One month had passed since the transformative events in Oktavira City. In an obscure, untrodden corner of the central street of Astro Hildo, a figure lay motionless, shrouded entirely in a sheet of white cloth. To the passersby who cast disdainful glances his way, he was merely a vagrant storyteller, a stain on the city's image. Although it had been only approximately three weeks since his arrival in this metropolis, his reputation had already spread to nearly every inhabitant, making him infamous. He possessed a penchant for weaving strange, incomprehensible tales, earning him a polarised reputation where some branded him a dangerous lunatic while others whispered that he was a misunderstood miracle worker. Upon his initial arrival, the city ruler, disturbed by his presence, had ordered him to be committed to the local asylum; yet, in a twist of profound irony, within a mere two days, every single patient who listened to his stories was completely cured of their madness, whereas the doctors who attempted to analyse his narratives descended into insanity themselves. Consequently, the populace, terrified by this inexplicable outcome, ceased listening to the stories he wished to tell, and he was effectively blacklisted, unable to rent a home or secure even the most menial employment. To the masses, he was now nothing more than a deranged eccentric to be avoided at all costs. Geographically, this region of the Southern Continent had always maintained a dangerous proximity to the Second Dragon Empire Realm, and although it remained distinct from the Human Emperor Realm, a solitary, ancient path persistently connected the two worlds like a lifeline—or a noose. It was a time of immense turmoil, for the ancient war between humanity and the beasts had reached its absolute zenith, soaking the lands in blood.
As he lay there in absolute silence, his gaze remained fixed upon the vast expanse of the sky as if he were decoding invisible algorithms written in the clouds, and indeed, he had not moved a single inch from that spot since the moment he had been unceremoniously ejected from the asylum. Suddenly, he clutched his grime-streaked face with trembling hands and burst into a fit of bewildered laughter that echoed uncomfortably in the quiet street. However, his laughter was abruptly extinguished, replaced instantaneously by a look of sheer terror and existential dread. "No, that is simply impossible; the Center of the World is actually one of the artefacts my father brought with him... it has vanished, or rather, it is no longer present within the confines of this universe, and out of the nine hundred and eighty-seven worlds my father originally created, only three now remain," he muttered feverishly. "It is incredibly strange... Father once told me something specific about this, but it seems to have slipped from my memory, damn it." With sudden resolve, he rose from the dirt and began to walk down the street. The pedestrians, upon seeing the infamous madman, instinctively recoiled and scattered to avoid his path, treating him like a carrier of a plague. He, however, paid them no mind, completely submerged in a deep ocean of profound contemplation and analysis. As he walked blindly, consumed by his thoughts, he accidentally collided with a young woman. She appeared to be around eighteen years old, dressed with the opulence of a queen in a flowing pink gown, her face partially obscured by an elegant hat. "Watch where you are going, you filthy vagrant," she snapped with haughty disdain. He continued walking without even acknowledging her words, as if she were mere air. Suddenly, struck by a lightning bolt of memory, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "I knew it! I absolutely knew it! Even though my father created this universe, he actually came from another world entirely, hahaha! Oh, Father, who would have thought that the simple stories you told me would hide the secret method to escape this collapsing reality?" "Has he truly gone completely mad? What a fool," the girl muttered angrily, stomping her feet as she watched him ignore her, and she turned to leave with heavy, indignant steps, disappearing from view. Meanwhile, he continued down his path, consumed by manic laughter, and vanished into the labyrinthine shadows of the narrow backstreets.
He continued to delve into his recollections, and his father's final words began to echo in his ears with crystal clarity. "My son, after I am gone, I leave behind a single key for you; it is the instrument that will aid you in returning to our true home. But remember this: always follow the god within you." Following this memory, he materialised a peculiar key from among his artefacts, clutching it tightly as he stared at it. "Do not forget: always protect your people and never leave them behind... assist them... for only then will you discover the lock that matches this key." "What on earth does that mean? I simply do not understand... it would have been sufficient if the old man had just told me the location of the door this key opens," he muttered. As he pondered these riddles, he felt as though he finally grasped his father's reasoning. As the God who created the world, he undoubtedly knew its fate and allowed these events to unfold... he likely foresaw everything leading up to this very moment and deliberately left the remainder in my hands. What a foolish assumption to make. "Your mother and I will be waiting for you there." Suddenly, a fragment of memory from when he was merely two months old resurfaced in his mind. What could this imply? Does it mean his mother and father are actually still alive? "If that is the case, then let it be so; I shall help these people." With that declaration, he made a firm decision to join the Hildo Maro Academy. Although one must pray to a deity to initiate the path of cultivation, the subsequent journey depends entirely on the individual. Currently, there are three distinct methods to elevate one's rank. The first is cultivating through evil energy or curse energy; in most cases, this energy exists within humans themselves, and places where hatred, grief, and malicious emotions boil over are the most suitable environments for such practitioners. The second is through blood, which involves absorbing the power found in the blood of non-human creatures and assimilating that strength into the body. The third is through understanding the laws of the world; while this is considered the strongest of the three paths, its practitioners are exceedingly rare, and not everyone possesses the aptitude to walk it. The second path, while easier for cultivation, makes finding a creature bloodline a difficult task, often forcing cultivators to the battlefield to hunt, with the added terrible downside that the blood can cause physical mutation. The first path, though the absolute easiest, carries the grave risk of losing one's sanity at any moment and transforming into nothing more than a mindless killing machine. Although each path possesses its own unique difficulties and detrimental side effects, academies have been established in every country to perform the vital duty of teaching students how to control their powers. Contemplating this structure, he resolved to become a teacher at the academy to study the current situation, hoping perhaps to find a method to restore the lost Immortal Qi. Without a second thought, he began walking toward the fortress located near the palace in the city centre, where the academy was situated.