The silence that descended upon the small apartment was more profound than any Kaelen had experienced in the vast, empty voids between galaxies. It was a heavy, suffocating silence, thick with the lingering psychic residue of fear and the metallic tang of his own blood. He stood motionless for a long time, listening to the frantic, fading footsteps of the two thugs echoing in the drab hallway before they disappeared entirely.
His body screamed at him. The single, focused application of his sovereign will, amplified by that pitiful droplet of Chaos Energy, had been like channeling the power of a star through a filament of spun sugar. His meridians, the spiritual pathways of this new body, were raw and inflamed. His head throbbed with a dull, concussive ache, and a wave of profound exhaustion washed over him, threatening to send him collapsing back onto the lumpy mattress.
He resisted the urge. Weakness was a luxury he could not afford.
With movements that were stiff and deliberate, he walked into the tiny, grime-caked bathroom. He turned on the rusted tap, and a stream of lukewarm water sputtered into the stained porcelain sink. He cupped his hands and splashed the water on his face, the unfamiliar sensation of it a stark reminder of his mortality. He looked up at his reflection in the cracked mirror. The boy's face was pale, his lips tinged with blue, but the eyes… the eyes were different now. The hopeless despair was gone, replaced by a cold, ancient, and utterly unforgiving calm.
He wiped the trickle of blood from his lips with the back of his hand and stared at the crimson smear. This body was a cage, a fragile prison of flesh and bone. But a prison had rules, and every rule had a loophole. His first priority, above all else, was to understand the rules of this new confinement.
Returning to the main room, he ignored the overturned books and the general squalor. He sat on the floor, crossing his legs in a meditative pose that felt as natural as breathing. The mattress was too soft, too yielding. He needed the firm, uncomprising reality of the floor beneath him to focus.
He closed his eyes, shutting out the pathetic reality of his surroundings, and turned his consciousness inward, calling forth the mysterious blue screen that had appeared in his mind.
[Cosmic Dao System]
The ethereal interface materialized behind his eyelids, its text glowing with a soft, steady light. It was his only lifeline, his only tool in this desolate new existence. For the next several hours, Kaelen did what he did best: he analyzed. He dissected the System with the meticulous precision of a god charting a new universe.
He started with the [Status] tab. It was a brutal, unflinching assessment of his own pathetic state.
Name: Kaelen Vance Physique: Mortal (Frail) Cultivation: None Core Stats: - Strength: 3 (Benchmark: Average Adult Male Mortal = 5) - Agility: 4 (Benchmark: Average Adult Male Mortal = 5) - Stamina: 2 (Benchmark: Average Adult Male Mortal = 5) - Mental Will: [ERROR: UNCALIBRATABLE] - Soul Integrity: 0.17% Status Effects: Malnourished, Exhausted, Minor Internal Meridian Damage.
Kaelen felt a wave of profound disgust wash over him. The numbers were an insult. He had once commanded legions with a single thought, his will a tangible force that could bend reality. Now, his physical form was officially weaker than the average mortal of this backward world. The error message next to his Mental Will was the only saving grace, a silent acknowledgment that his mind, his true self, was still something this System could not quantify. The Soul Integrity reading was a grim reminder of his betrayal—his very essence had been shredded, and he was now just a fragment of his former glory.
He dismissed the status screen and focused on the [Abilities] tab. It was greyed out, a small, shimmering padlock icon next to it. He tried to access it, to tap into the wellspring of his former divine arts.
[Access Denied. Insufficient System Level. Insufficient Host Cultivation Level.]
The message was clinical and absolute. Beneath it, in a smaller, semi-transparent font, was a partial list of what he was being denied access to, a cruel taunt of his lost power.
[Star-Shattering Palm (Locked)] [Void Traversal (Locked)] [Soul-Forge Alchemy Scripture (Locked)] [Nine-Step Celestial Traverse (Locked)] [...]
He had once been able to shatter a planet with a casual wave of his hand. Now, that same technique was a locked feature behind a progress wall. The irony was so bitter it almost made him laugh.
He moved on, his focus unwavering. He needed to understand the energy mechanics. He tried to convert more of the ambient Miasma, but the System reported that the emotional residue in the room had been depleted. He then tried to convert the energy from the apartment's single, flickering lightbulb.
[Energy Source Incompatible. Target is mundane electrical energy. System can only refine Spiritual Energy, Life Force, or concentrated Emotional Miasma.]
So, those were the rules. The System was a miraculous refinery, but it needed a specific type of crude oil to function. His brief, violent encounter with the two thugs had been a unique opportunity, a fleeting moment where the concentrated greed and fear in the room had provided him with just enough fuel to survive. He could not rely on such encounters in the future. He needed a more stable, reliable source of power.
Finally, he turned his attention to the [Quests] tab. It was pulsing with a faint, insistent, golden light. He focused his will upon it. The tab opened with a soft chime, and new text scrolled into existence.
[Main Quest Issued: A Sovereign Owes No Debts]
Objective: Settle the $10,000 mortal debt owed to Viktor. Time remaining: 70 hours, 14 minutes.
Reward: 1. [Physique Strengthening Elixir Recipe (Grade 1)] 2. 10 System EXP
Penalty for Failure: System will enter hibernation mode to preserve Host's soul integrity. Host will be left to fend for himself.
Kaelen's entire consciousness focused on the words. The objective was humiliating. He, a being who had dealt in cosmic artifacts and the fates of entire star systems, was now being tasked with settling a paltry ten-thousand-dollar debt. It was the universe's ultimate joke.
But the penalty was no joke at all. If this System, his only advantage, went into hibernation, he would be well and truly finished. This frail body would succumb to illness or starvation, or Viktor's thugs would return to finish the job properly. This quest was not a choice; it was an ultimatum.
Then he looked at the rewards, and the humiliation began to recede, replaced by a cold, sharp, strategic focus.
10 System EXP. He now understood the currency of his progression. He needed experience points to level up the System and, he hoped, eventually unlock his true abilities. This quest was the very first step on a journey of a million miles.
[Physique Strengthening Elixir Recipe (Grade 1)]. His mind, with its encyclopedic knowledge of alchemy, immediately recognized the potential. A Grade 1 elixir was the most basic of concoctions, but it was designed specifically to cleanse a mortal body of its impurities and strengthen its foundation, making it capable of withstanding the rigors of cultivation. It was the key to escaping his current fragility. It was, in this moment, more valuable to him than a thousand suns.
The path was clear. He had to complete this quest.
But how? His mind, a grand strategic engine, began to churn through the possibilities, discarding them with ruthless efficiency.
His first thought was violence. Could he fight his way out of this? He immediately dismissed the idea. His confrontation with Marco and Pike had been a masterful illusion, a psychological trick that had pushed his new body to its breaking point. He had won not with power, but with knowledge and sheer force of will. Facing Viktor, who would undoubtedly have more men, possibly armed with the primitive but deadly firearms of this world, would be suicide. He was a god in theory, but a fragile mortal in fact.
His next thought was alchemy. Could he use his knowledge to create something of value? The elixir recipe was a start, but it required spiritual herbs. Herbs required a place to grow or money to buy. He was trapped in a classic chicken-and-egg problem. He had the knowledge to create immense wealth, but not the seed capital to begin.
That left only one viable option. He had to leverage his single, greatest, undeniable advantage: his knowledge. This world, this entire planet, was steeped in ignorance. Its inhabitants were blind to the true nature of energy, of matter, of the very universe they lived in. Somewhere in this city, amidst the mountains of worthless junk and modern replicas, there had to be an object of true power that was being overlooked. A fragment of a meteorite containing rare celestial metals, a piece of ancient jade that had absorbed spiritual energy over centuries, a forgotten artifact from a previous, more enlightened age. To the mortals, it would be a worthless rock or a strange curiosity. To him, it would be a treasure.
He needed a hunting ground. A place where chaos reigned, where experts were few, and where ancient things might be forgotten. A museum was too secure, its contents too well-cataloged. An art gallery was too curated. His mind settled on the perfect location: a flea market. Or an antique shop. Or a sprawling, chaotic bazaar where the old and the new, the fake and the genuine, all mixed together in a messy, disorganized stew.
He opened his eyes, the blue screen fading from his vision. His plan was set. He would find a local market, use his knowledge to identify a hidden treasure, sell it, and use the capital to solve his immediate problems. It was a simple, elegant plan. A flicker of his old, sovereign confidence returned. He was in control.
He stood up, his body still aching but his mind sharp as a razor's edge. He reached for his phone, a cheap, plastic device with a spiderweb of cracks across its screen, intending to search for local markets.
The phone buzzed in his hand, the vibration a jarring, pathetic sensation. He glanced down at the screen. A new email had just arrived. The sender was the Keystone University Bursar's Office.
The subject line was a stark, brutal declaration.
FINAL NOTICE OF EXPULSION
He opened the email, his eyes scanning the clinical, impersonal text.
Dear Mr. Vance,
This is a final notice regarding your outstanding tuition balance. As you have failed to remit payment despite multiple warnings, your academic status has been terminated. Effective in 24 hours, your student identification will be deactivated, and your access to all university facilities, including libraries, research databases, and athletic centers, will be revoked.
Kaelen froze, the phone feeling heavy as a block of lead in his hand. The library. The research databases. He hadn't just lost his status as a student; he had lost his access to information. In a new world where he knew nothing, the university's archives were a potential treasure trove, a tool for him to research this planet's history, its geology, its forgotten myths, all in his search for spiritual herbs and powerful locations. That resource, that vital tool, was about to be taken from him.
His timeline had just been crushed. The 70 hours the System had granted him to settle his debt had just become a desperate, 24-hour race against the clock. He had to find a treasure, sell it, and pay his tuition before that deadline, or a critical door to this world would be slammed shut in his face forever.
The pressure, which had briefly subsided, now returned with the force of a collapsing star.