Peace... was nothing but a word.
The day after the trial with the master, I returned to where it all began — to the body. To the qi. To myself.
Every morning I rose before dawn. Not because I wanted to — but because there was no other way. The body had yet to adapt to the strain; the joints ached, the muscles burned as if smoldering coals were embedded within — but it was good. Pain was a sign of growth. And growth was the path to strength.
For the first two days, I focused on the foundation. Exercises proven by time, free from needless complexity. Stances — low and deliberate. Breathing work — strict and rhythmic. Push-ups — by the hundreds. I stretched the tendons, fortified the joints, moved as if in battle, and moved again, until my body refused to obey.
This was not new to me. But the body was different. Too soft. Too young. It remembered no blood. Knew no limits. And yet... it listened. Silently. Humbly. Almost respectfully.
And at night, I would sit beneath the cherry tree, surrounded by stillness. The qi there was particularly pure — soft yet dense, like dewy mist atop a mountain peak. I meditated, drawing the flow inward. Slowly, cautiously, but without doubt. I had already awakened two branches. And on the fifth day, I felt it: the third was close.
Qi streamed through the channels, lightly tingling my skin from within. The pressure grew, as if the world itself wished to test if I was worthy of the next step. But I did not fear. I remembered what it was to feel pressure on the verge of a divine breakthrough. This — was nothing. This — was merely wind.
I spent the night motionless. Qi gradually gathered, swirling around the core in my dantian. I guided it upward, toward the third energy node. Resistance built steadily, but I did not allow even a whisper of failure into my mind.
And finally... at dawn of the sixth day...
The third branch opened.
Copper-colored. Bright. Pure. Straight as a blade. It vibrated in unison with the other two, creating a sensation of fullness — like three taut strings on a bow.
I opened my eyes.
"It's done," I whispered. "The first step is complete."
I now stood at the peak of the Initial Realm. Three copper branches — the maximum for a first-class warrior. The next step — fusion. To unite these branches, to forge them into a single whole. That would give birth to the Iron Branch — the first step of the Middle Realm.
But I did not rush. Fusion demanded the right conditions. Purification. Full control over qi. And, above all, safety. In the Song Clan, among suspicious stares and hidden enmity, attempting it would have been pure folly. Yes, I could have gambled. But that was not the way of a monarch.
"The time for the breakthrough has not yet come," I told myself. "Let the branches temper."
On the sixth day, at midday, as I ate alone at the edge of the dining hall, one of the senior disciples approached me. The son of one of the clan's guards. His name was irrelevant.
"You're still here?" he sneered as he drew near. "Look at you, so fierce. Think you're a great warrior now, just because you beat up a few pups and dodged a master's wrath?"
I said nothing.
"Or maybe you think we're all afraid of you now?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know how trash like you ends up. Quiet. In a ditch."
I calmly finished my water, stood up, and simply walked past him. I could feel the tension in his body — as if he was waiting for a strike, or a challenge. But I offered him neither.
He was not at my level. Even if he was stronger in body — he was weaker in mind. And it is the mind that makes a warrior truly dangerous.
At the dawn of the seventh day, a voice woke me. Someone stood outside the window, calling my name calmly. No threats. No shouting. Merely — a summons. I knew at once: the time had come. The clan head was calling me. Everything was proceeding according to the agreement.
I felt no anxiety. I had foreseen all this. I had offered the deal myself — and now merely followed its terms. Only the final step remained.
I rose from the bed and began to prepare. Nothing excessive. The box containing the "Poisonous Rain" technique — deeply hidden within my bag, wrapped in cloth. A small pouch of silver and gold. Two pills — one golden, one demonic. Carefully packed clothes and a bound sword. I checked everything twice. No haste.
I sat down and focused for a moment. The qi within flowed smoothly, like a river after rain. The three branches, forged over these days, had solidified. The channels had been cleansed. The body had grown more responsive, the movements more precise. Everything was proceeding according to plan. Only one final step remained for the breakthrough — but I knew this was not the time.
I did not want my first entry into the Iron Realm to be remembered as a hasty lunge. It must become a step — into a new phase. Pure, controlled. When I reached the right place.
I tightened the strap of my bag, stood, and stepped outside. The air was cool. It smelled of damp earth, leaves, and the faint threads of morning mist. Pale bands of light had begun to appear in the sky. A silence where every step rang clear and whole.
I did not look back. Did not say farewell. Not to the house. Not to the clan. Not to the one I had been within it.
Everything was already decided.