"Stop."
The single word cut through the tension like a blade. Rorick's fist froze mid-strike, his face twisting with annoyance. Marcus and Derrick turned, and Eric saw their expressions shift from anticipation to wariness.
A girl approached from across the street, her stride confident and unhurried. She wore simple training robes of deep blue, but there was nothing simple about her presence. Even from a distance, Eric could feel it—the refined aura of someone who had broken through to at least Ninth Stage Body Refinement, possibly higher.
Aria Blackwood. The village leader's daughter.
Eric had seen her before, of course. Everyone in Greenbrook knew Aria—fifteen years old and already one of the strongest youths in the village. She trained under private tutors, had access to cultivation resources most families could only dream of, and was rumored to have broken through to the Qi Condensation realm just last month. But Eric had never spoken to her. Why would he? They existed in completely different worlds.
"What do you think you're doing, Rorick?" Aria's voice was calm but carried an edge of authority that made even Rorick hesitate.
"Just teaching a weakling his place," Rorick said, though his hand had dropped from Eric's collar. "Nothing that concerns you, Aria."
"Nothing that concerns me?" Aria stopped a few paces away, her dark eyes sweeping over the scene with disapproval. "Three Sixth and Seventh Stage cultivators cornering someone weaker? That's not teaching—that's being a coward."
Rorick's face flushed red. "He refused to—"
"I don't care what he refused," Aria interrupted. "Leave. Now. All three of you."
Marcus and Derrick were already backing away, not willing to challenge someone of Aria's status and strength. Rorick lingered a moment longer, his jaw clenched, anger and humiliation warring on his face.
"This isn't over, Chen," he muttered, before turning and stalking away with his friends.
Eric released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His legs felt weak, but he forced himself to stand straight. The coins were still safe in his pouch, pressing against his side like a promise.
"Thank you," he said to Aria, bowing slightly. "I—"
"Don't mention it." Aria waved off his gratitude, already turning to leave. "I hate people like Rorick Vaughn. Bullies who think strength gives them the right to prey on others." She paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "You have guts, standing up to him. Foolish, maybe, but... gutsy."
Then she was gone, disappearing down the street with the same confident stride.
Eric stood there for a moment, processing what had just happened. He'd nearly been beaten bloody in the middle of the street, and only Aria Blackwood's intervention had saved him.
**"An interesting turn of events,"** the dragon mused. **"The strong protecting the weak. Rare, in my experience."**
"She's the village leader's daughter," Eric murmured. "Probably just didn't want a scene."
**"Perhaps. Or perhaps she saw something in you worth protecting. Either way, you are fortunate. Now go—your mother will worry if you're late."**
---
Eric found his mother in the back room, sorting through a basket of clothes that needed mending. She looked up as he entered, and her expression immediately shifted to concern.
"Eric, what—did something happen? You look pale."
"I'm fine, Ma." He pulled the small pouch from his belt and set it on the table. Five silver crescents clinked softly. "Here. From today's work."
Lin picked up the pouch, weighing it in her hand, her eyes widening. "This is more than herbs would bring. Where did this come from?"
"I killed a beast," Eric said, trying to sound casual about it. "Just a lower F-rank. Nothing dangerous."
"You what?" His mother set down the pouch and grabbed his shoulders, checking him for injuries. "Eric, you fought a spirit beast? Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," he repeated, gently removing her hands. "I promise. Look—no new wounds." The cuts from the beast fight had already scabbed over, healing faster than they should have thanks to his improved cultivation.
Lin studied his face for a long moment, and Eric could see her processing this information. She knew his limitations better than anyone. Five years of training had barely moved the needle on his cultivation progress. For him to have killed even a lower F-rank beast was... significant.
"Eric," she said softly, a note of cautious hope entering her voice. "Are you... have you been improving?"
"A little," he admitted. "I've been training differently. Focusing more on meditation and practical application."
His mother's eyes grew wet, but she blinked rapidly, refusing to let tears fall. "That's wonderful, sweetling. That's... it's good you're making progress. But please," her hands gripped his arms tighter, "please don't put yourself in unnecessary danger. I can't—after your father, I can't lose you too."
"I won't, Ma. I promise. I'm being careful."
She nodded, not entirely convinced, but willing to trust him. "Your sister will be so excited when she hears. She's always believed in you, you know."
Eric smiled despite himself. Little Wei had always been his fiercest supporter, even when he had nothing to show for it.
That night, they ate actual meat with their rice—just a small portion, but more than they'd had in weeks. Wei bounced excitedly when she heard about the beast, demanding every detail, while their mother smiled with something that looked almost like pride.
For the first time in years, their home felt warm.
---
The next morning, Eric returned to the forest with purpose. After his meditation session—now he could reach the proper state in under a minute—he began searching for beasts.
He'd fashioned a simple wooden staff from a fallen branch, roughly as tall as himself and thick enough to deliver solid strikes. It wasn't much, but it was better than fighting with rocks.
The first beast he found was another lower F-rank, a Spine Rat with poisonous quills along its back. Eric approached cautiously, staff held ready.
The rat noticed him and hissed, its quills standing on end.
Eric struck first, jabbing with the staff. The rat dodged, faster than he'd expected, and lunged at his leg. He brought the staff down hard, catching the creature across its back. It squealed but didn't stop, its teeth snapping at his ankle.
**"Your footwork is sloppy,"** the dragon observed. **"Plant your feet properly. Use your core strength, not just your arms."**
Eric adjusted, following the guidance, and his next strike landed with more force. The rat staggered. He pressed the advantage, raining down blows until the creature stopped moving.
His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his face. The fight had been harder than his first one, but he'd won. More importantly, he was learning.
This became his routine. Meditate for three hours, building his qi reserves and strengthening his foundation. Then hunt for beasts, putting theory into practice. Each fight taught him something new—timing, distance, reading an opponent's intentions. The dragon guided him constantly, correcting mistakes, suggesting tactics, pushing him to improve.
Days blurred together. Eric's body grew harder, his movements more refined. The cuts and bruises became familiar companions, badges of progress rather than shame. He broke through to Fifth Stage Body Refinement, then pushed toward Sixth.
His mother noticed the changes. She stopped asking about every wound, started trusting that he knew what he was doing. The money he brought home—still small amounts, but steady—meant better meals, meant she could take on less sewing work, meant Wei could have a new dress that wasn't patched and re-patched.
Three weeks into his new routine, everything changed.
Eric was fighting a lower F-rank Stone Wolf—his fourth one—when he felt it. A presence, watching from the shadows. His expanded awareness, honed by hours of meditation, screamed danger.
The Stone Wolf he'd been fighting exploded.
Not metaphorically. One moment it was lunging at him; the next, its body burst apart in a spray of blood and gore as something massive slammed into it from the side.
Eric stumbled backward, his staff clattering from his hands. Standing where the Stone Wolf had been was a creature twice as large, with midnight-black fur and eyes that burned like coals. An upper F-rank Shadow Cat—far more dangerous than anything he'd faced before.
The cat didn't give him time to think. It launched itself at him with terrifying speed.
Eric dove sideways, rolling across the forest floor. Claws raked the air where his head had been a heartbeat before. He scrambled to his feet, his mind racing.
**"Do not panic,"** the dragon commanded. **"You can survive this. Stay alert. Watch its movements."**
The Shadow Cat circled him, low to the ground, muscles coiled like springs. Eric kept it in his sight, his heart hammering. He had no weapon—his staff was ten paces away, might as well have been on the moon.
The cat attacked again, a blur of black fur and gleaming claws. Eric threw himself backward, but one claw caught his forearm, opening a deep gash. Pain flared hot and immediate.
**"Use the environment. You are in a forest—use it!"**
Eric's eyes darted around. Trees, rocks, undergrowth. The cat was faster, stronger, but it was also larger. Less maneuverable.
When the beast lunged again, Eric didn't retreat. He ran toward the nearest tree, using his improved cultivation to leap higher than should be possible. His hands caught a low branch, and he swung himself up just as the cat crashed into the trunk below.
The impact dazed it for a moment. Eric didn't waste the opportunity.
He dropped from the branch, all his weight and momentum focused into his heel, and drove his foot into the back of the cat's skull. The beast yowled and staggered, but recovered faster than Eric hoped. It spun, swiping at his legs.
Eric jumped, the claws missing by inches, and landed badly. His ankle twisted, sending a spike of pain up his leg. The cat sensed weakness and pounced.
This time, Eric was ready. He'd been watching, learning its patterns. The cat always leaped slightly to the right before attacking, a tiny tell in its muscle tension.
As it jumped, Eric rolled left, grabbed a jagged rock the size of his fist, and came up swinging. The stone caught the cat mid-leap, smashing into its jaw with a sickening crunch.
The beast landed in a heap, dazed and bleeding. Eric didn't hesitate. He was on it instantly, bringing the rock down again and again. The cat thrashed, claws scoring deep lines across his chest, but Eric didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
Finally, blessedly, the Shadow Cat went still.
Eric collapsed beside it, his chest heaving, blood streaming from multiple wounds. His arm throbbed. His chest burned. His twisted ankle screamed with every heartbeat.
But he'd won.
**"Excellent work, young heir,"** the dragon said, genuine approval in his voice. **"An upper F-rank beast. You are progressing faster than I anticipated."**
Eric could only laugh breathlessly, staring up at the forest canopy. Three weeks ago, he would have died to this creature. Would have run and still died. Now...
Now he'd killed it.
The journey back to the village was agonizing. The Shadow Cat's corpse was heavy, and Eric's injuries made every step torture. But he refused to leave it behind. Upper F-rank beast parts were worth significantly more than lower ranks.
Master Feng's eyes widened when Eric stumbled into his shop. "Merciful heavens, boy! What happened?"
"Shadow Cat," Eric managed, dropping the corpse on the counter. "Upper F-rank. I have the core, pelt, and claws."
The apothecary examined the beast, then looked at Eric with new respect. "You killed this alone?"
"Yes, sir."
"The core is intact, and you managed not to ruin the pelt this time. The claws are valuable—alchemists use them in certain preparations." He pulled out his scales and began calculating. "I can give you two gold crescents for everything."
Two gold crescents. That was forty silver—eight times what he'd earned from his first kill.
"Deal," Eric said immediately.
The coins were heavy and warm in his hand. His mother would be able to buy proper medicine for Wei's cough. Maybe even afford some cultivation pills for him.
But as Eric left the apothecary, he realized something. His wooden staff had been useful, but against that Shadow Cat, it would have been useless. He needed a real weapon. Something that could cut, could pierce, could kill efficiently.
He needed a dagger.
The blacksmith's shop was at the edge of the village, marked by the constant ring of hammer on anvil. Eric pushed through the door, the heat from the forge washing over him.
"Help you?" The blacksmith, a gruff man named Garrett, barely looked up from his work.
"I need a dagger," Eric said. "Something good quality. How much?"
Garrett finally looked at him, taking in the blood-stained clothes and fresh wounds. "Got one that might suit you. Iron blade, decent balance, leather-wrapped handle. One gold crescent, eight silver."
Nearly all his money. But Eric thought of the Shadow Cat's speed, its claws. Thought of the next beast, and the one after that.
"I'll take it."
The dagger felt right in his hand—not too heavy, not too light. The blade was about as long as his forearm, sharp enough to draw blood with a light touch. A simple weapon, but well-made.
Eric left the blacksmith's shop with only two silver crescents remaining, but he didn't regret the purchase. He could feel the dagger's weight on his belt, solid and reassuring.
**"A wise investment,"** the dragon said. **"Tools are important, but remember—the true weapon is always your cultivation. The blade is merely an extension of your will."**
"I know," Eric murmured, heading home. "But it's a really good extension."
His mother's face when he handed her the remaining silver was worth every copper spent. And that night, as Eric lay on his sleeping mat with his new dagger within arm's reach, he felt something he hadn't experienced in years.
Hope.
Real, tangible hope that maybe—just maybe—he could become something more than the village's weakest disciple.