Forging the Mixed Origin Scripture
A week had passed since Kyle awakened his Spirit Root.
During that time, Kyle had spent most of his days in the grand library. It was all to create a custom cultivation method tailored for this blessed body—one-of-a-kind constitution that the world would never see again.
He named it the Mixed Origin Sword Scripture. A method to cultivate the chaotic medley of talents within him into something that could conquer the world.
It wasn't easy. In his past life as the Sword Ghost, he loved swinging swords and was damn good at it, but studying? Not so much. He was confident in killing things, but creating something new from scratch? Not his forte.
But all this was necessary to swing his sword even better.
Truth be told, he didn't even need to invent a new method. He could just pick one of the world's top-tier cultivation arts like everyone else, master it, advance to a superior one, master that, and keep climbing.
Kyle clearly remembered his days as the Sword Ghost in his past life. Regaining his peak power from back then? Easy enough. Just accumulate mana like anyone else and swing the sword the way he remembered.
But that was too wasteful. Too boring. Kyle didn't know everything about this world, but he knew reincarnation wasn't common. Hell, it was probably impossible.
Having gone through that impossible reincarnation, retaining all his past life's memories intact. Born not into some ordinary family, but as a pureblood of the continent's greatest martial house. Turn your head here, and experts abound; prove yourself, and rare cultivation manuals, sword arts, elixirs—they're all yours.
In this ridiculously ideal setup, to just cultivate one manual like everyone else and swing the sword like in his past life? That wasn't wasteful—it was a crime. And it wasn't just the environment; the talents embedded in his very body were extraordinary.
'Come to think of it.'
Arms crossed, staring at the spread of cultivation manuals on his desk, Kyle pondered.
'In my past life, I was never once the continent's strongest swordsman.'
The Sword Ghost's name rang high, but he was never hailed as the absolute strongest. Even Ruin Alastor, who ended his life, wasn't the continent's strongest.
Thirst.
His throat burned. Kyle gulped down the tea on the desk, but the thirst lingered. He knew exactly what it was.
That dawn when he quit as Crow Mercenary Corps leader, gripped a single sword, and resolved to throw himself into the battlefields. Staring into the roaring bonfire, he had felt this exact thirst.
'Reincarnated by some miracle, into this great family, with outstanding talent to boot. Repeating the same old routine from my past life? Unacceptable.'
He took another sip.
Tea couldn't quench this thirst, but Kyle drank anyway. It wasn't ordinary tea. Brewed from spirit herbs, it cleared the mind, sharpened his wits, and was just sweet enough.
'This life's goal: continent's strongest.'
Not just strong—no one daring to even point a sword at him. Absolute power overwhelming even Ruin Alastor, who ended the dark age 500 years ago and slew the Sword Ghost.
In his past life, various limits kept him from reaching it. But this life was different. Every condition was perfectly met. Settling for mediocrity now would be a sin.
'The foundation has to be different.'
Following the trodden path won't outpace others. He needed to blaze a trail no one could walk.
His Spirit Root, a chaotic mix that could become anything. A blessing, but mishandle it, and it becomes a curse. One wrong step, and he might fail to master even one element, with clashing energies wrecking his body or turning him into a worthless mess.
'Blend it well. Harmoniously, not destructively. Tailored to my body. Adaptable to any need, limitless.'
The Spirit Root embodied nature's attributes: wind, earth, fire, lightning, water, ice, and more. Specialized in the mana infusing the world's natural forces.
Kyle refocused on the manuals. Nature had synergies and counters. To complete the Mixed Origin Sword Scripture, he had to cherry-pick the best from countless arts and blend them seamlessly.
Even describing it simply was hard; implementing it in a human body was madness. The world's principles far exceeded human comprehension.
Yet challenging the impossible filled Kyle not with dread, but thrill.
His soul was already that of the Sword Ghost, who had reached lofty heights once. He knew the basics of controlling and circulating mana.
'And I've got the talent to tackle the impossible.'
Beyond the Spirit Root, he eyed his spirit affinity. Spirits were living mana of nature itself. Use them as filters for each element, and he could store mana without refining it manually.
The first concept for Mixed Origin hit him upon entering Self-Lightning Sky Vault, but devouring manuals this past week had fleshed it into a blueprint.
A bit brute-force, sure.
Sipping sweet tea to fuel his brain, Kyle rose and entered the library's cultivation chamber.
Sitting cross-legged in the center, he tapped the thunder spirit stone necklace at his throat. Crackle! With a spark, Yor poked its head out.
"Master? You called me?"
Kyle rested his chin on his hand, staring at Yor before asking.
"Do you have to be a lightning spirit?"
"Master... What? I was born from thunder essence. I'm a lightning spirit."
"Spirits are mana lifeforms, right?"
Kyle narrowed his eyes at Yor.
"Born from thunder essence means you have to live as only a lightning spirit?"
"...?"
Yor blinked, utterly baffled. Still young, its intelligence was low.
"Eat a lot, and people get fat like pigs."
"Yeah..."
"Eat little, and they get skinny."
"You won't starve me, right?"
"Haven't finished yet. Listen. If I feed you mana besides thunder essence—like wind mana—what happens?"
"Tastes bad... Don't wanna..."
"What if plain mana, not thunder?"
"That... I can eat."
"Then let's eat a ton from now on."
Kyle grinned.
Mana stored via his Spirit Root. Refine it not into thunder mana, but into chaotic mana infused with the Spirit Root's nature, then feed it to Yor.
Grow Yor beyond a mere lightning spirit. If his Spirit Root was boundless chaos, mana from it might free Yor from its rigid mold.
"And you. No more living here—from now on, somewhere else."
"Where?"
Yor tilted its head.
From Arian's spirit arts lessons, Kyle knew where spirits lived.
Low-grade ones like fledglings dwelt in everyday nature. Higher ones—disasters in spirit form—stayed in their own spirit realm or extreme spots like perpetual-thunder southern valleys or volcanic zones.
Yor fit in the stone now as a fledgling, but growth meant returning to the spirit realm when unsummoned.
"Here."
Thud.
Kyle thumped his chest with his fist.
"Here?"
Yor widened its eyes at Kyle's chest.
"Yeah. Inside me."
Kyle said calmly.
"Use my middle dantian as your home."
Yor froze, then wagged its tail furiously. A spirit entering a contractor's body? Near-taboo in spirit arts. Spirit energy could ruin the human body, or human energy corrupt the spirit. Even a dim fledgling like Yor knew this instinctively.
But Yor sensed it vaguely. Master was special. His body dwarfed the stone for comfort; its mana wouldn't taint, but nourish and strengthen.
"B-but Master, is it okay?"
Yor stammered, yearning to dive in.
"It's fine."
Truthfully, Kyle wasn't fully sure. He'd never tried this, nor had anyone else.
But untested didn't mean impossible.
'My lower dantian has a wide entrance but isn't expanded enough inside.'
Middle dantian differed. Already open, with a small core formed. Past-life experience made him adept at controlling it.
'The imbalance between lower and middle is the issue... Wonder how my body takes to Yor.'
Forcing middle dantian development on a barren lower one twisted his soul in agony before.
'Different this time. Not growing a core with mana—housing a living spirit.'
Imbalance lingered, but constant mana circulation could force equilibrium. Developing the lower dantian gradually would ease the load.
Yeah.
Only one way to know. Steadying his breath, Kyle thumped his chest again.
"Bail if it feels dangerous. And one more—no going anywhere but the chest. Got it?"
"Yeah, yeah, got it, Master!"
With permission, Yor fully emerged from the stone. A palm-sized purple lightning serpent swam the air, then burrowed into Kyle's chest.
Crackle!
Kyle gritted his teeth. Worlds apart from absorbing mana. Felt like thunder essence crystals clawing up his veins—thousands of needles scraping inside.
'Endure.'
Focus. Thump, thump, thump. Heart pounded wildly. The middle dantian core raged against the intruder.
Clash and rejection brought cold sweat like rain. At this rate, heart burst or circuits tangle—half-crippled.
But Kyle pressed on. Drawing every past-life instinct, he soothed the shaking core, guiding Yor.
'Blend.'
He invoked his Spirit Root fiercely. Chaos where all mixed, becoming anything. If true, it could accept Yor.
Lower dantian mana stirred. Grown decently over the week. No prior agony—just possible backlash.
In his body, mana flowed smoothly through tangled circuits. Reaching the middle dantian, it didn't suppress or reject—instead, it enveloped core and Yor like a warm blanket.
Circulation complete. Mana looped endlessly between lower and middle dantians as poles. Ambient mana began pouring in with his breaths.
"Warm..."
A whisper echoed from deep within. Yor coiled contentedly in Kyle's mana, nesting in the middle dantian's depths.
Rumble...!
A heavy vibration resounded inside. The two energies fused as one. Kyle steadied his ragged breaths.
"Knew I'd have to try it."
Sweat dripping, Kyle forced a grin. Now, Yor would be influenced by his Spirit Root. If it broke free as planned, it'd serve perfectly as a filter for Mixed Origin.
'Raise it as a chaos spirit like me—no need for other contracts.'
Grow big. Dizziness hit as he closed his eyes, consciousness fading—
He bolted upright. Passing out sweat-soaked in the chamber? Arian would flip and faint herself.
Mind weary, but body fresh. Lighter than ever. Power surged with each heartbeat.
It was surging. Unlike most who circulated mana on demand, his circuits ran constantly. Possible thanks to polar dantians, vast circuits, and past-life know-how.
'Headache already.'
Conscious effort throbbed his skull. Primary goal: make it as natural as breathing, even in sleep.
'Gotta comb through the other manuals too, snag what's useful...'
Busy, busy. Sighing deeply, Kyle staggered out.
"Among all 10-year-olds in the world, I'm the busiest."
And the strongest. With that conviction, he left the library. Glancing out, night had fallen.
Shoving Yor inside felt quick, but half a day sweating in the chamber.
'Dinner's late too.'
Another deep sigh.
Being a good son ain't easy.
*
Next day.
Rising early, Kyle ran his new weekly routine.
Out of bed, light stretches, change clothes, exit room.
Slip into Arian's room quietly, kiss her sleeping cheek. Her forced addition. If she woke, he'd be trapped in hugs and kiss barrages.
Then wash face, brush teeth, head to the rear training room.
There, practice Self-Lightning Sky Vault—no, the unfinished Mixed Origin Sword Scripture. Breathe in mana, circulate circuits. Feed Yor, expand lower dantian bit by bit, note fixes.
Hours on that, then pick a wooden sword from the pile and drill sword forms.
Forms compiled from 5th-grade manuals mastered before 10. Satisfied, at noon: bathe, change, eat.
Fixed routine ends. Then, library.
Sword Apex Hall? Skipping often. Julius might sulk inwardly—but Kyle was playing push-pull.
Showed off the perfect grandson too much. Time to distance; Julius would pull first.
'Shock him later.'
Suddenly grown grandson? Julius would freak. Thus, skipping Sword Garden too.
Munching leftover Thunderclap Pills like snacks, Kyle left Rose Mansion. Stroll for air, no straight elevator.
Heading there, he spotted—
A pig running.