The next day began like the others—mist curling through the trees, qi humming faintly in the air. Calen and Jael sparred. Calen's strikes were sharper now, his footwork more stable. He still couldn't land a clean hit on Jael, but he was learning. Fast.
And while the two carried out their daily routine, something stirred in the heart of Alina.
A group of cultivators—one hundred and fifty strong—descended into the town square, clad in the dark crimson armor of the Royal Kingdom's recruitment corps. They arrived within minutes, traveling at top speed. Their leader, a man who looked to be in his late thirties but radiated the calm pressure of an early Imperial Realm cultivator, stood at the front. Behind him marched his subordinates, ranging from peak Star Realm to peak Moon Realm, their expressions cold and practiced.
From the square, the eastern ridge was visible through the morning mist—where two boys sparred, unaware of the storm approaching.
The people froze.
They knew what this meant.
Children, teenagers, and even men in their twenties and thirties with awakened spirit roots but no clan or sect affiliation. They were here to take them—drafted into the royal army, never to return. It was the same in every town and village across the outer provinces. Resistance was rare. Futile.
The commander's voice rang out, amplified by qi. He ordered the townspeople to gather in the square rather than waste time going door to door. Within an hour, the entire population—over nine thousand—stood with bowed heads and hollow eyes. The square overflowed, but for cultivators, distance meant little. What they couldn't see, their spirit sense could.
The recruiters moved efficiently, scanning the crowd, testing for spirit roots, and marking those who qualified. Cries broke out. Children wept. Mothers clung to sons. Fathers clenched their fists but said nothing.
The process took less than an hour. But before the commander left, he extended his spirit sense across the town—searching for those who might have hidden their children or loved ones. There were always a few.
That's when he sensed them.
His gaze shifted.
He saw them—Jael and Calen, sparring on the ridge. The aura around them was unmistakable. Too refined. Too dense. Too… wrong.
He couldn't read Jael's realm—masked, expertly—but even so, the boy's presence was unnatural. Dangerous.
He gestured to two of his strongest men—both peak Moon Realm cultivators. "Bring those two to me."
The men nodded and moved swiftly, reaching Jalen's yard within minutes.
They didn't ask questions. They simply moved to seize the boys.
Big mistake.
Jael's eyes flashed blue.
A vortex of frost erupted around him, swirling with razor-sharp snow and biting wind. The two cultivators froze mid-step—literally. Ice encased them in an instant, their bodies locked in place. Then, with a flick of Jael's fingers, the vortex shattered them into glittering shards.
Calen stared, stunned. So this was Jael's true power. It was beautiful. And terrifying.
Jael didn't pause. "Come on," he said. "Let's keep sparring."
Calen nodded, still shaken.
Back in the square, the commander frowned. His men were taking too long. He extended his spirit sense again—only to find nothing. No trace of his subordinates. And the boys were still sparring.
What?
He sent more.
Jael ended them too.
But this time, he didn't stop there.
He arrived at the town square in seconds, Calen trailing behind him—still shaken, still silent.
Jael stepped forward, his aura no longer hidden. Imperial Realm. Mid-stage. His qi flared—ice and flame, twin forces coiling around him like dragons. The pressure alone brought the other recruiters and the people of the town to their knees.
Then, without warning, a voice spoke from behind them.
"Jael. That's enough."
Jalen had arrived.
No one had seen him approach. No one had sensed him. But there he stood—calm, composed, and utterly unreadable.
He had left early that morning to search for opportunities that might benefit Calen and Jael. He never expected to return to find his son on the verge of a massacre. But he had felt Jael's anger—sharp, volatile—and came immediately before the boy flattened the town and killed its people.
Jael turned, his expression softening. "Daddy. These annoying scums are trying to take us."
"Is that so?" Jalen's gaze shifted to the commander, who had already dropped to his knees, trembling.
He didn't need to feel Jalen's aura to know he was a monster. The boy alone was proof enough—his father was no small fry.
"Please, senior," the man begged. "We didn't know. Had we known, we would never—"
"Then you know now," Jalen said coldly. "Leave. And release everyone you've taken. Or don't blame me for being impolite."
The commander didn't hesitate. "You heard the senior! Free everyone! Now!"
The recruiters scrambled to obey. Children and young cultivators were released, stumbling back into the arms of their families. The townspeople watched in stunned silence as the crimson-armored men fled the valley, their pride shattered.
Then the cheering began.
Their town had been spared thanks to this stranger. And while many cheered, others whispered in fear. Would the royal family retaliate? Would worse come?
Jalen stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding.
"Those of you who have awakened a spirit root—step forward."
The people froze—all cheering died. Some feared they had simply traded one tyrant for another. But Jalen's next words changed everything.
"I won't be here forever. And those men will return. I can't protect you when I'm gone. But I can teach you how to protect yourselves."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"I'll give those with potential cultivation methods so you can cultivate. You'll learn to fight. To defend. To endure," Jalen continued.
Slowly, people stepped forward.
Out of over nine thousand people, only fifteen hundred had awakened spirit roots. Over half were between the ages of eight and twenty. The rest were older—thirties to sixties—many who, by some luck, brushed the emerald realm but got stuck, unable to progress due to a lack of cultivation tools and methods.
Jalen didn't hesitate.
He began teaching the basics—the same foundational forms he had once endured. Breath control. Root alignment. Meridian flow. Calen and Jael assisted, guiding the younger ones, correcting stances, and demonstrating techniques.
Even those at the emerald realm had to start over. Pride was set aside. Everyone trained.
Because now, they had a chance to refuse the royal tyranny of breaking up their family and sending their young ones in as cannon fodder.
Because now, they had a teacher.
Because now, they had hope, however slim that might be.