The streets of Coca Town were still alive with the hum of nightlife, though it had quieted somewhat since Rion's little visit to the hotel. Neon lights flickered like fireflies in the dark, casting kaleidoscopic patterns of color across the cracked pavement.
From the nearby bars and clubs, a distant bass thumped in sync with the city's pulse, while tipsy patrons stumbled in and out of doorways, their laughter mixing with the occasional honk of a passing car.
But Rion paid little attention to any of it. His thoughts were elsewhere, heavy with a sense of dissatisfaction that had nothing to do with the night's distractions or the colorful chaos around him. His boots struck the ground in a steady rhythm as he walked, but inside, his mind swirled with the lingering weight of what he hadn't done.
Sure, giving Young Master #1 a good scare had been satisfying. Watching the brat squirm had provided a momentary thrill, a flicker of amusement amidst the frustration of the evening. But killing him? Now that would've been cathartic, a true release of the anger bubbling beneath the surface. It would've been simple, quick—a clean end to the growing irritation the young man had become.
But Rion knew better. He wasn't strong enough yet. If he'd pulled the trigger, it wouldn't have just been the end of one privileged idiot. No, killing someone like him would be more like lighting a fuse, one that would burn all the way back to the Pegasus Guild—and whoever else the little brat had backing him. Rion might've won the skirmish, but the war that followed? He wasn't prepared for that. Not yet, anyway.
A sigh escaped his lips as he turned down a narrow alleyway, letting the shadows swallow him whole. "Strength," he muttered under his breath, the word dripping with a bitterness that cut deeper than the chill in the night air. "It always comes down to strength."
The thought gnawed at him. It was a familiar frustration, a weight he had carried for what felt like an eternity. He was strong, sure. But not strong enough. There was always something holding him back, something he couldn't quite push past.
This time, it was his cultivation. A few days ago, Rion had finally saturated his charged cells, a milestone that marked the peak of the Early-stage of the 1st-tier. It was a moment of triumph, or at least it should have been. Saturation meant that his cells were brimming with origin energy, ready to be refined and condensed to initiate the breakthrough to the Mid-stage. In theory, he could attempt the breakthrough at any time.
But theory and reality were two very different things.
No matter how hard he tried, the barriers around his charged cells refused to yield. Each time he activated his [Energy Training Technique III] and focused his energy, directing it toward the barriers with all the precision and force he could muster, it felt like slamming against an invisible ceiling. The energy would surge, build, and then... dissipate. Over and over again.
According to the information he had, the barriers around his charged cells were a natural part of the cultivation process. They ensured that cultivators built a solid foundation by preventing them from advancing too quickly and risking catastrophic energy imbalances. But they also served as a brutal filter, separating those with the potential to grow from those destined to stagnate.
Somehow, Rion, with his mediocre D-grade talent had found himself among the latter. His energy wasn't potent enough.
Origin cultivation was a cruel and unforgiving process. It demanded not just effort, but quality. You could work yourself to the bone, pour every ounce of your will into advancing, but if your energy didn't measure up, you could forget about breaking through. It was a harsh truth that every cultivator eventually had to face. Some sooner, some later, but everyone hit that wall eventually.
For Rion, that wall had emerged at the beginning of his cultivation journey.
It was a cruel irony, really. Cultivators all over the world were stuck in this exact predicament, unable to advance because their energy simply wasn't powerful enough to breach the barriers. All the effort in the world meant nothing without the raw power to back it up.
"Hell, I'm not about to be one of them," Rion grumbled, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the city.
Rion had no intention of stagnating like a lot of cultivators before him. But that left him with a dilemma. How to break through?
There were two ways forward. The most common path was patience. Many cultivators chose to wait, allowing the barriers to degrade naturally over time. It was the safest option, but also the most uncertain. The rate at which the barriers weakened varied wildly from person to person. Some cultivators experienced breakthroughs after a few months of waiting, while others languished for years, their progress stalled indefinitely.
Rion didn't have the luxury of time. Every day he spent stuck in the Early-stage was a day he fell further behind. The world didn't wait for anyone, and neither would his enemies. He needed to advance, and he needed to do it now.
That left the second option which was also far more practical. It also happened to be ridiculously expensive.
The Wild Energy Potion.
Not to be confused with the standard Energy Potion, which was little more than a quick fix to refill one's internal origin reserves, the Wild Energy Potion was something entirely different.
It was a potent, volatile, and dangerous, designed to flood the body with an overwhelming surge of untamed origin energy. The sheer volume of energy was far beyond what any cultivator could generate on their own, and it came with a price. The energy was raw and chaotic, difficult to control and even more difficult to withstand.
But for those who could handle it, the rewards were immense. By using their Energy Training Technique to circulate the untamed energy, cultivators could force a violent reaction within their charged cells, weakening the barriers and creating an opportunity for a breakthrough. It was a method of brute-forcing progress, relying on sheer quantity to achieve a qualitative transformation.
The risks were obvious. If the energy wasn't controlled properly, it could wreak havoc on the body, causing severe damage or even death. And even if the process succeeded, the toll it took on the cultivator's system was immense. Recovery could take days, if not weeks, leaving the user vulnerable in the meantime.
But for Rion, the risks were worth it. He had no intention of stagnating, of becoming one of the countless cultivators who spent their lives trapped in the Early-stage, forever dreaming of what could have been. He would take the risk, endure the pain, and emerge stronger on the other side.
The only problem was the cost.
Rion grimaced as he mentally calculated the price. Each vial of Wild Energy Potion sold for at least 40,000 kila, and that was if you could even find it. It was rare, its supply tightly controlled by guilds and black market dealers who were all too happy to inflate the price.
Rion had barely 20,000 kila to his name—just enough to scrape by, buy some materials, and maybe, maybe, upgrade a piece of his gear. There was no way he could afford even one vial of Wild Energy Potion, let alone multiple.
Well, that was the situation before tonight's events.
A grin crept across his face as he remembered the look on Young Master #1's face when they'd "negotiated" his 100,000 kila payment. The sheer terror in the young man's eyes had been priceless, especially when Rion had casually revealed the blackmail material. The deal was done, and now all that remained was for that money to hit his account.
"Who would've thought that little brat would be my lucky charm?" Rion chuckled to himself as he rounded the last corner toward the campsite. "First, he gifts me this super-durable bodysuit, and now he's lining my pockets with enough cash to solve my breakthrough problem. I should buy him a thank-you card. Maybe one with flowers."
It was almost absurd how things had turned out. Rion's original plan had been simple: scare the young man into backing off. But now, not only had he gained leverage over the spoiled brat, but he was also set to receive a payout that would significantly accelerate his cultivation progress. All things considered, Herbert had turned out to be quite the profitable little nuisance.
The Normos Family campsite came into view, nestled in the outskirts of Coca Town. The flickering glow of a few campfires cast long shadows across the tents, most of the camp quiet as the night wore on. The occasional murmur of conversation floated through the air, but the late hour had driven most of the camp to sleep or near it. Rion slipped through the camp with ease, heading for the large tent he shared with Vance.
He pushed open the flap and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of metal and oil. Vance, sitting on his cot, was engrossed in tinkering with some small mechanical device—probably something he'd picked up on one of their missions or as a memento from his daughter. The faint clinking of tools was the only sound in the tent, though Vance's sharp eyes flicked up as soon as Rion entered.
"You're back late," Vance said, not looking up from his work but clearly aware of Rion's presence. His fingers deftly worked at the internals of the device, tightening a screw here, adjusting a wire there. "Where've you been? Out robbing the local merchants?"
Rion tossed his jacket onto his cot, the fabric landing with a soft thud. He felt the weight of the night's events starting to press down on him, the adrenaline beginning to fade, leaving behind a strange blend of fatigue and satisfaction.
"Nah, I was just out meeting my lucky star." Rion replied, the sarcasm in his voice palpable. He kicked off his boots, letting them fall to the ground as he stretched his legs out. His body ached, the stiffness in his muscles reminding him just how long the day had been.
Vance raised an eyebrow, his hands pausing over the device he was working on. "Lucky star, huh? Don't tell me—finally hooked up with that bartender down by the docks?" His tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity.
She's in her late thirties....
"I'll keep that in mind for later," Rion shot back dryly, slipping out of his boots and flopping onto his cot. "But nah, I just came into a bit of cash. Made a big deal."
Vance paused, glancing up briefly. "Cash? What kind of deal? You didn't get involved in something stupid, did you?"
Rion smirked. "Relax, father figure," he said, letting the nickname roll off his tongue with a teasing edge. "I'm not stupid—at least, not that stupid. Just some side business with one of the locals. Turns out, some people will pay a premium to make their problems disappear."
Vance's frown deepened slightly, but he didn't press further. He knew better than to ask for details when Rion wasn't in the mood to share. Instead, he went back to tinkering with his device, though his eyes remained on Rion for a moment longer. "You're always up to something," he muttered.
Rion shrugged at Vance's words. He dragged his backpack over, digging through it until he pulled out a small laptop. It was filled with scribbled notes, designs, and rough calculations—his personal plans and ideas for improving his gear.
Switching it on, he started to jot down some quick notes. His mind was still racing with the earlier thoughts about the Wild Energy Potion. He would need at least two vials, maybe three if he was particularly unlucky, to have a decent chance at breaking through to the Mid-stage.
That meant 120,000 kila at the bare minimum. His stomach churned at the thought of spending that much money, but there was no other choice. The alternative—being stuck in his current stage indefinitely—was far worse.
Vance, who had been quietly observing Rion's uncharacteristically introspective silence, spoke up again. "Kellen's got a meeting planned for tomorrow morning. Something about the mission briefing. Just a heads-up."
"Yeah, yeah," he replied, his thoughts already shifting back to the Wild Energy Potion and the two hundred grand waiting in his account.
Should be smooth sailing from here on...
And with that, Rion closed his eyes, letting the quiet of the night finally lull him to sleep.