Darkness wrapped around him like a cocoon—cold, thick, and timeless.
Derick drifted somewhere between pain and silence. He couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't fight. The memory of fists, claws, and blood echoed in his fading mind like the last toll of a broken bell.
And then—something stirred.
Deep inside his chest, a fire cracked.
It wasn't pain. It was awakening.
The Bloodline Stirs
Unseen to the world and unknown to Derick himself, ancient blood boiled in his veins.
Something buried. Forgotten. Sealed beneath the marrow of gods.
The Umpire bloodline, lost since the age of judgment, pulsed once—twice—then roared to life.
Threads of crimson light danced through Derick's body, stitching torn flesh, mending shattered bones, and purifying poison. His internal organs, once ruptured, pulsed with renewed vitality. His meridians—previously fragile and thin—began to widen, their channels fortified as if reforged in divine heat.
His skin shimmered briefly, veins glowing faintly beneath the surface before fading once more.
The transformation was subtle.
But irreversible.
The Awakening
Three days passed.
Rain fell once during that time. A drizzle that became a storm, washing the filth of the alley down the gutter while Derick's body lay crumpled in the shadows.
Then—
A low groan escaped his throat.
Derick's eyelids fluttered open. Light stabbed at his pupils. His breath caught, then flowed smoother than he remembered.
He sat up.
Confused.
"Where…?"
He blinked, hands bracing against the cracked stones beneath him. For a moment, he felt disoriented, as if waking from a fever dream.
But then memory surged like a knife through his thoughts.
The alley.
The laughter.
Lina screaming.
Blood. His own failure.
He clenched his fists.
"No…"
The sound broke from his throat—raw, hoarse, furious.
He rose to his feet, staggered once, then steadied.
He felt different. Stronger. Faster. Alive in a way he'd never been.
But he didn't understand it.
"What… happened to me?"
He touched his chest. His ribs no longer ached. The bruises were gone. Not even a scar remained.
But there was no time to ponder.
He turned toward the northern spire—the towering walls of the Skysunder Palace looming in the distance like a silent giant.
"I need answers… but I need strength more."
Denied at the Gate
It took an hour to cross the city again.
The guards at the gate recognized him this time—one of them raised an eyebrow at his sudden return, looking far healthier than a boy who'd just been beaten to death.
Derick bowed. "I seek audience with Master Cael Dren. It's urgent."
One of the guards barked a laugh. "Still gone. Two more days, boy. Come back then—if you're still breathing."
Derick didn't argue.
He turned without another word.
Into the Forest
The outer forests of Grelmire weren't known for high-level beasts, but they were filled with lesser creatures—spirit rodents, spiked wolves, bloodvine hounds. All dangerous to the untrained, all holding spirit crystals within their cores.
He remembered Master Shen's words: "To grow, one must earn blood. One must earn crystal."
He was going to earn everything now.
Derick reached the tree line by dusk.
The forest welcomed him not with peace, but silence—the hush of a predator's domain.
He found a clearing and closed his eyes, focusing.
His Qi, once faint, now danced through his body like wildfire. It was as if someone had cleaned the rusted well inside him.
The Body Forging Realm. His foundation realm. But now—he felt he was nearing something more.
He was nearing its peak.
The First Hunt
A low snarl interrupted his thoughts.
From the shadows, a Spineback Jackal stalked forward—its fur barbed, its mouth dripping black saliva. It was a middle-level Body Forging beast, barely one realm above a wild animal, but cunning.
Derick didn't hesitate.
He gripped the bone-handled dagger at his side and lunged.
The jackal darted, swiping at his legs. Derick twisted mid-dash, using his newfound speed to strike beneath its ribs.
It howled, spinning back—but Derick was already inside its guard, driving his blade into its neck.
The beast collapsed, twitching.
Derick bent over the corpse, breathing hard. His hands shook—but not from fear.
From clarity.
With a practiced movement, he sliced near the chest and extracted a faintly glowing beast crystal, warm and pulsing with primal Qi.
He held it tightly.
His path was just beginning.
The Forest Night
By midnight, Derick had downed two more low-ranked beasts and evaded a larger one by hiding beneath a mossy log. His body throbbed from exertion, but the constant pulse of power within him—unknown and ancient—pushed him to keep going.
At one point, he climbed into a tree to rest, looking up through the gaps in the canopy at the twin moons.
He whispered to himself, "Lina… I'm coming. Just wait a little longer."
Then his thoughts drifted again.
Why was he healing so quickly? Why did his Qi flow like a river now, when once it was a trickle?
He had no teacher anymore. No guide. But something inside him knew how to move, how to fight, how to breathe with intent.
Almost as if something old within him remembered…
Toward the Next Step
By dawn, Derick had gathered three crystals and pushed himself beyond his previous limits.
Sitting in a quiet glade, he crossed his legs and channeled the energy of the crystals.
His breathing slowed.
The world around him dulled.
His Qi paths aligned.
And then—with a silent explosion of power—he broke through to the peak level of the Body Forging Realm.
Power surged through his limbs, and a faint glow circled his skin before fading into him.
He gasped, eyes wide.
"This… this is just the beginning."
He stood, blood on his hands, a fire in his heart.
Two days.
Then he would meet Cael Dren.
Then… he would begin to reclaim his people.