Chapter 6
Chapter 6
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Initiation into the Cultivation Sect (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Qi Refining cultivators, who straddle the line between mortals and true cultivators, may be called cultivators, but in truth, only those who reach Foundation Establishment can claim the title properly.
Only after successfully establishing their foundation and building up spiritual power can they wield spells and handle spiritual tools in earnest.
Among the various spells learned at the Foundation Establishment stage, the Puppet Technique is one that animates inanimate objects as if they were alive.
At the basic level, the master must control it directly, but with proficiency, it can carry out simple commands on its own.
As the puppeteer's skill deepens, it grasps increasingly complex orders, ultimately reaching a state where it thinks for itself like a living being.
The wooden puppet that Seoran had rented was the final work of some Resolution-stage cultivator from the Black Bamboo Sect.
Obsessed with puppetry to the point of neglecting all other cultivation, he—a Single Spirit Root cultivator—never ascended to the Core Formation Realm.
As his five-hundred-year lifespan neared its end, he began crafting his last puppet.
Having devoted his life to the Puppet Technique, he paid no heed to death tightening its grip.
A mortal's skills would have declined with age, but cultivators are different.
The techniques honed through cultivation, even as other pursuits were ignored, only faded when death was at hand.
At last, the master birthed the wooden puppet and died.
It was a feat worthy of being called a birth.
If endowing lifeless matter with life is the pinnacle of puppetry, this was a masterpiece just a few steps shy.
Its intricate circuits and smooth joints allowed the wooden puppet to move like a real person.
In martial spars, it could counter techniques after seeing them once and even invent new ones.
It was a learning puppet.
If it could learn and awaken on its own, what set it apart from a living creature?
The entire Black Bamboo Sect was stunned.
And just as quickly, they calmed down.
Its limitations were all too clear.
It could only learn and improve in martial arts.
Its martial prowess was intimidating, but it posed no threat to Foundation Establishment cultivators.
In the end, even as a weapon, it could only subdue Qi Refining cultivators or mortals.
The technique that produced a puppet so close to life was astonishing, but its creator died without a will.
Disassembling a legacy work out of greed for the craft went against decency, and reverse-engineering safeguards were surely in place anyway.
Thus, this remarkable technique was effectively lost to the world.
Yet treating it as mere heirloom wouldn't do either—there was no heir.
Too immersed in puppetry, he naturally never married, and left no testament.
Despite binding a full user manual.
In the end, the wooden puppet and its manual reverted to the Black Bamboo Sect.
Too valuable in materials to rot in storage, it bounced around until landing with the Martial Hall.
At least its sparring function might prove useful there, they hoped.
But its horrific fuel efficiency—devouring a Small Spirit Stone every single activation—proved too much even for them, so it sat forgotten in a corner of the warehouse.
It made the rental list, but no one borrowed it for over a decade.
To exaggerate slightly, it melted Spirit Stones like salt lumps in water.
Who in the world would burn that many Small Spirit Stones just to spar with a wooden puppet?
The answer: Ryu Seoran, Single Spirit Root Holder.
Seoran, who thought Spirit Stones popped out of thin air with a form submission, had no idea of their value.
So she followed the manual to the letter upon receiving the puppet.
She opened the drawer on its back and inserted a Small Spirit Stone.
Now, after some incomprehensible process, the wooden puppet would awaken.
Extracting spiritual energy from the stone, converting it to spiritual power, and powering the spell involved complex internal mechanisms that inevitably wasted energy at every step.
That was the main reason a mere human-sized wooden block consumed a full Small Spirit Stone each time.
Once activated, Seoran shook the included bell and chanted the incantation.
This would make the puppet recognize her as its master.
To relinquish ownership, one chanted it backward.
"One-on-one fist technique spar. Gradually intensify."
As Seoran issued the command and assumed her stance, the wooden puppet across from her mirrored her.
Both stances were identical.
Left foot forward, weight on the back foot.
Body centerline facing front, hands extended.
"Begin!"
At the signal, the puppet closed in with a wide step.
Seoran retreated half a pace to evade its extended straight punch.
Simultaneously, she swept its arm aside with her forearm and stepped in with a counter.
Thwack!
Her straight punch struck the puppet's torso, wooden joints clacking sharply.
The puppet pulled back, reset its stance, and attacked again.
Medium step once, wide step once.
Another right straight punch, but too close to dodge by retreating.
Seoran bent only her back leg, lowering her center of gravity.
The honest head-height punch whistled through empty air.
From her low stance, she kicked off the back foot and lunged forward.
A high-difficulty move demanding balance and explosive power.
But she nailed it.
Her two fists simultaneously struck the opponent's solar plexus and groin.
Thud-crack!
Buoyed by successive victories, Seoran shouted.
"Don't stop!"
The puppet smashed its elbow toward Seoran's low-positioned head.
She didn't retreat but pressed into its guard.
Blocking the insufficiently accelerated strike with her shoulder, she shoved the puppet's torso with both hands.
Her front kick exploded into the staggering puppet's neck as it reeled backward.
Thwack!
The impact snapped its upper body back, throwing off its balance.
As it reached out to steady itself, its centerline was exposed.
Seoran seized the opening and unleashed a flurry on the defenseless foe.
Rat-tat-tat-thwack!
A barrage of precise strikes pouring down like rain in an instant.
Against a human opponent, it would have ended the fight decisively—lethal blows.
But her foe was a wooden puppet without vital points.
It recovered its stance as if nothing had happened and charged.
The two traded blows without pause.
At first, Seoran dominated utterly.
The puppet's every attack met a counter; it landed no meaningful hits.
But the gap narrowed bit by bit.
With each blow received, the puppet grew slightly stronger.
As offense and defense exchanged, it became faster, harder, more refined.
And at some point, Seoran found herself on the defensive.
Counter upon counter, then another, and again.
Their power levels evened out; deadly counters flew back and forth.
Whoever faltered in focus first would take the fatal hit.
Seoran strained to maintain her concentration.
But the mechanically operating puppet never erred.
In the end, fatigue betrayed Seoran into falling for a feint.
The palm flying at her face wasn't an attack—it stole her vision.
A roundhouse from her blind side slammed her ribs.
The heavy impact stiffened her muscles and cut off her breath.
Without air, she couldn't muster strength.
The puppet gave her no respite to recover.
Its explosive fist drove into her solar plexus like lightning.
"Guh!"
The precise strike targeting her opening emptied her lungs of their remaining air.
Reflexive asphyxiation blurred her vision.
Seoran retreated desperately, regulating her breath.
Not yet. I haven't fallen.
The hit hurts, but I can endure.
Seoran gritted her teeth and refocused.
Her body, honed over years, faithfully executed her will.
In two breaths, it flushed out the pain; her heart pounded like it would burst, circulating blood.
The stances drilled daily without rest over the past month held firm against agony.
And her vision cleared.
The first thing she saw was a wooden fist.
Direct hit to the face.
Dazed pain sapped her strength; she lost abdominal tension.
Relaxed core muscles failed to protect her vitals.
A barrage poured into her exposed solar plexus.
Their positions were reversed from before.
Seoran, sprawled in a starfish, looked up at the victor.
Once its foe fell, the puppet halted its assault.
It gazed down at the loser from an impeccable stance.
As if asking whether she wanted another round.
*****
"Sis, what happened to your face!? Who did that to you!"
After her utter defeat by the puppet and heading to the cafeteria, Yi Agum came sprinting from afar in shock.
Seoran was a mess by any measure.
Bruise around the eye, lip split.
At least the nosebleed had stopped quickly.
The puppet's fists packed a real punch.
Hidden by clothes, but barely a spot without bruises.
As a cultivator, this was mild; a mortal would've died from the force.
"Hey, don't just clam up—say something! Who's the jerk who hit you?!"
With no reply, Yi Agum shrieked outright.
The child's piercing scream drew every eye around.
Mortified, Seoran shoved her toward the cafeteria.
"You sparred with a wooden puppet for martial training? I thought some thug beat you up and was worried sick."
Hearing the story, Yi Agum looked incredulous.
"I'm not the type to go getting beat up somewhere."
"How would you know? You just said the puppet thrashed you."
"No, I hit it more!"
Excuses fell on deaf ears.
"So what? Did wailing on it win you the fight? Looks like it beat the tar out of you."
Seoran fell silent, at a loss for words.
"Wooden puppet—you mean that thing? The wooden block with jointed limbs and strings; shake it and it clack-clacks like dancing. How do you lose to a wooden block?"
Whatever Yi Agum said, Seoran ignored her.
Protesting would just egg her on more.
As Seoran finished her meal in silence and left, Yi Agum called out.
"Oh, right—Elder Wang's looking for you and me. Meet up after group training tomorrow. Lunch together too."
Why's Elder Wang looking for us?
What's this about?
Puzzled, Seoran nodded.
"Got it. Thanks for the heads-up."
Yi Agum suddenly swatted Seoran's butt at the reply.
"Thought you'd gone mute from all the beating! If that wooden block bullies you again, don't cry—call me. I'll sort it out."
She shadowboxed the air and dashed off.
Seoran felt so wronged she could cry.
"No, seriously—that girl's scary."