The Silent Lake Manor was a beautiful estate located on the outskirts of Mist City. It was secluded, surrounded by a dense bamboo forest and a small, mist-covered lake. It was expensive—costing nearly half of Kaelen's advance payment from Jiara—but it was necessary.
Kaelen needed silence. And he needed space to scream.
"Young Master, this place... is it really ours?" Uncle Hwan asked, his eyes wide as he touched the polished wooden pillars of the main hall. He was holding a broom, looking like he was afraid he would wake up from a dream.
"It is ours, Uncle," Kaelen said, walking into the courtyard. He was carrying heavy sacks of herbs. "But remember one thing. A castle built on sand will fall. We have the house, but we do not yet have the power to keep it."
Kaelen's eyes darkened.
"In this world, justice is not given. It is taken. If I am weak, the First Elder will come tomorrow and burn this house down, and the city guards will look the other way. Weakness is the original sin."
Hwan fell silent. He understood. He had lived as a servant for sixty years; he knew how the world treated the weak.
"I will guard the gate," Hwan said firmly, gripping his broom like a spear. "No one will disturb you."
Kaelen nodded. He walked into the secluded training room at the back of the manor.
Inside, there was a large wooden tub.
Kaelen began to fill it. Not with water, but with Liquid Fire.
He threw in the herbs he had bought from Jiara: Blazing Root, Iron-Skin Grass, and the core of a Fire Viper. As the herbs touched the boiling water, the liquid turned a violent shade of red. It bubbled and hissed, releasing a pungent, metallic smell.
This was the "Dragon's Bath".
It wasn't a soothing spa. It was torture. It was designed to boil the blood, melt the skin, and reforge the bones to be as hard as divine steel.
Kaelen stripped off his clothes. His body was lean, scarred from years of bullying, and pale.
He looked at the bubbling red water.
'Pain is temporary,' Kaelen told himself. 'But regret lasts forever. I will not regret being weak again.'
He stepped into the tub.
SSSSSS!
The moment his skin touched the liquid, steam erupted.
"Ngh!"
Kaelen gritted his teeth so hard his gums bled. He didn't scream. He refused to scream.
The medicinal liquid felt like thousands of red-hot needles piercing every pore of his body. It burrowed into his flesh, hunting for his bones.
Crack... Crack...
His bones began to fracture. This was the secret of the Abyssal Dragon Scripture. To build a dragon's body, the human form had to be broken first.
"Break... and rebuild," Kaelen gasped, sweat and blood mixing on his face.
His mind drifted back to the past.
He saw Varian, his betrayer, standing on the Golden Steps.
He saw his father, Arion, dying alone in the East Pavilion to protect him.
He saw his mother, dragged away to the Endless Sea.
Anger.
Pure, unadulterated anger became the fuel.
'Burn!' Kaelen roared in his mind. 'Burn away the weakness! Burn away the mercy!'
Inside his dantian (energy center), the Void Cauldron began to spin madly. It absorbed the pain, absorbed the medicinal energy, and converted it into pure Dragon Qi.
His skin turned red, then purple, then a faint, metallic gold.
One hour. Two hours. Four hours.
The water in the tub turned clear. Kaelen had absorbed every drop of energy.
BOOM!
A shockwave erupted from his body, shattering the wooden tub. Water splashed everywhere.
Kaelen stood up amidst the debris.
He opened his eyes. A vertical golden slit—like a reptile's eye—flickered in his pupils for a second before vanishing.
He clenched his fist. The air popped under his grip.
Body Refining Level 7.
Body Refining Level 8.
Body Refining Level 9.
In one night, he had crossed three realms. He was now at the Peak of Body Refining. One more step, and he would enter the Spirit Ocean Realm—the realm of true cultivators who could manifest energy outside their bodies.
He looked at his arm. His skin looked normal, soft even. But Kaelen knew that if a common sword struck him now, the sword would break.
"Strength," Kaelen whispered, feeling the raw power coursing through his veins. "This is the language the world understands."
He put on a fresh black robe. He felt hungry. Not just for food, but for battle.
He walked out of the training room. It was already dawn.
In the courtyard, he saw a sight that made his fierce aura soften instantly.
Uncle Hwan was sitting on the stone steps, fast asleep. He was holding a kitchen knife in his hand, guarding the door as he had promised. A blanket of morning dew covered his grey hair.
Even in his sleep, the old man's brow was furrowed with worry.
Kaelen walked over silently. He didn't wake him.
He gently took the knife from Hwan's hand and covered the old man with a cloak.
'You guard my door with a kitchen knife,' Kaelen thought, a sad smile touching his lips. 'While I build a body of steel to guard your life.'
This was his "Parivar" (Family). This fragile old man was the anchor that kept the Dragon form becoming a monster.
Suddenly, a loud banging sound came from the main gate.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Open up! By the order of the Clan Law Enforcement Hall!"
Hwan woke up with a start. "W-Who is it? Thieves?"
Kaelen placed a hand on Hwan's shoulder to calm him. "No, Uncle. Not thieves. Just the morning trash delivery."
Kaelen walked to the main gate. He didn't rush. His steps were heavy, measured, and calm.
He opened the gate.
Standing there was a group of ten men. They wore the silver armor of the Silver-Iron Clan's Elite Guards. Leading them was a middle-aged man with a scar across his eye—Captain Draven, known for his brutality.
"Kaelen!" Draven barked, spitting on the ground. "You are summoned to the Clan Court immediately. The First Elder accuses you of stealing the 'Forbidden Pill Recipe' from the Clan Library and selling it to outsiders!"
It was a lie. A clumsy, pathetic frame-up. They couldn't prove Kaelen stole anything, so they just invented a crime to arrest him before the auction.
Hwan ran up behind Kaelen, terrified. "Stealing? No! The Young Master has been home all night! This is a lie!"
Draven sneered. "Shut up, old dog." He raised his heavy iron gauntlet to backhand Hwan across the face.
Kaelen didn't move fast. He didn't need to.
He simply reached out and caught Draven's iron gauntlet.
Clang.
Metal met flesh. But the flesh didn't bruise.
Draven's eyes widened. He tried to pull his hand back. He couldn't. It felt like his hand was caught in a mountain press.
"You..." Draven gasped, his face turning red. "Let go!"
"You made two mistakes," Kaelen said softly. The morning sun illuminated his face, making him look like a fallen angel.
"First, you interrupted my uncle's sleep."
Crunch.
Kaelen squeezed. The iron gauntlet crumpled like paper. The bones of Draven's hand shattered underneath it.
"ARGHHHH!" Draven fell to his knees, screaming.
The other nine guards drew their swords in panic. "Attack! He is resisting arrest! Kill him!"
Kaelen looked at the nine swords pointing at him.
Yesterday, he would have needed a strategy. He would have needed a bamboo stick. He would have needed to dodge.
Today?
"Scram."
Kaelen stomped his foot on the ground.
Dragon War Stomp.
BOOM!
The ground didn't just shake; it rippled. A shockwave of pure physical force exploded from Kaelen's foot. The stone pavement shattered into shrapnel.
The nine guards were blown away like dry leaves in a hurricane. They flew backward, crashing into the trees and the lake, coughing up blood.
Silence returned to the Silent Lake Manor.
Kaelen stood amidst the groaning guards, his hands clasped behind his back, not a speck of dust on his black robe.
He looked down at the weeping Captain Draven.
"Go back," Kaelen whispered. "Tell the First Elder that if he wants me... he should come himself. But tell him to bring a coffin. Not for me. But for his son."
He kicked Draven out of the gate and slammed the heavy wooden doors shut.
Hwan stood in the courtyard, his mouth open, the kitchen knife lying forgotten on the ground.
"Young Master..." Hwan whispered. "You are... you are so strong."
Kaelen turned to him. The terrifying aura vanished, replaced by a gentle warmth.
"I told you, Uncle," Kaelen smiled. "We are not beggars anymore. Now, let's go make breakfast. I'm craving porridge."
...
Meanwhile, at the Silver-Iron Clan.
Crash!
The First Elder smashed a jade table into dust.
"He defeated Draven? With one move?" The First Elder's voice shook with rage—and a hint of fear. "He was a cripple three days ago! How is he cultivating so fast?"
Sitting in the shadows of the room was a figure wrapped in black bandages. He was the leader of the Shadow Blade Mercenaries.
"It doesn't matter," the mercenary hissed, his voice sounding like two stones rubbing together. "Fast cultivation usually means he is using a forbidden demonic technique. His foundation will be unstable."
"Kill him," The First Elder ordered. "Tonight. Before the auction. I don't care about the cost. Bring me his head."
"As you wish." The shadow vanished.
The First Elder walked to the window, looking toward the direction of the Silent Lake Manor.
"Enjoy your breakfast, Kaelen," he muttered. "It will be your last."
But he didn't know. He didn't know that he wasn't hunting a boy. He was hunting a calamity that had just learned how to breathe fire.