The world was vast.
So vast that even the oldest cultivators, those who had lived through centuries of bloodshed and peace alike, dared not claim they had seen even half of it.
This world was known as the Great Land.
There was a time when the Great Land had known unity.
Few records remained of that era, and those that survived spoke only in fragments, half-truths preserved by sect archives, clan tablets, and oral traditions passed down through reluctant mouths. What was certain was this: once, the lands had answered to a single authority, a power that stood above sect and bloodline alike.
That age ended without ceremony.
Not in a single decisive war, nor with the fall of a final ruler, but through a slow unraveling. Alliances weakened. Borders hardened. Trust eroded. When conflict finally came, it did not reshape the world, it merely revealed what had already broken.
When the dust settled, no victor stood beneath heaven.
Only survivors.
From the remains of that fractured era emerged three great regions, each shaped not by ambition alone, but by the philosophies of those who endured long enough to claim them.
The Azure Sovereign Region
To the east lay the Azure Sovereign Region, where mountains rose like quiet sentinels and rivers wound patiently through valleys carved by time rather than force.
Mist lingered here longer than elsewhere, clinging to peaks and courtyards alike. Spiritual Qi flowed steadily but gently, favoring refinement over abundance. Those who lived in this region believed that power was something to be cultivated carefully, layer by layer, breath by breath.
Sects rose where spiritual veins converged, their halls built into cliffs or hidden within cloud-wrapped ridges. Among them, the Azure Heaven Sect stood as the most enduring presence. It neither expanded aggressively nor retreated from conflict. It simply remained, generation after generation, its influence spreading quietly through teachings, disciples, and unbroken inheritance.
The Crimson Martial Domain
Westward, the land grew harsher.
The Crimson Martial Domain was a place shaped by wind and stone, where the earth bore scars that never fully healed. Qi here was volatile, resistant to fine control, yet abundant enough to harden flesh and bone.
Those who settled this land adapted.
They learned to trust the body before the spirit, endurance before insight. Sect compounds were built low and wide, their training grounds marked by broken weapons and sun-bleached stone.
The most respected power of the domain, the Crimson Iron Pavilion, did not speak of legacy or doctrine. Its teachings were simple: survive, grow stronger, endure longer than the one standing before you.
Here, cultivation was not art.
It was persistence.
The Verdant Spirit Expanse
Southward lay a land where maps lost their certainty.
The Verdant Spirit Expanse stretched endlessly beneath layered canopies and ancient roots, where sunlight filtered down in fragments and moonlight lingered longer than it should. This was a region shaped not by borders, but by cycles, growth, decay, and renewal repeating without concern for mortal ambition.
Creatures walked these lands, their forms shaped by bark, vine, leaf, and bloom. They did not build sects as humans did, nor did they organize themselves through rigid hierarchies.
Instead, power followed rhythm.
The sun. The moon. The turning of seasons.
Those who disrupted these cycles rarely lasted long.
The Races of the Great Land
Life in the Great Land was divided into four major categories.
1. Humans 20%
Humans were fragile yet adaptable.
They lacked innate bloodlines or natural physical advantages, yet they possessed something unique: choice.
Humans could cultivate Qi with precision, refine techniques, forge tools, and master formations. Their greatest strength lay not in raw power, but in innovation.
Their fate, however, was determined early.
2. Monsters 20%
Monsters evolved from beasts, birds, insects, and ancient creatures.
Through cultivation, they gradually gained intelligence, transformed their forms, and eventually walked the path toward humanoid shapes.
Their hierarchy was cruel.
Everything depended on bloodline.
3. Creatures 5%
Creatures were born from plants, trees, flowers, and spiritual vegetation that absorbed spiritual energy over centuries.
They did not cultivate Qi in the traditional sense.
They cultivated cycles.
4. Mixed Bloods 55%
The majority of the Great Land.
Children born from the union of different races -human and monster, monster and creature, or more complex mixtures.
They possessed unstable physiques.
Some could wield multiple systems.
Most failed at all of them.
They were considered low-grade existences, often used as labor, cannon fodder, or discarded experiments.
Power, Quietly Divided
Though the Great Land appeared fragmented, it was not chaotic.
Unspoken rules governed interaction between regions. Sects avoided direct war unless forced. Clans maneuvered through marriage, tribute, and inheritance. Bloodlines were studied, recorded, and exploited when useful.
Every child born into the world carried uncertainty.
Not all would cultivate.
Not all would awaken power.
And most would pass through life unnoticed, their existence barely stirring the currents of the Great Land.
Yet once each year, that uncertainty narrowed.
The Awakening, and What It Revealed
When a child reached the age of thirteen, they were brought before stone platforms, ancient arrays, or living altars, depending on race and region.
The Awakening Ceremony did not grant power.
It revealed alignment.
For humans, a spirit item would answer or remain silent.
For monsters, blood would remember or fail.
For creatures, the sun or moon would claim them.
For mixed bloods… the outcome was rarely clear.
Some awakenings passed without note.
Others quietly altered the course of families, sects, and regions alike.
The Great Land did not announce such moments.
It merely allowed them to happen.
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A Boy the World Had Not Noticed
At the edge of the Azure Sovereign Region, far from the grand halls of sects and the inner courts of powerful clans, a minor estate stood beneath aging stone walls.
Within it lived a boy named Chen Ba.
He had no title worth mentioning.
No recognized lineage.
Only a calm smile that hid sharp wit, and a metal key that never left his neck, a relic of a mother remembered more for her absence than her name.
Today, he had reached thirteen.
Today, he would stand before the ceremony like countless others before him.
And like most of them, he did not know whether the Great Land would finally acknowledge his existence
or continue to look away.