Elder Grigs' voice settled back into its rhythm, steady and authoritative, filling the vast library once more.
"The Body Forging Realm," he said, pacing slowly before the seated disciples, "is not glorious."
Some of the children shifted, a few looking faintly disappointed.
"It is not meant to be," Grigs continued. "It is preparation. Foundation. The act of turning a fragile, mortal vessel into something capable of holding power without tearing itself apart."
His eyes swept across the room.
"You forge muscle, bone, skin, tendons. Not for the sake of brute strength, but endurance. Capacity."
He raised a finger.
"When you step into the Qi Manipulation Realm, spiritual energy is no longer merely gathered within you. It is drawn outward. Extended as Qi. Shaped beyond the body."
A faint pressure rippled through the hall as he released the barest hint of his cultivation. The air seemed to tighten, then a faint green aura extended from one of his hands morphing slowly into a half blade.
"That," Grigs said calmly, "is when cultivation begins to matter."
Zareck sat at the rear of the hall, back straight, hands resting on his knees. He forced his attention forward, eyes fixed on the elder.
But his thoughts refused to settle.
Thy Image of Zenith.
Old Man Krab's lined face surfaced unbidden in his mind. The way he had spoken so casually. The way he had left without explanation.
Better than anything the Hans family can give you.
Zareck clenched his jaw slightly and dragged his focus back to the present.
Grigs was speaking again.
"Many fools believe genius is measured by speed," the elder said with clear disdain. "How fast one passes through the Body Forging Realm. How quickly one reaches its later levels."
A few excited faces dimmed.
"This is wrong," Grigs said flatly. "True genius reveals itself in the Qi Manipulation Realm. In one's ability to create unique external qi's, and wield it without backlash."
He stopped pacing and looked directly at the children.
"But enough of that. That realm for you lot is still a distance away. As long as you know, a fast foundation means nothing if it collapses under pressure."
That, at least, Zareck understood intimately.
Pain still echoed faintly in his bones, a deep, remembered ache. His body felt… denser than it should. He couldn't tell whether that was good or disastrous.
Grigs' gaze sharpened.
"And heed this well," he said. "Do not abuse your newfound strength."
His voice hardened, losing its earlier neutrality.
"Do not mistake the ability to overpower ordinary mortals for supremacy. Do not look down on those weaker than you. Such thinking kills more cultivators than enemy blades ever have."
The room was silent.
"There are always bigger fish," Grigs continued. "Always deeper waters."
Zareck's eyes flicked briefly to Will, seated a short distance away. Will's posture was relaxed, attentive, as if the earlier confrontation had never happened.
Grigs turned, hands clasped behind his back.
"The Hans clan allows a wide net when it comes to cultivation," he said. "Main line. Branch lines. Even select servants' families."
A few murmurs rippled through the children.
"This is not charity," Grigs said coolly. "It is pragmatism."
He gestured broadly to the hall. "Body Forging cultivators make up roughly forty percent of the Hans clan's usable force."
That number landed heavily.
"Out of thousands," he went on, "nearly two thousand members will never progress beyond this realm."
The elder's lips curled faintly.
"They fail to refine their foundations. Or they lack the will to endure."
His tone carried unmistakable disdain.
Zareck felt his stomach twist. Two thousand people, spoken of like broken tools.
"But," Grigs said, raising his voice slightly, "do not let that discourage you."
His eyes swept the room again.
"Over half of those who begin cultivation within the Hans clan successfully reach the Qi Manipulation Realm."
A few breaths hitched. Hope stirred.
"That," he said, "should be your minimum ambition."
Zareck swallowed.
Minimum.
Grigs allowed himself a thin smile.
"And beyond that…" he said, voice almost teasing now, "…a rare few."
He held up two fingers.
"Roughly two percent."
The room leaned forward as one.
"Those chosen by talent, effort, and fortune," Grigs said, "will step beyond Qi Manipulation and establish a Dantian Foundation."
The words seemed to glow with weight.
"The realm where one ceases to merely borrow power," the elder said, "and begins to own it."
Zareck's heart thudded.
Dantian Foundation.
The realm where cultivators were no longer considered minor assets, but true pillars. Only one stage away from those in the exalted Core realm.
Grigs' expression hardened once more.
"Dream if you wish," he said. "But understand this."
He pointed toward the children.
"Arrogance ends paths early. Desperation shatters them. Only clarity carries you forward."
Zareck lowered his gaze.
Clarity.
The word echoed uncomfortably.
Because despite everything Elder Grigs said, despite the structure, the statistics, the carefully laid path—
Zareck had already stepped off it.
He could feel it.
Something within him stirred faintly, restless beneath his skin, responding not to balance or restraint, but to hunger.
As the lecture continued, Zareck listened.
But part of him was already elsewhere, standing in a dark room, bones breaking and reforming, a tattered manual whispering promises it had no right to make.
And no matter how much Elder Grigs spoke of foundations and caution—
Zareck knew, deep down, that he had already chosen to swim with bigger fish.