Initiation (2)
The moment word came down that the Grand Supreme Elder had broken through to the Golden Core realm, I started looking for my opening to desert the sect.
The sect's greatest genius, Dang Sam—blessed with a special constitution—had gone missing without a trace. And the Grand Supreme Elder of that same sect, a withered old wreck whose lifespan had all but run dry, had crossed the wall into Golden Core.
Coincidence? Well, it happens. But what if it wasn't? What if a spent old monster on his deathbed had devoured a talented, specially-constituted Dang Sam to smash through his bottleneck and buy himself more years?
Then who came next, after Dang Sam? Who would be the stand-in chicken when there was no pheasant—for whoever wanted the biggest gain, or whoever had seen how it was done?
That's right. Me.
Me—the one touted as the sect's next-greatest vessel after Dang Sam.
"Jeonghyeon, you're not heading out this time either?"
"Yeah."
And there was a second reason I'd started eyeing the exits: the Golden Sand Sect simply didn't suit me.
Don't get me wrong—the sect's methods and arts, built around sand, fit me like a glove. With Gold and Earth attributes both, I was exactly the sort of talent the Golden Sand Sect dreamed of. But I couldn't stomach the sect's way of doing things.
"You didn't file for missions again? When exactly do you plan on earning contribution points?"
"I'm a pampered Zhenshan disciple. I'm fine."
"Unbelievable, you lunatic."
The Golden Sand Sect was not a sect that built anything of its own. So how did it scrape together the spirit stones to live on?
"This one looks seriously easy—there's hardly anyone there but mortals, right?"
Simple. It lived by the blade.
The sect's core arts were metal-attribute. Working with sand made them look Earth-attribute at a glance, but that sand was refined and wielded in every way imaginable, so metal-attribute arts formed the backbone. In pure attack power, metal is the strongest of the Five Elements—and with the Golden Sand Sect's techniques honed exclusively for combat, they mostly went out as mercenaries to wherever blades were needed.
"You love sparring well enough. I'll never understand why you won't do this."
"That and this are two different things."
Of course, if that had been the extent of it, I'd have had no great grievance with the Golden Sand Sect. War never runs dry, and every sect is entitled to its own way of staying fed, no?
The real problem was...
"Oh, they found a small cultivation family this time, apparently."
"Yeah?"
"Mm. The elders are recruiting for it. Not going this time either?"
Mercenary work was the sect's bread and butter, true enough. But like mercenaries everywhere, it made plunder part of the trade as well. And in a trade like that, people don't tend to die in their beds.
Going by Dang Sam's example, I'd apparently been born with a heaven-blessed constitution of historic caliber. So tell me—what business did I have getting myself branded an outlaw and cut down mid-plunder?
My one comfort was my position: a Zhenshan disciple of the sect, cherished by my master and elder, Geum Myeongjin.
"This is the art I obtained this time. Master it."
"Yes. Thank you."
Other Inner Disciples—and certainly the Outer Disciples—had to grind out contribution points before they could so much as glance at an art or a cultivation method. None of that applied to me, a Zhenshan disciple.
From the Gold Sand Art, which conjured and guided golden sand, to the Quicksand Binding that shackled enemies, the killing art called Gold Sand Needle, the Sand Wall Art that raised barriers—if it belonged to the Golden Sand Sect's foundational arts, Geum Myeongjin passed every last one down to me without asking for a single point.
"You learn quickly. Keep at it."
"Yes, Master."
What Geum Myeongjin—a late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator—actually saw when he looked at me, I couldn't say. Perhaps a guardian to carry the sect into the future. Or, going by the Grand Supreme Elder's example, perhaps a chicken to crack open his own bottleneck.
The Golden Sand Sect sat on a mere 1st-order Spirit Vein. Unfortunately, this was land too poor for a Foundation Establishment cultivator to break through the Golden Core wall. But now a Golden Core cultivator had appeared among us. Who could say?
Hoo. Running the Golden Sand Qi Ingestion Art, I called back the Grand Supreme Elder as I'd seen him of late.
Since reaching the Golden Core and stretching out his lifespan, the elder had been showing his face far more often than before. Seen from a distance, there was no way to take him for a man of three hundred years—his back was ramrod straight, and his face could have passed for middle age. They said ascending to Golden Core had bought him a full three centuries of life.
Well, appearances aside. His interior, once I actually looked, was frankly staggering.
If a Qi Condensation cultivator is close to a filter that draws in and uses the surrounding heaven-and-earth qi, a Foundation Establishment cultivator is a stage of storing that qi in the body—focus my eyes on one, and their whole frame brims wall to wall with it. But around Core Formation, it stopped being a matter of degree. I half believed a vast universe had been folded up inside his body.
...That was probably the 'core.'
Core Formation takes its name from forming that core within the body. A man carrying such a thing was difficult to accept as the same species as me.
If Foundation Establishment was a modest hill behind the house, then Core Formation was—what, like the Geumsan Peak itself? Clouds snagging on the summit, a range so immense you couldn't even work up the nerve to climb it. But—
I can reach that realm.
Ambition and anticipation got there ahead of any fear. And why wouldn't they? A genuinely high mountain, yes—but how long would it take me? Because up that mountain, a neatly laid climbing trail seemed visible to my eyes alone.
I could climb it. I hadn't even reached Foundation Establishment yet—but given time, it was guaranteed. Given opportunity, sooner.
"Have you mastered the arts I gave you?"
"I still need more time."
"Tsk. Very well."
So I refused to rush. Of course I felt the pull—born human, who wouldn't ache to step over the limit of their lifespan and transcend it?
'Jeonghyeon, this older brother is going on ahead of you.'
But I had no desire to chase after Dang Sam, who had gone ahead far too soon. My talent might be the finest around—but "finest around" and "finest under heaven" kept a clear distance between them.
Hadn't even this rural backwater just coughed up a genius like Dang Sam? The wider world was surely strewn with Dang Sams who'd outlived me by several hundred, several thousand years. And thick with men like the Grand Supreme Elder besides—people driven half-mad to devour a Dang Sam and keep even a scrap of him.
"Learning miscellaneous skills now, are you?"
"Only for reference, Master."
"Focus on one thing."
Among the techniques I picked up while matching the pace of his lessons, I concentrated hardest on one called the Aura Concealment Art—the art of burying your realm and your spiritual power.
The qi of heaven and earth showed itself plainly to my eyes, and bending masterless qi to my will was no great feat. Even running the same breathing exercises as everyone else, my efficiency was in a league of its own. I could throttle it back for now—but sooner or later, someone would sense that something didn't add up.
I'd once read, in the murim novels of my old life, that a true master always hides thirty percent of his strength. Right—even in a genre drowning in chivalry and romance, thirty percent had to stay buried. So how much should a man hide in a land where sect disciples were rendered into elixirs and eaten, and a civilian's life was worth less than an ant's?
I'd learned this world's cruelty through a handful of object lessons, and I kept that danger carved somewhere permanent inside me.
And so, a few years later—
"Kghk!"
I failed my Foundation Establishment breakthrough.
"Hh... heheh..."
With every last drop of the Foundation Establishment Pill's energy—the one the sect itself had issued me—sealed away inside my body.
One reason I'd attempted the Foundation Establishment breakthrough earlier than planned was my master Geum Myeongjin's watchful eye.
"Your senses are nothing ordinary. Attempt it."
He'd taken my measure and handed down a perfectly accurate diagnosis—spot-on, that—and told me to try my hand, promising to procure a Foundation Establishment Pill for the attempt. Refusing an offer like that would have been strange in its own right.
So I carried the pill Geum Myeongjin handed me into the seclusion chamber, and—
"Kghk!"
"...What in the world!"
—I came out a failure. I had taken genuine internal injuries, after all, and crawled out on all fours, heaving up blood.
"A physician! Fetch a physician!"
If that was Geum Myeongjin's pure-hearted goodwill, I was sorry—but with Dang Sam dead, the last thing I wanted was to break through Foundation Establishment early and paint a target on my back.
"Hoo... hoo...."
"What troubles you?"
"...I believe I still need time to convalesce."
Of course, hiding the pill's energy inside my body weighed on even me. Like stowing a lake inside an iron pipe. Without my freakish constitution and talent, it was an act that deserved to be called a walking contradiction.
But if I thought of it as a hidden fifty percent, banked against the unforeseen, it was just barely concealable. It even seemed to sharpen my handling of qi and the Aura Concealment Art besides. Not that the art needed it—I had long since perfected it—but I honed it harder all the same. The sect's Grand Supreme Elder was a Golden Core cultivator now. Best to be careful I was never, ever caught.
Anyway.
"I shall provide further pills for your injuries."
"...Thank you."
"Do not despair over this. You are young—chances will come again and again. Let this setback sharpen you, and train all the harder."
And now I carried a trump card in my flesh besides. It was high time I started drafting my exit from the sect.
"You wish to take missions?"
"Yes. There is a magic tool I would like to acquire."
"Hm... Well, I suppose failing your Foundation Establishment would make a man want to turn his gaze elsewhere."
"It's not that...."
"Isn't it. Then go and see to some simple missions. Magic tools aside, experience feeds cultivation."
With that excuse in hand, I began combing through the external mission listings one by one. Honestly, having ignored contribution points all this time, I'd staged a sudden interest in magic tools for appearances. Not that it was a total lie—there was one tool I genuinely did want. I was an immortal-in-progress, after all. A man ought to own at least one flying artifact, no?
"Looking for something manageable? Then go pair up with that senior over there. Word is he found a small cultivation family recently."
"...I'll pass."
"Oh, come off it. Come along."
Having skipped missions all this while, the whole business was admittedly unfamiliar—but my fellow disciples kindly walked me through it. To be fair, until only a short while ago, scarcely anyone had traded words with me. Then one failed breakthrough later, and the number of peers stopping to chat and build friendships shot right up.
"So he's human after all."
"Right—one Dang Sam was more than enough."
I caught the murmurs at my back, so I understood the reason well enough. And from that attitude, one thing became clear: my decision was not wrong.
Yes—a flower blooming atop a cliff is a special thing. But within arm's reach, it simply gets snapped off. I had to pass myself off not as a flower but as a weed, and tuck myself into a crevice of that cliff.
Until no one was left who could break me.
"Forget that sort. Just recommend me some easy external missions."
"Off to see the world, are you?"
"Exactly. Staying cooped up here is killing me."
So, first things first: I would desert the sect that had come scouting for my little bud.
But my plan to leave the Golden Sand Sect never got its day.
Today!! The Golden Sand Sect is Dissolved!!
Because the Golden Sand Sect had crossed the line.
