The forest was silent at dawn.
Blood soaked into the soil as the boy knelt beside the corpse of the horned lizard. Its massive body lay still, eyes dull, scales cracked from the struggle.
His arms trembled.
Not from fear—
from exhaustion.
Inside his body, the moment he guided the beast's blood inward, chaos erupted.
Violent energy surged through his veins, savage and unrestrained. His fragile meridians screamed under the pressure, threatening to tear apart at any moment. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
This was madness.
A child with flawed bones absorbing beast blood directly was no different from courting death.
But the boy did not panic.
He closed his eyes.
Slowly, he adjusted his breathing.
Not according to this world's methods, but following a rhythm engraved deep within his soul—ancient, silent, and absolute.
The beast blood raged.
His body resisted.
Then—
Crack.
A sharp sound echoed from within his right arm.
Pain exploded through his nerves. Veins bulged violently beneath his skin as his bones were forced to change. His vision blurred, but he bit down hard, refusing to make a sound.
Another crack followed.
Then another.
His bones did not become perfect.
They became denser. Rougher. Stronger.
Minutes passed like an eternity.
When the violent energy finally settled, the boy collapsed forward, palms pressed into the dirt. His entire body shook as cold sweat drenched his skin.
Yet beneath the pain—
Warmth spread.
Strength.
He slowly clenched his fist.
This time, it did not tremble.
Stone Root Village stirred when he returned.
Hunters stopped mid-step when they saw him emerge from the forest, clothes torn, body stained with dried blood.
Whispers spread instantly.
"Isn't that the defective child?"
"Where did he go?"
"That blood—"
An older hunter stepped forward, eyes sharp. "Boy. Where were you?"
"The eastern ridge," the boy replied calmly.
The hunter's face stiffened. "That area has—"
"There was a horned lizard," the boy continued. "It's dead."
Silence.
Then laughter.
Several villagers shook their heads, amused. Others frowned uneasily.
"You've got guts," the hunter said with a snort. "But lying won't keep you alive. Go clean yourself up."
No one followed him.
No one believed him.
That was fine.
That night, the boy sat alone beneath the open sky.
The stars of this world were vast, unfamiliar, heavy with invisible laws. He examined his body carefully.
He had stepped into the earliest stage of Body Tempering.
Barely.
Yet his foundation felt different.
His bones carried raw beast essence—imperfect, unstable, and free from bloodline constraints.
Slow at the start, he judged calmly.
But without limits.
Footsteps approached.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," a quiet voice said.
It was the village elder.
The old man sat beside him, eyes fixed on the stars. "The horned lizard is dead," he said. "I saw the corpse."
The boy nodded.
The elder studied him deeply. "Your bones are flawed. That blood should have killed you."
"I didn't fight it," the boy replied. "I endured it."
Silence followed.
"That path will destroy you," the elder said.
"Maybe."
The elder let out a low laugh. He reached into his robe and took out a cracked jade shard, placing it in the boy's hand.
"An incomplete body-refining method," he said. "Useless to real cultivators. Too dangerous for children."
The boy looked at the jade shard.
"I don't need safe."
The elder's gaze sharpened. "Then survive."
Months passed.
The boy trained in silence.
He refined his body with pain, corrected the flawed method, and stripped away steps that relied on Heaven's favor. Each improvement came at a cost.
By the age of six, his strength surpassed that of ordinary hunters.
Whispers spread.
"That child isn't normal."
"He should've died long ago."
Then one day, cultivators arrived.
They tested the children one by one.
When it was the boy's turn, the crystal flashed faintly—then dimmed.
"Flawed," the cultivator said coldly. "Discard."
As the man turned away, the boy met his eyes.
For a brief instant, the cultivator felt a chill crawl up his spine, as if something ancient and silent had looked back at him.
He scoffed. "Trash."
Thunder rolled that night.
Rain poured as the boy stood alone beneath the storm.
"Perfect World," he murmured calmly.
Lightning flashed across the sky.
"Wait."
Far above, beyond clouds and law,
something invisible cracked—for the first time.