its side, clutching a crystal-green bow strung with a golden thread, the same hue as the cord wrapped around the bear. The handle was bound in matching thread, and where its fingers met the bow's body, a talisman had been fixed—its ink faintly pulsing with some unknown force.
The sight sent ripples through the minds of the small troop. Not only had they stumbled upon their comrades slaughtered, but before them stood their leader—radiating an aura of death, yet somehow still clinging to life. From the bow in his grip, something unexplainable was flowing into his body.
"A… Alpha?" a thin macaque stammered, voice trembling.
The Alpha—no, the creature standing in his place—took a long moment to respond. "What is… it?" The words were hoarse, dry, and barely strung together. Its one good eye locked onto the speaker, a gaze at once familiar and distant.
If any member of the party that had departed earlier had been present, they might have noticed something no one else here did—the faint trace of Qi, the subtle inflection in its tone, the intent behind its movements, and the unmistakable familiarity of the bow.
They would have realized that the one posing as a living corpse was none other than the blond-haired high schooler who had once stood beside them—
— Oliver blinked. "Hmm, so you guys are actually prisoners or something?" he asked, letting his intent seep into the air. His hand rested on the hilt of his talisman-wrapped sword. "I doubt you were just cosplaying and got unlucky enough to get transported here."
Sana glanced at him, then at the other girls.
When none of them spoke, they turned their eyes back to her—a silent go on, miss sixth sense.
She faced him again. "Believe it or not, we're actually former criminals."
A small pause.
"Yakuza, to be honest with you."
Oliver's reaction was almost disappointing in how mild it was. "Really?" His brows lifted, but there was no fear, doubt, or distrust in his eyes—only a steady, almost lazy calm. "I guess you do look the type."
"You're not going to ask what landed us in prison?" Takara asked, stepping closer. Her chest swayed with the movement, drawing his gaze without him meaning to.
"Not really," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You're all pretty enough to keep me distracted from the question." His tone lightened, playful, as he raised his hand. "So why don't I tell you what's really in the air…"
A flicker of flame bloomed above his fingertip, swaying with an almost otherworldly grace.
"I'm not sure how much you know about Chinese literature or mythology," he began, his tone slow and deliberate. "So I'll keep it simple."
His gaze swept over them. "Before I came here… I was a shut-in otaku. I didn't have much going for me—at home or at school. I was isolated, only interacting with people when I absolutely had to."
The flame danced as he spoke, the orange light flickering across his face. "So I had plenty of time to build my library of manga, anime… And eventually, I stumbled onto web novels and manhua. That's what led me to discover xianxia and wuxia."
He flexed his palm, the flame brightening, then snapped it forward in a short, sharp burst. "And that's how I had the knowledge to survive in this world. In those stories, I learned the principles that define it."
His voice lowered, almost reverent. "What flows through this world is the essence of heaven and earth—the energy that flows through life and death… Qi."
He let the word hang in the air before continuing. "In xianxia and wuxia, this is what allows cultivators to break past their limits."
He let the flame fade from his fingertips, curling his hand into a loose fist as if trapping the last ember.
"In those stories, Qi isn't just some invisible force—it's the bridge between flesh and spirit. It shapes the body, tempers the mind, and, if you're ruthless enough, can shatter mountains and leap into the sky." He smirked faintly. "And trust me, you don't get to the top by playing nice."
The group leaned in, eyes fixed on him. Some with awe. Some with doubt.
"Now… you've just been brought here, so your bodies are weak. Your channels—your meridians—are like dry riverbeds. No flow, no power." He made Luna pace slowly in front of them, his voice taking on a teacher's cadence, yet still carrying that sharp, mocking edge. "But if you open them, if you cultivate… you'll start to feel it. That pull, like the world itself, is breathing with you."
One of the girls raised her hand hesitantly. "So… you can teach us?"
His lips quirked. "No."
The air went still. For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Sana frowned. "What do you mean, no?"
"It's not that I don't want to teach you," he said, turning toward her. "It's that I can't."
They looked at him like he'd just grown a second head, but he continued unfazed.
"In the stories I've read, there are often laws—unspoken or enforced—that divide mortals from cultivators. The path to transcending mortality… is mostly talent and luck."
He folded his arms. "From what I've seen so far, this world—this lesser realm—follows the same rule. And that divide, I've found, is called intent."
Then he breathed out, and his will slammed into them like a weight. Shoulders bent. Breaths came short.
"Everything in this world can take in Qi," he said, voice low, "but manipulating it? That depends on two things—your open meridians… and your intent."
He studied them like a judge passing sentence.
"You girls have opened your meridians. You have a steady rhythm of Qi flowing through you…"
The weight pressed harder.
"But you leak intent." His voice sharpened, making them feel small beneath it. "In this world, intent is the foundation of every cultivation technique. It's your will to live, to fight, to protect, and to conquer. If your intent is weak, your techniques will be flawed and incomplete. If you have none, you'll never improve on your own—you'll forever piggyback off the work of others."
He let that hang for a beat before continuing.
"And maybe you think that's fine now. But when it takes you years to master a technique made for someone else—one they perfected in a single day—while they move far beyond you… what will you be then?"
The pressure vanished. They gasped like drowning women breaking the surface.
"That's the difference between you, me, and Luna." He reached out and ruffled Luna's hair. "Within half a day of meeting her, I taught her how to wield intent. She turned it into a Qi blade technique that lets her form weapons straight from her own body's energy."
He straightened. "That's why I can't teach you. I have plenty of techniques, but I can't simply give them to you. I can only guide you, give you insight… and hope your intent is strong enough to make something of it."
Sana raised her hand slightly. "So… Qi is like… magic?"
He shook his head slowly, the small flame in his palm dimming but not dying. "Not magic. Magic is… a trick, a set of rules written and bound—if anything the techniques that use it could be called magic spells. Qi is life itself—the breath of the mountains, the pulse of rivers, and the whisper of the wind when it slides across your skin. It isn't conjured; it's stolen."
Kaede leaned forward with a frown. "And what do you… do with it once you have it?"
"That," he said, letting the flame vanish into a curl of smoke, "is where cultivation begins." His voice took on a quiet weight. "Qi is gathered, refined, and stored in the dantian—a core deep within your lower abdomen. The more you refine it, the stronger you become—not just in muscle or speed, but in spirit, in will. Your senses sharpen. Your body changes. Even your lifespan bends under its influence."
Takara tilted her head. "So if you just keep storing it, you can live forever?"
He gave a faint, knowing smile. "Immortality is only the first half of the road. In a true xianxia world… immortals are nothing but children staring at the gates of a far greater path. If you take enough from heaven and earth—steal from the stars themselves—you can step beyond mortality entirely. You ascend, surpassing the so-called gods, becoming something the heavens themselves must acknowledge… or fear."
He paused, his eyes distant for a heartbeat. "But remember—every step on that road demands a price. You aren't given power. You take it. And heaven will never let you take without resistance."
Sana's eyes widened. "Then… what happens if you fail?"
His gaze returned to them, calm yet edged with something darker. "You fall. And in this world, a fall from the path of cultivation isn't a stumble—it's a drop into an abyss where there is no climbing back."