And for a moment—just a moment—Lee’s voice lost some of its mockery.

  Almost like he meant it.

  After a moment of hesitation, Damian finally said his goodbyes.

  He bowed once to Lee, turned, and left the library. The heavy doors shut behind him with a quiet finality, sealing away the strange world he’d just stepped into. His footsteps echoed down empty halls as he headed back toward the dorm district.

  A few minutes passed.

  Only then did Lee step outside.

  The night air was cool and sharp. He glanced around lazily, fished a cigarette from his pocket, and raised a single finger. A small flame bloomed at the tip—formed from qi, controlled like it was nothing. He lit the cigarette, took two slow puffs, and exhaled toward the artificial moon floating above the sect.

  “You know,” he muttered, “this really is a pain.”

  A presence shifted to his left.

  A figure emerged from the shadows without sound, wrapped in a calm, steady aura. The sect’s principal stood there in simple gray robes, hands folded behind his back.

  Lee gave a lazy, sarcastic bow. “You really do have a talent for making interesting requests, Tian Liyang.”

  Tian Liyang smiled gently. “I know. And I’m sorry. I never intended to involve you beyond protection. Still, you honored me by fulfilling this request.”

  Lee laughed under his breath. “Never imagined the day I saved you from that surprise attack would end with you asking me to teach someone the way of Magic.”

  He took another drag, then flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel.

  “You sure this was wise?” Lee asked. “The great families won’t be happy. Neither will city officials. A Magic cultivator under your roof is bound to cause problems.”

  Tian chuckled, rubbing his chin. “When I founded this sect, I made a vow not to limit my students unless they posed a danger to the city… or each other. So you can imagine my surprise when my contacts told me someone was quietly investigating me, and my elders.”

  His gaze drifted toward the library doors Damian had passed through earlier.

  “When I looked deeper, I learned he was one of the last children of the Fallen Moon family—and that his grandfather was still alive. I couldn’t help but pity them. When he arrived, I saw his condition immediately. I was surprised he even passed the first test.”

  Lee raised a brow.

  “He showed talent in combat,” Tian continued. “So I planned to let him try. But when you told me about his interest in demonic sorcery…” He exhaled. “It would’ve been a waste to let him fall into that.”

  Lee laughed. “What—were you afraid he’d become the next Blood Lord? Or just another third-rate demonic cultivator, hunted down the moment he gets noticed?”

  Tian’s expression didn’t change. “No. We both know those who struggle the most often hold the most potential. And if you couldn’t teach him… who here could?”

  He paused, then added more softly, “You’ve never taken a disciple. It seemed fitting—after you did me such a favor—to finally give you one.”

  Lee turned away, waving a hand as he headed back toward the library. “Say whatever you want, young man. I just hope he meets your expectations.”

  He laughed quietly.

  “And survives mine.”

  It took Damian longer than usual to get back to his room.

  The sect was silent at this hour—no students, no guards, only dim lanterns and empty paths. When he finally closed the door behind him, the weight he’d been holding back crashed down all at once.

  His legs gave out.

  Damian hit his knees.

  Even with his enhanced mental state, his emotions felt tangled—tight knots pulled in opposite directions. Excitement was there, raw and undeniable. For the first time in his life, he had a path. A real path.

  But fear followed right behind it.

  This had been a gamble. Half of a desperate plan he and his grandfather once discussed in whispered voices. Sorcery had been the answer— to be the answer. And if it didn’t work, Damian would’ve ended the same way his grandfather had…

  Trapped.

  Powerless.

  Watching the world move on without him.

  Now that future had cracked open.

  All he had to do was embrace what came next.

  Damian pushed himself up slowly, placed the two books carefully on the table, and set one beside his bed. He lay back and stared at the ceiling, one hand raised slightly as if trying to grasp something invisible.

  “Magic cultivator…” he whispered.

  The words felt unreal.

  He said them again, quieter. “Magic cultivator.”

  Fear lingered, stubborn as a shadow.

  But beneath it was something stronger.

  Hope.

  And for the first time in a long while, Damian let himself believe Heaven might not have the final say.

  The next day marked Damian’s first day of training.

  After the strangely emotional night in his room, he slept better than he had in months. No tossing. No spiraling thoughts. When he woke, the fear was still there—but it sat beneath something heavier.

  Resolve.

  He was ready.

  Unlike other disciples, his teacher wasn’t officially an Elder—not on paper. That meant Damian didn’t get a flashy training ground or dedicated facilities. It took longer to set things up.

  By the time everything was settled, the sun was already high.

  They secured an unused warehouse near the storage district, reinforced with qi arrays for durability.

  Before they even started, Lee made one thing clear.

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  Damian would learn Magic techniques and the violent consciousness art he’d been given. His original consciousness method was his problem.

  “I don’t want to spoil you too much,” Lee had said with a smirk.

  Damian wasn’t sure if that meant Lee lacked spiritual knowledge…

  Or if he was just lazy.

  Probably both.

  When Damian arrived, he wore black sweats and a black sect shirt with the symbol stamped across his back. The moment he opened the door, the smell hit him—incense mixed with alcohol.

  Inside, Lee sat atop stacked crates, a bottle dangling loosely from his hand.

  This version of him felt different from the librarian.

  More relaxed.

  More dangerous.

  Like someone who didn’t care what the world thought.

  Damian didn’t bow. He just raised a hand. “What’s up, old man.”

  Lee laughed, hopped down, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to Magic 101.”

  He chugged the rest of his drink and tossed the bottle behind him.

  It didn’t shatter.

  Damian noticed.

  He didn’t ask.

  Lee gestured to the center of the warehouse. Damian sat.

  The lesson began immediately.

  “Before we fix your problem,” Lee said, smiling with an edge, “there’s an order to this. Before you truly get on this joyride… you need to understand the basics.”

  He stepped closer.

  “Magic qi,” he said, voice lowering, “is the most important thing in your life now.”

  Then he lectured.

  Magic was the purest form of Heaven and Earth. Not diluted. Not filtered. Normal cultivators weakened qi to stabilize it—faster cultivation early, weaker endurance later. Demonic cultivators twisted darker aspects of human nature into fuel, earning power through instability… and sometimes taboo shortcuts.

  “But us?” Lee tapped his glasses. “We use it as it is.”

  That was the cost.

  And the advantage.

  Magic cultivators were limited to one type of energy—but because of that, they learned to control it in countless ways. Sword techniques, formations, body cultivation—anything.

  “That’s why the few who know about us think we’re restricted,” Lee said. “And that’s why we usually win.”

  He looked directly at Damian. “That’s also why I’m teaching you my own technique. It’ll help you learn fundamentals. Good offense. Good defense.”

  He continued, explaining how magic qi was denser than ordinary qi. How the goal wasn’t to flow with it—but to dominate it. Control it. Treat it like a tool.

  “You need timing. Flow. Prediction,” Lee said. “You need to know how it’ll change before it does.”

  He cracked his knuckles. “You following?”

  Damian nodded. Thanks to his consciousness technique, his mind stayed calm even as information piled up. He asked questions. He listened. Despite his broken meridians, he’d always been able to qi—touch it, guide it loosely.

  But this was different.

  This required .

  “How do I really grasp timing?” Damian asked. “How do I see the whole picture?”

  Lee smiled.

  “Stand up.”

  Damian didn’t hesitate.

  In the next instant, Lee gathered dark purple energy into his hand and slammed it into Damian’s stomach.

  The world flipped.

  Damian barely registered the movement before he was airborne—then his back hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him. He coughed, fighting for air, forcing himself upright—

  Only for Lee to already be there.

  Another strike came.

  Damian twisted, trying to reduce the impact—

  But the fist vanished mid-swing and reappeared as a slap to his side. The impact turned into a grab, and Damian was thrown back to the center, landing hard on his stomach.

  Pain bloomed everywhere.

  Lee’s voice cut through it like a knife.

  “The World Is My Canvas is a technique I created. It has traits similar to body cultivation. It enhances my body… and eventually lets me manipulate the environment itself.”

  Damian pushed up to one knee.

  That’s when he saw it.

  Lee’s entire body was wrapped in dark purple qi. Even his breath left faint violet mist in the air.

  Overwhelming.

  Beautiful.

  Terrifying.

  Damian lunged.

  He expected Lee to dodge.

  Lee didn’t move.

  Damian’s fist slammed into Lee’s face—and felt like punching a stone wall. No flesh. No give. Just pure resistance.

  Lee smiled.

  With a gentle shove, Damian was sent flying again.

  “The difference between us and other cultivators,” Lee continued calmly, adjusting his shirt, “is that the higher we climb, the stronger our bodies become. We’re a combat path.”

  He laughed. “Not that I can bully body cultivators. I mean—I probably could.”

  Before Damian could recover, Lee grabbed his leg and tossed him back into the center again.

  “The first realm is called Crude Awakening of Magic,” Lee said. “There’s a reason. But not today.”

  He crouched beside Damian and tapped his forehead lightly.

  “Today is about seeing if your body can handle abuse. If you want this path, pain is a requirement.”

  His grin widened. “And so far? You’re not disappointing me.”

  Damian lay there, breath ragged, ears ringing, body screaming.

  And then he laughed.

  “Try not to have too much fun,” he rasped. “I’m your only disciple.”

  Despite the pain—despite being treated like a toy—excitement burned in his chest.

  This hurt.

  But it felt like progress.

  Stepping out of the warehouse, Damian’s shirt was drenched in sweat and his hair had come loose from being tossed around all day. Luckily, even Foundation Realm cultivators knew a simple cleansing technique. It wasn’t a shower, but it dried sweat, dulled stink, and made him presentable enough to walk through a crowd.

  Before heading into the main area, Damian stripped off his shirt, pulled a clean T-shirt from his storage ring, and stowed the soaked one away to deal with later. He tied his braids back into a loose ponytail.

  Cleaned up, he looked more approachable. White teeth. Relaxed posture. Black baggy sweats. Worn training shoes. Nothing special—nothing suspicious.

  Most first-years dressed like this.

  As he walked toward the cafeteria, he watched other students.

  Some trained alone. Others practiced in groups. A few laughed and flirted like they were at summer camp.

  There was nothing wrong with that.

  But it wasn’t progress.

  He lifted his chin slightly and let his presence show. His eyes caught attention. Glances. Blushes. Whispers.

  It felt good—especially after the beating he’d taken.

  The cafeteria stood out immediately.

  It didn’t look like a cafeteria at all. It looked like a tavern ripped from an old cultivation novel—worn wood, green and blue accents, food smells mixed with faint alcohol. Rough, but alive.

  No reserved seating. People sat where they could, encouraged to mingle.

  Forced camaraderie.

  Damian didn’t mind.

  He spotted an open table with one person sitting alone and took the seat across from him. The guy barely reacted—pale complexion, jet-black hair hanging over his eyes, glasses, expression unreadable.

  A server approached after a moment. She looked around Damian’s age. Probably mortal staff… or someone who’d tried cultivating and failed.

  Damian didn’t judge.

  He smiled. “First time eating here. What do you recommend?”

  She tucked hair behind her ear, cheeks warming slightly. “I’ll bring you my usual. It’s really good.”

  “I’ll trust you,” Damian said. “Thank you.”

  Food here was free—no spirit stones, no points. Damian suspected the principal had reasons. Long-term loyalty, maybe. Or maybe he was just that rich.

  Either way, Damian wasn’t complaining.

  The guy across from him finally spoke, glancing up for a second.

  “Must be nice,” he muttered. “Some of us just look average.”

  Damian leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Some of us are so talented we get picked up by secluded masters,” he said lightly, half teasing.

  Now he recognized him.

  Kevin Xue.

  The speedster from the tournament.

  Elders had practically circled him afterward. Damian had assumed Elder Zhao would grab him… or even the principal.

  Instead, Kevin had been taken by Elder Ying Zhen.

  The Hidden Blade.

  Kevin clicked his tongue, annoyed.

  The server returned with fried pork over rice and set down a small bottle of liquor beside it. She winked. “On the house.”

  Damian gently caught her hand for a brief second. “Thank you.”

  She flushed brighter and hurried away.

  Damian looked down at the food, suddenly starving. This wasn’t ordinary pork—it came from a qi-mutated beast. Iron-eating monsters with flesh that somehow cooked into something perfect.

  One bite and he understood why people loved it.

  He poured a drink. Took a sip.

  Smooth. Balanced.

  Definitely the good stuff.

  Kevin muttered, “Drinking this early?”

  “My old man used to say the best way to raise your spirits after training is spirits,” Damian replied with a grin.

  Kevin snorted.

  “You train alone?” he asked after a moment.

  “Most people are living the dream,” Damian said casually. “Not everyone gets a master.”

  Kevin eyed the bottle, then pulled it closer. “Kevin Xue.”

  “Damian.”

  Kevin took a sip and grimaced. “Last time she gave me something that tasted like dirty shoe. I already hate your face.”

  Damian laughed and poured him another. “Cheers.”

  They clinked cups.

  “So,” Damian said, “how does it feel being trained by one of the most infamous assassins in the cultivation world?”

  Kevin sighed. “Tiring. Rough. Still better than training all day with that musclehead Elder.”

  They both laughed.

  Damian noticed Kevin’s attention drifting again—past the crowd.

  Kimberly.

  Damian smirked. “Let me guess. You didn’t want Elder Ying Zhen. You just wanted to be closer to her.”

  Kevin was quiet for a second. “We’re… childhood friends.”

  Damian nodded once. “Not bad. Just don’t stare too hard. People will think you’re a perv.”

  Kevin snorted. “Perv or monster.”

  That word stuck.

  “Monster?” Damian echoed.

  Kevin shrugged. “That title’s saved for second-years. Or Marcus Lin.”

  Damian’s expression shifted slightly. “The sword genius?”

  “Yeah,” Kevin said. “Under Elder Duan. His brother is the Immortal Sword.”

  Damian’s stomach tightened.

  So Marcus really was connected.

  “Well,” Damian said after a moment, grin returning, “hate to surprise you—but I’m kind of a monster too.”Kevin looked at him, then laughed. “Welcome to the club." Damian smiled, lifting his cup.