When Kael woke, the first thing he felt was... nothing. No pain. He sat up, his body feeling
strong, warm. He looked down. The gash on his chest was gone. His broken nose was straight.
His tunic was still bloody and torn, but the body beneath it was pristine.
"He's awake!" Mila's voice, bright and full of relief.
Elara and the old healer rushed in. They looked at him with an awe that bordered on religious
fear.
"You... you were..." Elara stammered. "Your wounds... they just... closed."
Kael saw his system notifications then. Level 3. All Wounds Healed. This was the power of the
Vow. Not just the new skill, but the reward for seeing it through. He had nearly died, and his
reward was a "full heal" and a level-up. It was a brutal, but fair, exchange.
He stayed for two more days. He was a hero. The villagers treated him with a reverence that
made him deeply uncomfortable. They offered him everything—to be their chief, to build him a
new house. He accepted their thanks, their food, and their warmest furs, but he knew he
couldn't stay.
"The path I walk is... different," he tried to explain to Elara, who thankfully, didn't press.
"One-Eyed Jian will be back. And he'll be stronger, or he'll bring friends. You're not safe with me
here."
It was a lie, partly. The real reason was the new, burning resolve in his chest. He'd "won," but it
was a pathetic victory. He hadn't beaten Jian; he'd just outlasted him. He needed to be stronger.
Not just to endure, but to protect.
The villagers gave him a new set of traveler's clothes, a sturdy leather-bound pack, and all the
dried food he could carry. Elara also gave him a small pouch of coins, the village's entire
savings. "For the road to Sky-View City," he said. "You'll need it. Just... be careful, Kael. Your
magic is strong, but it's not like theirs. They won't like it."
Elara was right.
Sky-View City was a two-week walk, and it was a shock. The city was carved into the side of a
mountain, a magnificent monstrosity of white stone, towering pagodas, and bridges that
spanned open-air chasms. Cultivators, wrapped in the blue robes of the Azure Cloud Sect,
would occasionally streak across the sky on flying swords, landing on platforms that jutted from And at the bottom, in the "Mortal District," was a sea of mud, slums, and people like him.
Kael's first test was the city gate. A guard, a cultivator in the 2nd level of Qi Condensation, held
a glowing "Spirit Stone" near him.
"This one's dead," the guard said, his voice flat with boredom. The stone hadn't glowed. "I'm not
dead," Kael protested. "No Qi. No spirit-root. No talent. You're a mortal. 'Dead,' 'trash,'
'cripple'—take your pick." The guard sneered. "Pay the mortal tax. 10 coppers."
Kael paid. His 10 coppers bought him entry into a world that despised him.
He was an outcast. He tried to find work, but "guard" jobs were for cultivators. "Mortal" work was
back-breaking labor in the soot-filled smithies or the tanneries, and it paid just enough for a bowl
of watery gruel and a mat in a shared, stinking room.
He had no resources. He couldn't buy the "Qi-gathering pills" or "Body-refining manuals" sold in
the gleaming shops of the upper city. He was locked out. The cultivators he saw were arrogant,
floating above the muck on their clean, silken robes, looking down on the mortals with casual
disdain.
This was his new struggle. Not a monster, not a bandit, but a system designed to keep him at
the bottom.
So, he trained.
He found a small, abandoned rooftop, hidden behind a crumbling pagoda. And every night,
while the city slept, he trained. He didn't have a manual. He didn't have a master. But he had his
sword, his new skill, and his [Iron Will].
He would activate [Guardian's Stance].
[Stamina: 100/100... 90/100... 80/100...]
The world would change. The pain from his aching muscles would vanish. His senses would
sharpen, but not outwards. Inwards. He became hyper-aware of his own body, his own balance,
his own center of gravity. He practiced basic sword forms—a simple cut, a parry, a thrust.
Over and over. For hours.
His [Stamina] would run out. He'd collapse, his muscles screaming as the skill deactivated. He'd
rest for an hour, his stamina bar crawling back up. Then he'd do it again.
It was a lonely, grinding, joyless routine. His only companion was his system window.
Name: Kael Path: The Knight (Guardian's Path) Level: 3 Experience: 25/1000 Vows:
●
1. "I will not let these people [Wood-Crest Village] be harmed." (Upheld)
Status: Healthy HP: 150/150 Stamina: 150/150
Skills:
● [Iron Will (Passive) - Lvl 1]: (10/100 EXP)
● [Aura of Protection (Passive) - Lvl 2]: Negates a moderate amount of damage. (0/200
EXP)
● [Guardian's Stance (Active) - Lvl 1]: (5/100 EXP)
His progress was glacial. Killing rats gave no EXP. His skills only gained experience through
use, and [Guardian's Stance] gained a single point after an entire night of practice.
He realized his path's weakness: without Vows, without conflict, he stagnated.
He needed a job. He needed a way to find conflict. Not to start it, but to end it. He looked at his
coin pouch. He was running out of money. He had to do something.
He found a posting on a rain-soaked "Mortal Guild" board. A merchant named Guo was hiring
guards for a caravan. The pay was low, the route was dangerous, and the posting specifically
said "Cultivators preferred, but mortals with steel will be considered."
"Mortals with steel," Kael muttered. He tore the notice from the board. It was a start.