Chapter 1: The Orphan's Stone

To any passerby, it would appear worthless. To Uzun, it represented three months of saved copper coins, countless nights of going to bed hungry, and perhaps his only chance at escaping the fate that awaited all orphans in the outer districts: a life of servitude, poverty, and early death.

The stone was supposed to be a cultivation catalyst a fragment of what the merchant claimed was genuine gemstone material, capable of helping someone begin their cultivation journey. Uzun had suspected it was mostly fake the moment he'd handed over his meager savings, but desperation had a way of making even the most obvious lies seem like hope.

Now, as he sat in the pre-dawn darkness attempting what he thought might be cultivation, that hope felt as cold and lifeless as the stone in his hands.

Uzun closed his eyes and tried to focus, following what he thought were proper breathing techniques based on fragments of overheard conversations and glimpses of people meditating in the town square. From what he understood, cultivation involved something about inner energy and gemstones, but the details were frustratingly vague. The few times he'd tried to ask direct questions, people had either ignored him or told him such knowledge wasn't for orphans.

He had been attempting this same routine for over two years now, ever since he'd turned sixteen and realized that his options in life were rapidly dwindling. Most people in Qingshan Town seemed to follow one of two paths: the wealthy families and clans practiced something called gemstone cultivation, while common folk developed what they called Skills enhanced physical abilities that made them better at their trades.

A baker might develop Enhanced Taste, allowing them to detect the perfect moment when bread was ready, or Improved Hand Strength for kneading dough more efficiently. A blacksmith could cultivate Heat Resistance and Enhanced Grip, making them safer and more effective at their forge. Guards often developed Better Reflexes and Improved Eyesight that made them more capable at their duties.

But Uzun had heard whispers that even the most skilled craftsmen were nothing compared to true cultivators people who could supposedly perform miraculous feats and live far longer than normal humans. The problem was that cultivation seemed to require resources, knowledge, and connections that were completely beyond his reach.

A cool breeze stirred through the alley, and Uzun caught sight of his reflection in a puddle of rainwater near his feet. The face looking back at him was unremarkable in most ways—average features that wouldn't stand out in any crowd, but his light blue hair and green eyes immediately marked him as Tuza. These features, common among his people, served as a constant reminder of his heritage and the burden it carried.

The Tuza had invaded this continent two thousand years ago in a failed conquest that was still remembered with bitterness by the local populations. Though centuries had passed, descendants of the Tuza like Uzun were often treated with suspicion and contempt. His orphaned status made things even worse—without family connections or clan protection, he faced the double burden of poverty and ethnic prejudice. Years of irregular meals had left him lean rather than strong, and his clothes, while clean, were clearly worn and patched multiple times.

Uzun had learned about the wider world through fragments of conversation, traveling merchants' tales, and the occasional proclamation from the kingdom's regional administrators. Qingshan Town, with its population of fifty-five thousand, was nestled in a valley within a mountain range that belonged to a smaller kingdom. Even this valley, which seemed vast to Uzun, was supposedly just a tiny corner of something called the Tianlong Continent. And it was said that even Tianlong Continent was one of the smaller continents in this world of untold thousands, if not more. Even Tianlong had never been fully explored, and many hidden dangers lurked in its unexplored regions.

The dangers weren't just theoretical. Everyone in Qingshan Town knew that venturing beyond the town's protective walls without proper preparation was tantamount to suicide. The wilderness teemed with beasts—creatures that had grown large and aggressive through unknown means. Worse still were the mutants: twisted beings that had once been people or animals but had been changed by something terrible. No one seemed to know where the mutants came from, but traveling merchants spoke in hushed tones about how they outnumbered the normal races by staggering numbers.

It was these dangers that made towns like Qingshan so important. Within the walls, people could live relatively normal lives, pursuing their trades and raising their families. But the world beyond was hostile and unforgiving, filled with threats that could tear apart anyone foolish enough to face them unprepared.This was why cultivation mattered so much. From what Uzun had gathered, cultivators were powerful enough to venture into the dangerous wilderness, to explore and fight and survive where normal people would perish in moments. They were the ones who kept the trade routes open, who explored new territories, who stood between civilization and the chaos that lurked beyond every town's walls.

And here he was, an orphan with a fake stone, dreaming of joining their ranks.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him quickly pocket the stone and peer around the corner of the warehouse. Three figures in distinctive blue and silver robes were walking down the main street, their bearing confident and unhurried. Even from a distance, Uzun could sense something different about them—an aura that seemed to make the very air feel heavier.

He recognized the robes immediately. The Kanzaki clan was one of the more powerful forces in Qingshan Town, wealthy enough to own several businesses and influential enough that even the town's administrators treated them with respect. Uzun had seen clan members before, but always from a distance, always as someone far beneath their notice.

The central figure was a young woman who appeared to be around his age, though everything about her spoke of a completely different world from his own. Her long black hair was bound in an elegant style with silver ornaments, and her robes, while following the clan's traditional colors, were clearly of the finest quality. What struck Uzun most, however, was how remarkably cute she was—delicate features that seemed almost ethereal in the early morning light, with an air of quiet confidence that he found both intimidating and oddly captivating.

As if sensing his observation, the young woman paused and turned her head slightly in his direction. For a brief moment, their eyes met across the distance, and Uzun felt something strange—a resonance, as if something within him was responding to something within her. It wasn't overwhelming or frightening, just... unusual. Familiar, somehow, though he was certain he had never seen her before.

The moment passed quickly as one of her companions spoke to her, and the group continued on their way. Uzun caught only fragments of their conversation, something about family matters that meant nothing to him.

As the Kanzaki group disappeared around a corner, Uzun slumped back against the warehouse wall. The brief encounter had served as a stark reminder of the vast gulf between his circumstances and those of the clan families. She probably had access to proper cultivation materials, trained instructors, and all the resources needed to develop real power, while he was sitting in an alley with a worthless rock, hoping for miracles.

But as Uzun sat there in the growing dawn light, something stubborn and unyielding stirred within him. He had been orphaned at the age of seven when a plague swept through the outer districts, taking his parents and leaving him to survive on the streets. He had endured years of hunger, cold, and contempt from those who saw him as nothing more than a burden on society. He had worked backbreaking jobs for copper coins, slept in doorways and abandoned buildings, and faced down thugs and petty criminals who thought an orphan boy was easy prey.

Through it all, he had never given up on the dream of becoming something more.

Uzun pulled the fake stone from his pocket and studied it again. The merchant who had sold it to him was long gone, probably in another town by now, peddling similar false hopes to other desperate souls. But as Uzun examined the stone more closely, he noticed something he had missed before—tiny flecks of what looked like genuine mineral deposits embedded in the otherwise worthless rock.

It was still mostly fake, but there were traces of real materials within it. Not enough to serve as a proper cultivation catalyst, but perhaps enough to learn from.

An idea began to form in Uzun's mind—one that was probably foolish, certainly dangerous, and quite possibly his only real chance. If he couldn't afford a genuine gemstone, and if no mysterious opportunity was going to present itself, then perhaps he needed to forge his own path entirely.

What if someone could gradually accumulate tiny fragments of various materials? The local iron mine was always hiring temporary workers for the more dangerous jobs—the kind of work that paid better because of the risks involved. If he could get hired there, he might be able to collect small flakes and chips from the rocks they discarded as worthless. Individually, these fragments would be useless, but if he could gather enough of them over time...

Uzun didn't know exactly what kind of power he hoped to develop. He had heard whispers of cultivators who could command fire, others who could move with incredible speed, and still others who possessed strength far beyond normal humans. He didn't care which path opened to him—he just wanted something, anything that could turn his life around and give him a chance to matter in this vast, dangerous world.

The sun was beginning to rise over Qingshan Town, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Uzun stood up, brushing dust from his worn clothes, and carefully tucked the fake stone away. He had work to do, not just the menial labor that barely kept him fed, but the real work of planning his unconventional approach to cultivation.

He would need to find a way to get hired at the mine, despite his lack of experience with such dangerous work. He would need to be careful about which fragments he collected, even though his knowledge of such things was limited to hearsay and guesswork. Most importantly, he would need to be extremely cautious, because he had heard enough stories to know that attempting cultivation incorrectly could result in serious injury or death.

But for the first time in months, Uzun felt something he had almost forgotten: genuine hope.

As he made his way through the awakening streets of the outer district, he passed other young people beginning their daily routines. Some were heading to apprenticeships with local craftsmen, others to family businesses or clan training grounds. All of them had clearer, more conventional paths ahead of them than he did.

None of them were planning to revolutionize their entire approach to cultivation out of sheer necessity.

Uzun allowed himself a small smile as he contemplated the situation. He had no idea if his plan would work, no guarantee that collecting fragments would lead to anything more than a collection of pretty rocks. But it was his plan, born from his own desperation and determination, and that made it precious regardless of its chances of success.

The fake stone felt warm in his pocket as he walked, and for a moment, Uzun could have sworn he felt the faintest trace of energy resonating within it. It was probably his imagination, but as he had learned over the years, sometimes imagination was the first step toward making the impossible become real.

Behind him, the sun continued its rise over Qingshan Town, casting long shadows that gradually shortened as the day began in earnest. Somewhere in those shadows, the foundations of an untested cultivation method were taking shape, built from desperation, determination, and the stubborn refusal of one orphan to accept the limitations that the world had tried to impose upon him.