Damian still had a little time before he needed to head to the library, and that made it the perfect chance to attempt progress on the Path of the Sovereign Spirit

  The method was simple in theory and brutal in execution. He had to draw in spiritual essence, guide it through his body, and compress it into a single point until it became a Soul Seed

  Around the thirty-minute mark, it finally happened.

  A faint tingling sensation crept through him, foreign and unmistakable, like a cold thread sliding beneath the skin. Damian smirked and pushed harder. Even with his eyes closed, his awareness sharpened. He sensed his room first—the stillness, the stale air, the emptiness, the slow drift of dust floating through moonlight. Then his consciousness stretched beyond the walls, expanding a few feet past his door. He couldn’t hear words clearly, not yet, but footsteps, shifting weight, the vague presence of other students still awake outside—it all brushed against the edge of his perception.

  This was the most crucial point.

  When his body could no longer absorb any more spiritual essence, Damian stopped drawing it in and relied on willpower alone. He forced everything he’d gathered toward a single point at the center of his chest, squeezing it tighter and tighter as if he could crush the world into a seed if he just refused to let go.

  It hurt.

  Not the kind of pain that burned flesh, but something deeper and wrong. It felt like his spirit itself had caught fire. A suffocating pressure followed, like drowning without water, lungs screaming in a body that couldn’t remember how to breathe. Time blurred. Minutes and hours stopped meaning anything. He only knew the strain, the pressure, and his own stubborn refusal to fail.

  Then—

  Something in him snapped open.

  When Damian opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his room anymore.

  He stood in a perfectly white space, empty in every direction, like the inside of a hollow box. No sound. No echo. Nothing. He turned slowly, confusion crawling up his spine. Death was his first thought. Had that pressure been his heart giving out?

  If this was the end… it was boring.

  Worse than boring. It was dreadful. The kind of empty that felt like punishment. He started walking, not even sure if movement mattered here. Every step felt heavier than normal, as if the air had weight, but it wasn’t tiring. Just… oppressive in a quiet way.

  Then he saw it.

  A single dot in the distance.

  Damian moved toward it without hesitation. The closer he got, the clearer it became: a softly glowing white orb. Even in the endless emptiness, it stood out vividly, like the only honest thing in a fake world. Curiosity overpowered caution. He reached out.

  The moment his fingers touched it, calm flooded through him.

  Warmth spread into his chest, soothing and familiar, like slipping into a rhythm he hadn’t known he’d been missing. He knew instantly what it was.

  A Soul Seed

  The realization hit him like lightning. It felt attached to him, like a second heartbeat, like something that had always been meant to exist there. Damian laughed, the sound echoing strangely in the void. This space wasn’t death.

  It was his consciousness.

  The first step was complete.

  It wasn’t some grand breakthrough compared to legendary techniques, but for someone who’d never touched spiritual cultivation before, it felt beautiful. The emptiness around him didn’t feel hollow anymore. It felt full of potential. If one step could do this… he couldn’t imagine what the next ones would do.

  With a final breath, he closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, he was back in his room.

  His clothes were soaked in sweat. A thin line of blood stained his lips. His body felt wrung out, but the sharp pain was gone. The real change was inside. His mind felt calmer—steady in a way it hadn’t been before. Even his excitement dulled into something controlled and focused. The technique was considered foundational, but Damian felt like his perception had expanded, like he could sense the world in layers his eyes had never been allowed to see.

  And for that, he was grateful.

  After a quick shower, he put on his robe and took the book with him, just in case he had questions for Lee—his so-called future master. The moment he stepped into the hallway, his senses flared. Emotions brushed against him in faint waves. Good intent. Bad intent. Tension hiding behind polite smiles. A couple students passed him laughing, but their laughter didn’t match what their bodies carried.

  It amazed him.

  Walking down the street, Damian smiled and waved at passing students, quietly reading their moods. Those who smiled with hidden violence stood out immediately. Those who were genuinely kind were just as easy to spot. It became a game—one he shouldn’t enjoy as much as he did, but after years of living surrounded by half-truths and careful masks, it felt like cheating fate.

  Halfway to the library, he stopped.

  Elder Duan stood near a wall, calmly sipping tea with his eyes closed. The moment Damian entered his range, one eye opened. He didn’t speak. He didn’t gesture. But Damian understood all the same.

  He approached and bowed respectfully. “Greetings, Elder.”

  He tried to read the man’s intent and found nothing. Not blankness exactly—more like trying to look into deep water and seeing only your own reflection. The gap between them was too large.

  Elder Duan took another sip before speaking. “Are you sure this is the path you want to walk?” His tone was calm, but there was weight behind it. “I don’t think your father would be happy knowing you chose such a dark road.”

  Damian smiled faintly, with no anger in it. “Elder, I apologize if I’ve disappointed you. But if you knew my situation, you’d understand. My choices are limited.”

  He paused, choosing his words carefully. “If you knew my father, then you know our family’s problem. The Blackwood curse. Both of us were barred from cultivating the sword. Heaven itself denied us.”

  Before the elder could respond, Damian continued, quiet but firm. “My situation is even more complicated. I don’t know what darkness you’re referring to, but isn’t the sect’s model to find our own path? Our own branch on the tree of cultivation?”

  Elder Duan fell silent.

  He had only wanted to help—the child of a man he once watched rise and fall. He wanted to prevent another tragedy before it started. But the boy wasn’t wrong. Who was he to dictate another person’s road?

  Finally, the elder smiled, faint and weary. “You’re right. Just be careful. This world is cruel in ways you can’t imagine yet.” He turned away. “I won’t stop you. I’ll watch over you, whether you want it or not.”

  With that, he left.

  Damian stood there for a moment, conflicted but grateful. His calmer mind helped him process it without spiraling. Progress, he decided, came in many forms. Sometimes it wasn’t strength. Sometimes it was clarity.

  The library was quiet when he arrived. No guards. No students. The artificial moon floated silently overhead like a decoration pretending to be a sky. He placed his ID against the door, and it opened smoothly.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Inside, the atmosphere felt heavier. More dreadful. Yet Damian felt no fear. If anything, the stillness made his senses feel sharper.

  Lee sat at his desk, wearing the same familiar smile. He waved. “Took you long enough.”

  Damian bowed. “Sorry. I was being careful.” A polite lie.

  They spoke as usual, circling around small talk until Damian finally stopped pretending.

  “So what’s this offer you mentioned?” he asked.

  Lee laughed softly. “Aren’t you curious why someone like me is here?” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “Because I’m not what you think. I don’t follow the demonic path. Even demonic cultivators would call me different.”

  Damian said nothing, watching.

  “I walk a different road to immortality,” Lee continued. “One they wouldn’t dare touch.” He tapped the table, leaving faint dents. “I’m a magic cultivator.”

  Damian froze.

  Lee chuckled at his reaction. “The Path of Magic. Or its original name—the Heavenly Demonic Path

  The words sounded beautiful to Damian’s ears in a way that annoyed him. A name that felt like it belonged to disaster.

  Lee continued, explaining it casually as if he were describing a lesson plan. Magic cultivators drew from Heaven and Earth energy in its most unfiltered state. They favored the densest, most contradictory portion of it—the demonic aspect—instinct, desire, ambition, impulse. They didn’t seek balance. They sought understanding, manipulation, expression. He spoke about obsession like it was a tool. He spoke about betrayal like it was weather. He spoke about danger like it was normal.

  He explained there were no true factions, only loose hierarchies—elders, rivals, temporary allies—and at the top, one supreme figure recognized by strength alone. He spoke about death, madness, and misfortune like they were expected outcomes, not tragedies.

  “So,” Lee asked at last, “do you want to try?”

  Damian thought of every other path he could walk. Every limitation. Every dead end. Every threat looming ahead. Every “safe” choice that still ended with him stuck in the same room until he died.

  “Fuck it,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

  Lee burst into laughter. “That’s the spirit.”

  With a smile that lingered a little too long, Lee leaned back in his chair. One hand rested flat on the desk, the other propping up his head like he was settling in for entertainment.

  “I suppose I should start with the basics,” he said smugly.

  Damian straightened.

  “First,” Lee continued, “there are limitations when walking this path.” His smile sharpened. “Once you step into the first true stage of Magic, you will never again cultivate non-magical qi.”

  Damian’s head snapped toward him. “What do you mean?”

  Lee exhaled through his nose, amused. “Exactly what I said. This path is exclusive. To reach its heights, sacrifices are required. Your body must be molded into a vessel capable of handling Heaven and Earth in their most natural, unfiltered form. Once that process begins, there’s no going back.”

  He paused, then added lightly, “Though honestly… why would you want to?”

  Lee reached into a drawer and pulled out a thin piece of paper, holding it loosely between his fingers while he watched Damian’s reaction.

  “Second,” he said, “because of our methods, it’s not difficult for Magic Path cultivators to sense one another. When one of us is nearby, we usually know.” His tone darkened slightly. “In the old days, that made things… dangerous. If someone wanted another dead, they didn’t need much time.”

  Damian frowned, listening.

  “But under the current leader, things are stricter. Less chaos. Still brutal, just… controlled.”

  Then Lee raised the paper between them.

  “The third thing,” he said quietly, “is what truly makes us stand out.”

  The paper began to burn.

  No flame touched it, yet it curled and blackened all the same. Qi leaked from Lee’s fingers, but unlike the familiar shades of blue—or even the murky black associated with demonic cultivation—this energy was different.

  It was dark purple.

  Dense. Heavy. Almost alien.

  Damian stared, unable to hide his amazement. “What is that? Why does it look like that?”

  Lee glanced at the burning paper, then back at Damian. “Because this is the most natural form of Heaven and Earth,” he said. “And we are the ones who use it without restraint.”

  The paper disintegrated into ash.

  “That’s what my master taught me, at least. As for where Magic cultivation truly began…” He shrugged. “The records go back to the first cultivators. The great families call them the First Immortals, mostly because they don’t understand them.”

  He smirked. “I’m old, but not that old. I can’t tell you how it started. Only that people obsessed with history have found fragments. Mostly questions. A few answers.”

  Lee leaned forward again. “One legend claims that one of the First Immortals created this path. Maybe he had a defect like yours. Maybe he was just consumed by something.”

  He stopped abruptly.

  “Oh. Right.” He snapped his fingers once. “We need to talk about that too.”

  Damian blinked as Lee shifted topics without warning.

  “Desire,” Lee said.

  He tapped the desk thoughtfully. “It’s our anchor. The one thing that keeps us from sinking into madness. If you want to call it the first method of Magic cultivation, you wouldn’t be wrong.” Emotion. Drive. Obsession. “That’s what keeps us moving forward,” Lee continued. “Eventually, it becomes the foundation for creating techniques unique to you.”

  He smiled suddenly. “So. What do you desire most?”

  Damian froze.

  The question caught him off guard. He searched himself for the obvious answers and found nothing that fit. Revenge didn’t burn inside him the way it should, not even after his family was nearly wiped out. Supremacy didn’t feel real either. His grandfather had been strong, and Damian had watched where that led—a broken body, a man bound to a chair.

  He thought deeper.

  And then it came, clean and sharp.

  “Freedom,” Damian said.

  The word felt heavy. Right.

  “I want absolute freedom,” he continued, voice strengthening as something in him woke up. “The ability to go wherever I want, whenever I want. Heaven itself shouldn’t be able to stop me.”

  As he spoke, a strange heat rose through his chest—not anger, not joy, something sharper than both. He smiled wildly, eyes wide, pulse racing. He didn’t know why saying it out loud hit so hard. Maybe because he’d spent years swallowing his true thoughts. Maybe because he’d forgotten what it felt like to want something without permission.

  But he knew one thing.

  He wanted it more than anything.

  Lee stared at him, then slowly broke into a grin so sharp it looked almost predatory.

  he thought.

  And after a moment, another thought followed, satisfied and certain.

  Once Damian finally calmed down, he watched Lee closely. The man started counting on his fingers, whispering to himself. “Told him this… mentioned that… I’m missing something.” Then he snapped his fingers, suddenly satisfied. “Yeah. Yeah. I forgot.”

  He looked up at Damian.

  “Well, after that beautiful speech about your desire,” Lee said, grinning, “I should warn you properly.”

  Damian tensed.

  “At the early stages, things aren’t much different from other paths,” Lee continued. “Realm-wise, at least. But we don’t really see many Magic cultivators reach the third realm. Fourth is usually where past leaders peak.”

  He paused.

  “We do have six realms total. They exist. But they’re more… theoretical.”

  Lee waved a hand dismissively, then leaned forward. “Now listen carefully. I’d be a terrible master if I didn’t tell you early—do not let your purple magic qi be seen by just anyone.”

  Damian frowned.

  “There have been plenty of times when great families—or powerful demonic cultivators—noticed it,” Lee said. “Then they try to kidnap one of us for secrets. After that, we call a meeting. Meetings are annoying.”

  He sighed dramatically. “Then we move as a unit. That’s worse. Then we wipe out everyone in the area who might’ve seen something.”

  He clicked his tongue. “A lot of work.”

  Lee smiled again. “And before someone becomes a disciple, the master gets judged. I became a master… and let’s just say a few Elders aren’t my biggest fans. If you mess up badly enough, they might not save you. They might just kill you.”

  He burst out laughing. “I could probably get away with it too. Maybe feel a little bad. Then I’d have to go on a revenge mission.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “Honestly? I like my mini-vacation as a librarian.”

  Damian stared at him, dumbfounded. For a moment, regret flickered. Choosing this man was like shaking hands with a loaded trap.

  But he was already here.

  Eventually, Damian laughed quietly to himself.

  Lee finally cleared his throat and dragged himself back into “teacher mode.” “Anyway.”

  “We have titles,” he continued. “If you become important enough, you’ll get one. It’s based on action, desire, or technique. Don’t worry about that yet.” He waved Damian off. “And don’t ask about mine. You’re too weak.”

  Then Lee’s expression shifted.

  Colder. Sharper behind the glasses.

  “That consciousness technique you practiced,” he said slowly, “is a blessing. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve broken your body, erased your cultivation, and forced you to start over.”

  Damian’s heartbeat stuttered.

  “But consciousness cultivation and Magic cultivation don’t clash,” Lee continued, smirking. “They work together decently. That’s good.” His eyes narrowed with amusement. “Because at the earliest stages, it would be stupid for you to use Magic methods openly. Consciousness training? That’s normal. Acceptable. The sect won’t blink.”

  He tapped the desk. “And since I’m your master—and I refuse to let you make me look stupid in front of the other Elders—I’m giving you two techniques.”

  Damian’s eyes widened.

  “One,” Lee said proudly, “will be your core Magic method. Something I created later in my life. Powerful. Dangerous.” His smile turned pleased. “Fun.”

  He reached down and pulled out two books, setting them on the desk.

  “The other,” Lee added, “is a consciousness method. More violent than most.” His tone turned mocking. “But you need offense. What were you planning to do—stare at emotions all day?”

  He snorted. “I’d hate for some idiot to kill you with a flaming sword while you’re standing there thinking, ‘Wow, he’s really angry.’ Then I’d be that master with the dumb disciple.”

  He stopped himself before the rant could spiral further.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He flicked his fingers.

  The two books shot toward Damian like weapons. At the last instant, they slowed unnaturally and landed neatly in front of him.

  “Tada,” Lee said.

  Damian looked down at the titles.

  The World Is My Canvas.

  Just the name alone told him exactly what kind of cultivator Lee was—or still was.

  Then he read the second title and almost choked.

  Bloodshaper Murder Art.

  “What kind of consciousness technique is this…?” Damian muttered.

  He wanted to open them immediately. His fingers itched. But he stopped himself, forced the impulse down, and bowed instead.

  “Thank you,” he said, the word catching in his throat even in his head.

  Lee laughed. “Loser.”

  He waved his hands dismissively. “We don’t do that here. I’m your master, not your parent. You’re not my property. Don’t get formal.”

  He glanced at Damian’s face, then at the books, then back again. “I know you want to geek out. But let your body rest. You just made your first breakthrough. Mind and body can do