Two days later, Han Chen sat on the cultivation cushion, breathing slow as the spiritual eye on the floor drew in threads of qi. "Five-star Qi Condensation," he thought, opening his eyes. "If I want Death Qi, I have to kill. But fighting is prohibited in this city."
He reached for the pouch beside him and counted the faint glow within. "Thirteen low-tier, grade one spirit stones left," he thought. "I used seven to advance one star. Wang Qi's essence helped, so I didn't need the usual fifty. But stones won't last—and rent still needs paying."
Silence settled, broken only by the soft hum of the room's formations.
"There's a war between Poland and the Fire Alliance," he thought, gaze turning to the balcony's glass. "If I join the army, I can earn spirit stones with merit. On the battlefield, Death Qi won't be restricted. I can absorb cultivators' essence too."
He let his qi sink, the spiritual eye dimming to a steady pulse. "Spirit stones, Death Qi, and Essence," he thought. "Three birds with one stone!"
--
Han Chen walked down the smooth qi-infused pavement, his boots echoing against the hum of modern life. Cars and bikes zipped past him, some hovering low, others soaring high above in clean, streamlined flight. The scent of burning spirit fuel lingered faintly in the air. Glass towers stretched into the clouds, their surfaces pulsing softly with inscriptions that carried protective qi runes. Steel bridges arched gracefully above bustling markets, their structures shimmering with embedded talismans that strengthened every joint and seam.
The city was alive. Loud, colorful, restless.
Han Chen kept his hood drawn, his eyes scanning the flowing crowd. Spirit merchants shouted from street corners, selling talismans and spirit stones in glass-sealed booths. Above, a colossal screen flickered to life, drawing his attention. Golden letters scrolled across it, glowing faintly with qi :
Kill–Merit Chart :
Killing a 1-star Qi Condensation cultivator = 1 merit.
Killing a 10-star Qi Condensation cultivator = 100 merits + 1 grade 1 weapon.
Killing a 1-star Foundation Establishment cultivator = 250 merits + 1 grade 2 weapon.
Killing a 7-star Foundation Establishment cultivator = 2,500 merits + 2 grade 2 weapons.
Killing a 1-star Core Formation cultivator = 8,000 merits + 1 grade 3 weapon.
Killing a 7-star Core Formation cultivator = 100,000 merits + 2 Nascent Soul Formation pills + 2 grade 3 weapons.
Killing a Nascent Soul cultivator = Military Honor + 'Great-General' Title + 1 grade 4 weapon.
Merit–Spirit Stone Chart :
1 merit = 10 Grade 1 Low-Tier spirit stones.
1 merit = 1 Grade 1 Mid-Tier spirit stone.
10 merits = 1 Grade 1 Top-Tier spirit stone.
100 merits = 1 Grade 2 Low-Tier spirit stone.
1,000 merits = 1 Grade 2 Mid-Tier spirit stone.
10,000 merits = 1 Grade 2 Top-Tier spirit stone.
Han Chen paused. His gaze lingered on the last line—Military Honor. He stared coldly. "Interesting…"
The crowd didn't seem to notice the brutality on the screen. They barely looked up. For them, those numbers were just another part of life—a way to measure strength, to climb higher, to survive.
He adjusted his collar and continued toward the Military Center. The closer he got, the heavier the atmosphere became. Soldiers in black uniform walked past him, each carrying weapons forged with qi patterns that glowed faintly under the evening sun.
Inside the recruitment hall, the lights were bright, almost sterile. A long line of hopefuls stood before registration counters, some nervous, others excited, a few desperate. Han Chen filled out the form with a steady hand.
Name : Wang Qi
Origin : Mo City Defense Corps
Cultivation : Five-star Qi Condensation
A moment of silence passed as the officer stamped his document. "Welcome, soldier," the man said, sliding the badge toward him. "You're a simple soldier until you earn your merits. Stay in the B7-Camp, and you'll be notified when it's time to be deployed to the battlefield. Next."
Han Chen took the badge, its edges warm with mild qi energy. He fastened it to his uniform and stepped aside.
"B7-Camp, huh..." he muttered.
The sound of boots against metal filled the air as recruits were led out toward the Camp.
Han Chen followed, his eyes pitch black—without emotion.
--
Thirteen days later.
19th Regiment, B7 Camp — Second Battlefield.
Han Chen sat cross-legged inside the small military tent, his eyes closed. Threads of qi flowed through his meridians in steady rhythm, weaving calm into his body.
Outside, the wind carried faint metallic echoes—armor clanking, voices shouting orders, engines from flying carriers humming in the distance.
He had arrived at the camp a week ago, and until now, there had been no sign of deployment for his squad. Days passed quietly—training, maintenance drills, the occasional talk among soldiers who dreamed of returning home with enough merits to buy themselves a future.
Han Chen was part of Squad 22 under the 19th Regiment, forty members in total. Their squad captain—a woman at the fourth star of Foundation Establishment—was strict but fair, her tone crisp during drills and sharp enough to cut through hesitation.
Inside the tent, silence reigned until—
DING.
A sharp buzz broke his concentration. Han Chen opened one eye and reached for the small metallic rectangle resting on a folded uniform. The glowing screen displayed a new message:
[MEMBERS OF SQUAD 22 ASSEMBLE IN THE GROUNDS]
He exhaled softly. "Finally."
The device he now carried used to belong to Wang Qi, the man whose identity he had taken. Back then, when he first found it, the strange object was a mystery—smooth and cold rectangular device. But in these thirteen days, he had managed to learn. Swipe, tap, press—it was all mechanical, mixed with qi conductivity. Now it felt almost natural.
Han Chen stood, fastening his belt and securing his uniform. Over time, the clash of modern machines and ancient cultivation had started to feel less like chaos and more like the rhythm of this world.
He stepped out into the evening light, the sky painted crimson with sunset and qi-reinforced drones gliding above the camp perimeter. Soldiers were already moving toward the assembly grounds, voices rising in controlled cadence.
"Squad 22," he muttered, eyes focused ahead. "Let's see what this war really looks like."
The wind carried a faint metallic tang—the scent of qi reactors charging for battle.
--
Han Chen arrived at the assembly grounds. Four neat lines stood before him—ten soldiers each—except the last, which had only nine. All wore identical black uniforms, each uniform was a Grade-1 defensive artifact. The faint glimmer of protective qi rippled over their surfaces like moving shadows.
He was the last to arrive. Quietly, he stepped into the final spot in line.
Up ahead stood the captain's platform, empty for now. The low hum of conversation filled the open air, a mix of impatience and curiosity. Some soldiers leaned on their weapons, others watched the horizon.
Then, a sudden rush of wind swept across the grounds. WHOOSH.
A fish-shaped flying artifact swooped down from the sky, sleek and glimmering with dark steel. It stopped above the platform, its qi-cores glowing faint blue before dimming. A woman landed gracefully from it.
Her black hair swayed behind her as her boots touched the stage. She wore a tight, regulation combat uniform—same as the rest—but her bearing made it look sharper, more dangerous. The scattered whispers among the ranks grew loud.
"Captain's here."
"She's so hot."
"Cap, train me just once."
"Shut up, idiot."
Han Chen stood silent, expression unreadable. His eyes stayed fixed on the platform while the chatter grew restless behind him.
"Silence!"
Her voice cracked through the noise like a whip. Every soldier stiffened instantly. Power rolled from her, subtle yet commanding—a four-star Foundation Establishment cultivator's presence made clear.
She surveyed the formation before speaking again, her tone even, calm yet carrying weight.
"Squad 22 will depart immediately. Our mission is to provide backup for Squad 16 of the 18th Regiment."
A chill passed through the ranks. Murmurs rippled out almost instantly.
"No way in hell am I saving anyone from Regiment 18."
"Yeah, they're cocky bastards. Always picking fights with us."
"They deserve—"
"Silence!" Her qi flared for an instant—sharp, suppressive. The air grew still, like the world itself waited for her next word.
"Our enemy is the Fire Alliance," she said coldly. "Not the 18th Regiment. Whatever rivalry you have ends here. If there's nothing more, prepare to depart."
The soldiers fell silent. Only the low hum of the artifact engines and the sigh of wind remained.
--
A low drone filled the air as a large, aircraft-like flying artifact descended above the assembly grounds. Its black hull shimmered with qi flows, and the engraved runes along its sides pulsed faintly with blue light.
The ramp opened with a hiss.
One by one, members of Squad 22 boarded, their boots thudding against the reinforced metal floor. Inside, two rows of seats lined the walls, secured by protective barriers infused with defensive qi. The hum of core engines vibrated softly beneath their feet.
Han Chen took his seat near the back, beside a quiet soldier polishing his rifle. Across from him, others whispered—nervous talk, excitement, fear. The captain stood near the cockpit door, arms crossed, her eyes sharp and steady.
The ramp closed. A faint WHOOM echoed as the artifact lifted into the air, leaving the camp behind. The lights outside dimmed under gathering clouds.
Meanwhile – Deep Wilderness, Frontier Region.
"Do you guys have rat blood in your veins?" a harsh voice shouted across the battlefield.
"We've chased you for six hours before catching up. Truly respectable—for Poland scum!"
His laughter echoed off the charred stones and smoke-filled air. Around him stood warriors clad in crimson uniform, each bearing the insignia of the Fire Alliance. Their leader's golden mantle fluttered in the heated wind as flames licked the broken ground behind them.
In the distance, the survivors of Squad 16 of the 18th Regiment stood battered and bloodied. Their captain straightened, blade dripping qi-infused blood. "Do your Fire Alliance dogs think we have no reinforcements?"
The enemy leader grinned, baring his teeth. "Reinforcements? Where are they then? I don't see one."
He raised his sword high, shouting, "For the glory of Aldrof Hizler—and our Fire Alliance! Whoever kills the most of these rats will receive one Grade 2 Low-Tier spirit stone!"
The flames surged higher as his men roared in unison.
"HAIL HIZLER!!!"
BOOM.
They charged forward, crushing burnt debris beneath their boots. Qi flared from both sides as explosions and battle cries merged into chaos.
Captain Lin of Squad 16 laughed bitterly, blood staining the corner of his mouth. "Scum putting bounties on our heads—how interesting."
Only twenty-five remained of his original fifty. The ground was littered with the dead, both ally and foe. Their formation had been broken again and again. Lin against two opponents at the same cultivation—both five-star Foundation Establishment—his defense had become a desperate struggle.
Sparks of flame clashed with streaks of lightning qi as the duel raged.
"URGH!" Lin parried a blazing strike, his knees buckling slightly.
The two enemy captains pressed in from both sides, blades glowing with condensed fire qi. Despite his grit, Lin's breathing grew ragged. Around them, soldiers on both sides fought and fell, neither gaining clear ground.
The battle had raged for more than ten hours, and after that, they had been running for six hours straight. Sixteen hours of exhaustion, pain, and dwindling spirit power.
Now, the ground of the wilderness was painted in blood and ash. Smoke curled upward through broken stones, carrying the bitter scent of burnt qi.
Captain Lin's grip on his blade trembled slightly. "Hold the line!" he shouted, though his voice cracked with fatigue. "Reinforcements will arrive soon!"
They had sent the signal two hours ago—flaring a burst of encoded qi into the air—but there had been no response yet. No shadows on the horizon, no sound of incoming allies. Only the constant roar of battle surrounding them.
The Fire Alliance warriors pressed forward again, their crimson armor scorched and dented, but their morale high.
The enemy leader laughed amid the chaos, flames coiling around his sword. "Still waiting for your saviors? They probably abandoned you already!"
Captain Lin spat blood, straightened his back, and gave a weary smile. "I hope they didn't," he said aloud, his voice rough from exhaustion.
Inwardly, a heavy thought followed. "If they truly abandoned us… then this place will become our grave."
He charged again, lightning qi dancing along his blade as it met with two blazing swords. CLANG! CRACK! Sparks flew. Each side bled, neither retreating.
Far above the clouds, unseen, a black military artifact glided closer—its engines muttering low as Squad 22 closed in on the battlefield below.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----