Rowan sat alone in his quarters, the noise from the courtyard fading behind the closed door.
He rolled his shoulder slowly. The movement felt smoother than it ever had—balanced, unforced. His bones no longer clicked when he moved. His muscles didn't ache or feel heavy. Even his breath passed through his lungs like water down polished stone.
The towel slid off his back.
He wasn't just healthier.
His body had changed.
Then, in the upper edge of his vision, the panel flickered.
STATUS PANEL
Name: Rowan Black
Cultivation Technique: Nine Graves Ascension
Stage Unlocked: Prenatal Realm
Current Realm: Prenatal (Peak Stage)
Lifespan: 100 / 200 years
Another line appeared beneath.
Technique Description – Stage I: "Grave of Blood and Breath" Begin with the vessel. Draw not from the world, but from within. Harden marrow. Refine blood. Open meridians.
Perfect the body until it generates its own light. A flawed foundation will remain forever flawed.
Rowan stared at the words, reading them again.
So this was it. The first stage of the Nine Graves Ascension.
He'd expected something mystical, maybe even cryptic—but this felt almost clinical. Clear. Focused.
Perfect the body until it generates its own light.
This was the essence of the Prenatal Realm.
The Postnatal Realm was about the external body—tendons, muscle, bone.
The Prenatal was internal.
Generating innate energy from the body, opening the 12 main meridians and removing impurities from within them.
He exhaled once, steady.
Then rose and left the room.
The training hall was built beneath the clan hall—solid stone, polished wood beams, brass lanterns lit with gentle flames. No dust. No cobwebs.
This was his space.
Servants kept it very clean.
He stepped inside barefoot. The doors closed behind him with a soft wooden thud.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the silence settled around him like water. The walls were thick enough to cancel any sound from outside, allowing one to practise with peace of mind.
He unfastened his robe and let it fall.
His skin was clear. Tighter. Even the pale scars from past injuries had faded. He looked down at his arms.
Veins pulsed beneath the surface—calm and full.
He stepped to the center mat and lowered himself into a squat.
He closed his eyes.
And listened.
Not outward—but inward.
He activated the technique granted by the panel.
He immediately felt it.
Somewhere just below his lungs—coiled behind his solar plexus—a warmth had gathered.
innate energy.
It flowed through his body like blood. Filling his body with strength.
He inhaled slowly. The warmth grew slightly.
Then again.
And again.
He stood and entered a stance. Slow. Measured.
A simple boxing form. One he had practiced for years.
His limbs responded like they'd been re-forged.
He shifted into a low strike.
The floor beneath him groaned faintly. Not from impact—but from the weight of his body.
He froze in place. His muscles held firm. Not a twitch out of alignment.
His body was denser now. Grounded. His bones felt like ironwood. His blood ran thicker.
He turned, raised a fist, and launched a forward punch.
The air ahead of him shuddered.
He stopped and held his posture.
Rowan looked down at his hands and clenched them.
He could feel the strength within his body.
He stood and ran using the boxing technique again, faster this time. A single-step movement followed by a forward thrust of his fist.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he didn't feel like he was aging.
He felt like he could crush anything.
He stood there, chest rising and falling, and exhaled a long breath of warm air.