ã€ŠEclipsed Soul: The Forbidden Rebirthã€‹


 Prolouge: The Execution

    The air was suffocating. A thick mist of hatred and fear hung over the town square as the crowd gathered, faces twisted in a grotesque union of sorrow and fury. The accused stood on the wooden platform, wrists bound with rough, fraying rope, neck encircled by the noose that promised to end everything. His body ached from days of beatings, but nothing compared to the gaping hollowness in his chest¡ªthe betrayal that stabbed deeper than any blade.

    Above him loomed the royal family, draped in resplendent silks that glimmered under the pale light of a sun reluctant to shine. The king, his features carved in stone, stepped forward. His voice rang out, cold and unyielding.

    ¡°Here stands the deceiver,¡± the king proclaimed, his tone devoid of hesitation. ¡°A false savior who brought ruin upon our lands. A traitor who dared to consort with the darkness, poisoning the very people he claimed to protect.¡±

    The crowd roared in agreement, a wave of sound that crushed the accused. He clenched his fists against the tremors in his limbs. Not fear¡ªnot of death. It was the despair, the crushing weight of knowing that those he had bled for, fought for, now clamored for his demise.

    Among the faces in the crowd were villagers he once called friends, those he had saved from the jaws of feral beasts born of the Dark Mana. Mothers clutching their children, children he had shielded from unspeakable horrors. Yet now, they screamed for his death with the same voices that had once whispered gratitude.

    ¡°I only ever wanted to protect you,¡± he murmured, the words escaping as a fragile whisper. No one heard them. No one cared.

    The queen stood beside the king, her gaze icy and detached, as though she observed not a man but a pest to be eradicated. The prince and princess, cloaked in feigned righteousness, cast disdainful looks down at him. It was all politics, of course. Blame had to be placed. And what better scapegoat than the one who had wielded forbidden power, the one who had dared to challenge the unrelenting decay of their kingdom?

    The executioner approached, a hooded figure carrying the weight of death on his shoulders. He tightened the noose, the coarse fibers biting into the skin of the accused¡¯s neck. The accused did not flinch. He stared ahead, into the eyes of the crowd, seeking a flicker of understanding. A spark of doubt. There was none.

    The king raised his hand, signaling for silence, his lips curling into a sneer as he leaned forward. "Still clinging to hope, are you?" he asked, his tone dripping with mockery. "Do you have any final words, traitor? Any last plea to save your wretched soul?"The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°May the gods forgive you,¡± the executioner muttered, too low for anyone but the accused to hear. It was neither consolation nor apology. Just a statement of fact, as mechanical as the tightening of the rope.

    The accused lifted his gaze, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence like a blade. "Gods? I see no god. None of you are worthy of salvation."

    His heart pounded in his chest, not from terror but from the unbearable weight of loneliness. The weight of knowing that his life, his sacrifices, had been reduced to this.

    The king¡¯s hand fell. The executioner pulled the lever. The trapdoor beneath the accused¡¯s feet opened, and the world fell away.

    Pain erupted, sharp and blinding, as the noose snapped tight around his neck. His body convulsed, struggling instinctively against the inevitability of death. Spots danced in his vision, and the world dimmed, the jeering faces of the crowd blurring into nothingness. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the faces of those he had lost. The laughter that once echoed in his memories now tainted by screams.

    As his vision faded, a final, agonizing thought clawed its way to the surface:

    If I had another chance... would I still save you?

    The crowd cheered as his body stilled. "Burn the dark mage!" a voice cried out, and soon the chant spread like wildfire. "Burn him! Burn the dark mage!"

    The villagers surged forward, their faces contorted with a feral hunger for vengeance. Torches were raised high, casting flickering shadows across the square as they hurled accusations into the fading twilight.

    "This is for my son, taken by the beasts you brought here!" one woman screamed, her torch flaring like her fury.

    "The gods cursed you, and now we''ll cleanse you in fire!" bellowed another.

    The executioner hesitated as the mob swarmed the platform, pulling the lifeless body from the noose with a mix of trembling fear and blind hatred. They dragged him like a discarded carcass, placing his broken form atop a hastily built pyre of splintered wood and dried straw. The flames licked hungrily at the base, growing stronger as villagers fed the fire with anything they could find.

    Smoke rose into the darkening sky, carrying with it the acrid stench of burning flesh. The mob¡¯s cries became a cacophony of triumph and wrath, drowning out even the roar of the fire. Their faces twisted with the grotesque satisfaction of watching what they believed to be the destruction of a great evil.

    Above it all, the royal family watched in silence, their expressions unreadable as the flames consumed the scapegoat they had condemned. To them, the act was not justice but necessity¡ªa calculated end to silence dissent and redirect the people''s rage. The king stood motionless for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, his voice low and dripping with venom. "Sorry, brother. Why didn¡¯t you just die back then? Why did you live? This is all your fault. Don¡¯t blame me."

    The sun vanished completely, leaving only the glow of the fire and the lingering echoes of hatred to mark the end of the accused. Above, the royal family turned and departed, their duty fulfilled, their scapegoat sacrificed. The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the world cloaked in a darkness that felt eternal.

    But in the abyss where his soul lingered, something stirred. A faint flicker of defiance. A whisper of forbidden knowledge, ancient and unyielding.

    This was not the end. This was not the end. This was not the end.

    Darkness had arrived.

 Chapter 1: The Astral Gate

    Chapter 1: The Astral Gate

    Well, I¡¯ve found it. An "Astral Gate"¡ªa spatial portal. Never could expected its location to be revealed so blatantly, right here, at a famous tourist spot in southern England. This place is surrounded by massive stone walls, arranged in a circular formation like a sequence of dominos. The stones forming the outer circle are perfectly proportioned, with precise spacing between each one. Inside, smaller circles of similar stones create layers within layers. The outermost ring is made of smaller stones, not quite as large as those at the center but crafted with equal precision.

    At the core of this structure stand five monumental gateways constructed from massive megaliths. Each gateway comprises three distinct monoliths, their immense size a testament to the ancient effort and knowledge required to move and position them. The four surrounding gates align toward the energy gate at the southern end of this architectural marvel. The energy gate absorbs light from the sun or moon, channeling its power to the surrounding portals. Called the "Astral Gate," this construction is said to connect to other worlds. For thousands of years, "Astral Travelers" have used these gateways, guided and sustained by the life force of these ancient stones. However, to the locals, this place is simply known as "Stonehenge"¡ªa mysterious monument and a symbol of English heritage.

    Astral Travelers pass through these gates in their astral form, where their spirit separates from their physical body, freely traversing the realms of the spirit world. In this state, they can enter random worlds and live there as if they were born into them. They can return to their original world at will, bringing back knowledge and experiences from their astral journeys. This might explain why one day, a colleague or classmate suddenly seems to have gained strange, innovative skills or ideas. They learned it in another world.

    Then there are instances of d¨¦j¨¤ vu: when you feel like you''ve already experienced a certain moment. It¡¯s not necessarily a glimpse of the future. Instead, you might have unknowingly visited a parallel world in your astral form and encountered the event there.

    And yes, travelers from other worlds also visit ours. They come and go. They might speak our language, mingle among us, then suddenly vanish without a trace. After some time, they might reappear, sometimes only hours later, sometimes after years. This depends on their original world''s timeline. For example, an hour on Earth might equate to years in a parallel universe. A traveler who spends an hour "away" could return to find their parallel family has aged generations.

    But a physical body, theoretically, isn¡¯t meant to pass through these gates. Theoretically. Now, let¡¯s put theory to the test. Rules are made to be broken anyway

    I¡¯m an eccentric. A loner. No friends, and my family lives far away, so my days are mostly spent immersed in manga, video games, and occult studies. Yes, you could call me a shut-in. I prefer darkness and feel disenchanted with the outside world. Well, not with nature¡ªI adore trees, plants, and the serenity of untouched landscapes. My disenchantment lies with the "supreme species"¡ªhumankind. How ironic and laughable, since I¡¯m human myself. A human who detests humanity.

    The only thing I care about outside my room is the flow of energy. Energy is everywhere and comes with countless interpretations and definitions. Vibrations, frequencies, or whatever those spiritual gurus on Jotub ramble about. To simplify: sensing energy allows you to read minds, predict outcomes, glimpse the future, or channel that energy for your purposes, such as casting spells or curses. It¡¯s a vast field: feng shui, numerology, astrology, tarot - all based on controlling one¡¯s energy and influencing the energy of others.

    But I¡¯m no spiritualist or mystic. Just a curious individual who delves into plants and energy studies for the sheer thrill of it. I am Jul - a botany student, a herbalist, and a witch. To be honest, I¡¯m bored with this world. Finding a way to another realm seems like a fine idea. Or at least, testing the possibility of passing through an Astral Gate in physical form.

    If you drive from London to Stonehenge, it takes less than two hours. The surrounding scenery is breathtaking, with the colossal stone architecture standing in the middle of an expansive field. Built atop an artificial hill by ancient hands over 3,000 years ago, Stonehenge exudes an aura of timelessness. Verdant grass stretches endlessly in all directions, painting the landscape in vibrant green. Despite the summer¡¯s dry heat, cool winds sweep through the area, adding a sense of vitality.

    Tourists flock here to marvel at this ancient wonder. They fall silent, overwhelmed by the grandeur and awe that radiates from these stones. And here I stand, equally awestruck by the magnificence of the Astral Gate laid bare before me.

    To activate the gate, certain conditions must be met: an immense energy source and restoration of the ancient magic circle, damaged by time and conflict. The imperfect state of the ritual site makes opening the gate a daunting task. Waiting for the area to clear of tourists adds another layer of difficulty. But no matter. Tonight¡ªduring the simultaneous lunar eclipse and blood moon¡ªI will succeed. By then, this place will be deserted.

    The larger challenge lies with the displaced, broken, or missing stones. Moving and repairing these megaliths is no easy feat. Instead, I¡¯ve drawn a new circle using crushed stone and mercury. Of the three central gates, two have collapsed. I¡¯ll work with the remaining one. Following a formula I copied from a 13th-century German mage¡¯s Book of Shadows (which I "borrowed" by photographing its pages during a visit to Deutsches Museum last summer), I¡¯ve prepared the minimum requirements for activating the portal: the magic circle is drawn, and the ritual patterns are set.

    As the lunar eclipse draws near, I wander around the site, inspecting my preparations. ¡°Perfect,¡± I murmur, admiring the intricate array of crushed stone and mercury. Two small metallic kites, tethered to the central gate with silver wires, stand ready to channel energy. Silver, after all, is the best conductor of electricity at ambient temperatures.

    The weather here is peculiar. One side of the site is bathed in rain, while the other remains dry. It¡¯s as if the two elements refuse to belong together. This means that no matter how many clouds gather, the moonlight will still pierce through to the energy gate.

    The charged clouds gather above, signaling that the moment has come. Flashes of light streak across the horizon like the strobe of a camera, illuminating the night sky. Behind me, the heavens remain clear, with the full moon and stars shining bright.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    It begins.

    A bolt of lightning strikes one of the fragile metallic kites. The kite disintegrates instantly, but its sacrifice is not in vain. The immense energy from the sky surges through the silver wire, igniting the magic circle below. Ancient glyphs carved into the megaliths glow with a brilliant light. The energy gate absorbs the light of the blood moon, and from it pours a crimson liquid. Constrained by the ritual circle, this blood-like substance flows steadily toward the central gate, forming a Blood Path.

    The lunar eclipse begins. The Earth¡¯s shadow gradually envelops the moon. The central gate starts to reveal itself, though it remains incomplete until the total eclipse. A translucent red gelatin forms within the space between the two towering megaliths.

    Almost there...

    Suddenly, a cold wind sweeps through, heavy with an oppressive weight. The air feels thick with tension. Faint whispers echo from the energy gate, as if someone on the other side is trying to communicate. The moon is nearly covered, leaving only a faint sliver of light.

    The crimson blood like liquid now fully become a thoroughly soaked Blood Path, and the translucent red light emerge between the megaliths solidifies. I take a deep breath, feeling the energy flow in the air. This is the moment I¡¯ve been waiting for. This has to be the moment. All of my research. All of the time I spend on experimenting. This is it.

    With a decisive step, I approach the central gate.

    The sky gradually darkened, as if the world was sinking into a deeper abyss than usual. The moon, always a symbol of gentleness and light, was now completely veiled by Earth¡¯s shadow. The total lunar eclipse began, and the silver light vanished, leaving only shades of blood and darkness. The ground around me, where the ancient gate stood tall, began to transform rapidly. Streams of bright red liquid, like molten blood, poured forth from nowhere, bubbling and radiating a strange heat that made me instinctively step back.

    The grass around the area withered the moment it touched the crimson liquid. Lush green leaves fell, curled up, and turned to dust in an instant. Life was drained the second it made contact. Only the mound I stood on remained untouched, like a tiny island in a red ocean. I stared at the magical liquid swirling and churning, a mix of fear and curiosity rising within me.

    Kneeling down, I tied a pebble and a piece of white quartz to a silver wire, then slowly dipped them into the crimson pool. When I pulled them out, I was astonished to find the pebble completely dissolved, while the quartz had turned transparent, glowing bright red with vein-like patterns crisscrossing its surface. The silver wire remained unaffected, still gleaming with its pristine luster.

    ¡°No poison,¡± I murmured, ¡°but definitely not something to touch bare-handed.¡± I crouched, observing the liquid closely. Magical materials like silver and gemstones seemed to react violently with it, a clear indication of the immense magical energy within. That energy was unmistakable¡ªthis was the power of the Astral Sea.

    An idea sparked in my mind. If this liquid truly carried energy from the Astral Sea, this was a rare opportunity to enhance magical items. I took out a small silver cauldron, filled it with the magical liquid, and began placing my tools inside: an old tarot deck, a tarnished ceremonial dagger, and a pouch of mixed gemstones.

    Ruby, topaz, amethyst, emerald, sapphire, and tiger¡¯s eye went in one by one. When I pulled them out, each stone shone brilliantly with its characteristic color, as if awakened from a deep slumber. A satisfied smile spread across my face. Success. I carefully filled a flask with the magical liquid for future use, then packed everything back into my bag.

    ¡°Now, I¡¯m ready,¡± I said to myself, eyes fixed on the stone gate. But things didn¡¯t go as smoothly as I¡¯d hoped.

    As I approached the gate, the ground suddenly began to quake violently. An unexpected tremor threw me off balance. I stumbled to the right, and my bag slipped off my shoulder. In my desperate attempt to grab it, both the bag and my right arm plunged into the bubbling crimson liquid.

    The magical liquid splashed onto my face. In that moment, a cold, cutting sensation coursed through my body like a blade. I shot upright, trying to pull my arm free, but when I looked down, I froze in horror. My right arm¡ªit was gone. No pain, no blood, just emptiness where it had once been.

    Stunned, I barely registered the gate shaking more violently. Cracks ran across its stone surface, and massive pieces began to crumble. ¡°The eclipse is ending already?¡± I muttered, confusion lacing my voice. "Lunar eclipses usually last for hours... why did this one end in mere minutes?" Panic surged through me as I added, "Oh shoot! This gate is collapsing!"

    I sprinted toward the gate, my mind blank except for the singular thought of escaping through it before it was too late. With every ounce of strength left in my body, I leaped forward just as the stone gate completely shattered behind me. As the moonlight returned to bathe the land of Stonehenge, everything fell back into eerie stillness. But I was no longer the same. My right arm was lost, and within me churned a mix of fear and curiosity.

    I found myself falling into a white void. Nothing surrounded me but a hollow emptiness. I floated aimlessly, accompanied only by the weight of my consciousness.

    Astral World, I thought. There were no sounds, no warmth, only my awareness drifting in an endless expanse.

    ¡°Visualize: create a door,¡± I whispered. A warm energy surged from within me, like soaking in a hot spring. The energy condensed, forming a door in the infinite space. When the door was complete, I pushed it open and stepped through. Visualization is like elementary school-level witchcraft¡ªbasic stuff. Everyone knows it. If you don¡¯t, well, maybe it¡¯s time to pick up a beginner¡¯s guide to Mysticism 101.

    The Astral World unfolded before me, shimmering like a celestial painting. The infinite space was dotted with countless stars, each representing a unique world. I floated among the galaxies, feeling as weightless as if I were on a raft drifting down a gentle stream. Beneath me was a strange, water-like surface, its translucent ripples separating the Astral World from the physical realm below. This boundary, often referred to as the Astral Surface, mirrored the world above, creating a shimmering reflection of stars and galaxies.

    The Astral Surface is said to be a veil of pure energy, thin yet impenetrable to physical forms. Standing on it feels both grounding and surreal, as if gravity exists but barely holds you. It¡¯s a threshold¡ªa meeting point of the tangible and intangible. As I stood there, marveling at the interconnected vastness, I spun around, a small but exhilarated speck in the grandeur.

    Suddenly, two stars collided right before my eyes. A powerful surge of energy erupted from the impact, creating brilliant trails of light. From what I¡¯d read in the Book of Shadows, this was a rare phenomenon. If the frequencies of two worlds aligned, such events could result in time travel, doppelg?ngers, or exchanges between realities. Otherwise, the worlds could merge, forming a new one.

    I was entranced by the sight, but quickly refocused. Another thought entered my mind: ¡°Visualize: restore the body.¡± With the concentrated magic in this realm, materialization was far easier. I directed the energy to my right elbow, feeling it gather into a sparkling liquid form. The liquid stretched, solidified, and finally shaped itself into a fully functional arm. I clenched my newly-formed hand, laughing aloud in the silent void.

    But before I could relish the moment, my body was suddenly pulled toward another star. The space around me grew brighter and brighter until everything became blindingly white. I struggled against the force, but my body began to dissolve into tiny particles of light. All I could think was: What awaits me in the next place?

    Or maybe I¡¯ll get there and find another freakishly short lunar eclipse waiting for me. What¡¯s next? A world where gravity goes on holiday every Tuesday? Whatever it is, bring it on. I¡¯m ready¡ªor at least, I think I am.

 Chapter 2: Hero seed

    Chapter 2: Hero seed

    I woke up in a familiar white void, but this time, I wasn¡¯t alone. In front of me was a newborn baby, lying still. I tried to shout to it, but no sound came out.

    "Huh? Why can¡¯t I move?"

    I wondered, confused. Then it hit me¡ªof course I couldn¡¯t move. In this state, I had no "body". I''m currently in Astral form, also known as Spirit form. This is a state where my consciousness exists separate from my physical body. In this form, I have no tangible body, no weight, and no ability to physically interact with the world around me. It''s like being a thought given shape, a presence that can observe but not touch. Without a body, I couldn¡¯t move. As I struggled with my helplessness, a shadow appeared above the baby.

    ¡°Drita hath bound me in torment for uncounted ages. The hour hath come for mine return, to reclaim that which was stolen from mine grasp,¡±

    said a deep, angry voice.

    The shadowy figure loomed over the baby, its presence heavy and menacing, as if it could pierce through every thought in my mind. Then, it shifted its gaze toward me. A sudden chill ran through me, sharp and icy, as if the void itself was collapsing around my existence. The weight of its attention was unbearable, pressing down like an invisible hand crushing my very essence. I wanted to recoil, to escape, but without a body, I was utterly defenseless against the suffocating cold.

    ¡°Thou art not of this realm; how hath thee found thy way into mine domain?¡± he asked.

    I didn¡¯t answer, pretending not to hear, see, or know anything at all. But it seemed he didn¡¯t need me to. He continued,

    ¡°Didst thou truly believe I wouldst not discern thy presence? I shall reclaim the realm that Drita hath usurped from mine dominion.¡±

    Before I could react, the shadow enveloped the baby. But from the tiny body, a brilliant light erupted, forcing him back. A serene voice rang out:

    ¡°Irett, thou shalt not return to this realm.¡±

    The light faded, revealing a woman with long, platinum hair. She turned to me and said,

    ¡°I do entrust unto thee the seed of a hero.¡±

    As she dissolved into shimmering particles, leaving behind a teardrop-shaped crystal, Drita turned back toward me one last time. With a swift motion, she pulled my formless presence closer to her and, with surprising strength, cast me into the newborn child below.

    Irett staggered backward, his shadow contorted in fury, and a growl escaped from the void.

    ¡°Drita, thou hast meddled in matters beyond thy right for far too long! Thy light shall not forever prevail, and thy chosen ones shalt crumble before me!¡±

    His words dripped with venom as the dark tendrils writhed around him, consuming everything in their reach. The white void began to change, its shapeless vastness trembling as if it was quished by an invisible hand. The darkness pulled inward, twisting upon itself, while faint, cold flashes of pale light flickered erratically. The air thickened with a crushing energy that bore down on me, as if the surrounding space was bending and breaking apart under Irett¡¯s wrath. All of sudden, his gaze turned once more toward me. A cold dread surged through my very essence, my vision blurring as though the void itself had tightened its grip. The world around me seemed to dissolve, colors and shapes fading into formless shadows. Faint echoes of Irett¡¯s enraged screams echoed through the void, growing softer and more distant, yet still carrying the weight of his anger, as though his fury refused to fade even as his shadow disappeared into the abyss. Slowly, everything faded to darkness, and my sight was swallowed entirely by the void.

    <hr>

    ¡°Gwahaha! Good morning, kids!¡±

    An old man greeted the children with his booming voice.

    "Ah! Old Grewe is here! Old Grewe is here!" The children shouted excitedly, running to greet him. Old Grewe, a seasoned herbalist of the Ruin Archipelago, spent his mornings in the village square selling herbs. His cart was always brimming with fragrant bundles of rare plants he carefully gathered from the wild forests surrounding the island. Despite his many years, his energy seemed endless, his booming laughter often echoing through the streets. Beloved by the villagers, Old Grewe had a gift for weaving stories. Every day, after he finished his work, he would gather the children to share enchanting tales of gods, legendary heroes, and the dark forces lurking in the shadows of their world.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Old Grewe leaned back in his wooden chair, the firelight flickering across his weathered face. Around him, children sat cross-legged on the floor, their eyes wide with wonder as they clutched wooden swords and toy shields. The elder¡¯s voice, deep and warm, filled the small village hall.

    ¡°Long ago,¡± he began,

    ¡°before even time itself existed, there was only endless darkness. But then, Yosua, the Supreme Being, decided to divide His body to create the gods who would govern our universe.¡±

    The children leaned forward as Old Grewe continued, his voice weaving the tale like a tapestry.

    ¡°He split Himself into three parts, giving life to three great beings: Zeit, the god of Time and Space; Drita, the goddess of Light and Life; and Irett, the lord of Darkness and Chaos. Each one carried a piece of His power to shape the world.¡±

    He wave his hands in the air, as if he was crafting the story right before their eyes.

    ¡°Zeit spun the threads of time and space, creating the fabric of the universe. Drita, glowing with golden light, brought forth the sun and breathed life into the land. And Irett, filled with the spirit of chaos, sought to unmake it all.¡±

    ¡°What....what happened then, old Grewe?¡± a boy whispered,

    his voice shaky as he clutched his wooden sword tightly, the tip trembling slightly as if even the thought of Irett¡¯s chaos was too much to bear.

    Grewe¡¯s expression darkened, he gently rested his hand on the boy''s head, offering a moment of comfort amidst the growing tension, his tone somber.

    ¡°Together, the three gods crafted the first world¡ªland, sea, sky, and all living creatures. Yet, while Drita cherished humanity and blessed it with her gifts, Irett viewed the perfection of this world as a grave imbalance. To restore what he deemed fairness, Irett conjured his seven sinister servants, manifestations of the primal sins, to sow chaos and darkness upon the land.¡±

    The children gasped, their toy swords clattering to the floor as they instinctively huddled closer together. Their wide eyes darted between each other, fear etched into their young faces, as Old Grewe described Irett¡¯s creation of dark creatures and his seven sinister servants. The flickering firelight seemed to stretch their shadows unnaturally across the walls, making the story feel uncomfortably real.

    ¡°Luxa, the manifestation of Lust, took the form of a mesmerizing specter with eyes that drew mortals into an endless trance, leading them to ruin.

    Gula, Gluttony personified, was a monstrous entity with an insatiable maw, devouring everything in its path, leaving only desolation.

    Geiz, embodying Greed, was a shimmering serpent that hoarded treasures of the earth, poisoning minds and hearts with its allure.

    Acedia, the essence of Sloth, appeared as a shadowy figure that clung to its victims, draining their will to act or dream.

    Ira, Wrath incarnate, was a fiery beast whose roar shook the heavens, destroying everything in its blind rage.

    Neid, the avatar of Envy, slithered like a venomous mist, turning friends into foes and spreading discord and mistrust.

    Finally, Stolz, Pride embodied, was a towering knight in gleaming armor, whose arrogance blinded even the wisest to reason.

    These seven servants unleashed chaos upon the world in the name of the lord of Darkness and Chaos,¡±

    Grewe said, his voice heavy with foreboding.

    ¡°Their presence corrupted humanity, spreading despair, hatred, and greed, dragging mortals into endless suffering and chaos.¡±

    ¡°The shadows spread,¡± Grewe said,

    his voice low and dramatic.

    ¡°Chaos overtook the land. Humanity was plunged into despair.¡±

    ¡°Did Drita stop him?¡± a short-haired girl asked, her voice trembling.

    Old Grewe nodded gravely.

    ¡°Drita fought Irett with all her might. She sealed him and banish him into the void, but it cost her dearly. Her light began to fade. To protect the future, she used her body to create four legendary treasures: the Sword, the Bow, the Spear, and the Shield. Only those worthy of her blessing, the heroes, can wield them.¡±

    The children¡¯s eyes gleamed with awe.

    ¡°And these heroes,¡± Grewe added, ¡°will one day rise to save the world from the darkness.¡±

    He paused, letting the story sink in. Then, with a mischievous grin, he pointed to one of the boys.

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯ll be you, young one. Will you wield the Sword of Justice?¡±

    The boy leapt up, brandishing his toy sword.

    ¡°I¡¯ll defeat all the monsters!¡± he declared.

    ¡°No way! Spears are better! I¡¯ll protect the village!¡±

    Another child waved her wooden spear.

    Grewe laughed heartily, but his laughter faded as he glanced out the window. The sky, painted with streaks of red clouds, seemed unsettling. The elder¡¯s expression turned serious.

    ¡°But remember, children,¡± he said quietly, leaning forward and lowering his voice to a grave whisper.

    ¡°You must always behave and listen. Playing tricks might seem fun, but if you go too far, the dark lord¡¯s servants might come to take you away.¡±

    The children nodded quickly, their faces pale with fear. Even the boldest among them dared not argue with Old Grewe¡¯s warning. Satisfied, Grewe straightened up and told children to return to their homes. As the children left, Old Grewe turned to the window, his eyes narrowing at the strange red streaks in the sky. His face tightened with worry, the lines on his weathered features deepening as though he carried a heavy, silent burden. He thought about the tales he had just told, wondering if they were mere stories or an omen of what was to come. The strange colors in the sky unsettled him deeply, and he whispered to himself,

    ¡°Now this is unsual?¡±

    His heart suddenly weighed heavy with confusion.

    As if on cue, a sudden light split the sky, followed by a thunderous roar. The ground trembled, and a strange silence fell over the room. The children huddled close to Grewe as the village outside erupted into chaos. Tonight, the old story felt less like a tale and more like a warning.

 Chapter 3: The Omen

    Chapter 3: The Omen

    A flash of light tore across the midnight sky, forming a massive column of radiance that connected the heavens and the earth. The beam shimmered with swirling hues of gold and silver, pulsating as though alive. Its brilliance was so intense that the villagers instinctively shielded their eyes. Beneath their feet, the ground trembled violently, and a deafening hum filled the air, as though the world itself were straining under an immense weight. Dust erupted into the atmosphere, cloaking the small village of Cheldea in a thick, choking veil. When the energy subsided, a massive explosion followed, leaving behind a charred, smoking crater that radiated heat and raw power.

    "A teleportation? Here?" Old man Grewe muttered, his voice barely audible over the crackling remnants of energy. "What would come to such a place?"

    The villagers froze in shock, their hearts pounding. The oppressive quiet that followed the blast was even more unnerving than the explosion itself. Whispers rippled through the crowd, hushed and fearful:

    ¡°Did you see that light? What could it mean?¡±

    ¡°No one human could survive that blast¡­ could they?¡±

    ¡°Is this a warning from the gods?¡±

    ¡°Or something far worse?¡±

    As the dust began to settle, a faint silhouette emerged from the glow. The figure stumbled forward, unsteady, cloaked in tattered, blood-stained fabric. It wasn¡¯t something¡ªit was someone. A man, weary and broken, cradled a child in his arms.

    The child clutched a small cradle, its frail arms trembling as it held on tightly. The cradle, though simple and delicate, seemed imbued with an inexplicable importance. The man, though covered in wounds and barely standing, moved with a fierce determination, his eyes glinting with a defiance that refused to yield to his battered state.

    The villagers edged closer, keeping a wary distance. No one dared to speak. The man¡¯s legs finally gave way, and he collapsed to his knees. His body trembled as he shielded the child with his arms, as though protecting it from unseen dangers. Blood seeped from the edges of his torn cloak, pooling beneath him. He raised his head weakly, lips cracked and dry, and whispered hoarsely:

    "He''s back..."

    Before anyone could react, the man collapsed fully to the ground, still clutching the child. His words lingered in the air, sending chills down the spines of everyone who heard them. For a moment, no one moved, fear rooting them in place. The child, no older than five, knelt beside the fallen man, their wide, vacant eyes staring at the cradle in their trembling hands. A faint, ethereal glow emanated from it, casting eerie shadows on the faces of the gathered villagers.

    Grewe, the village elder, was the first to step forward. His lined face betrayed both caution and concern. ¡°Stay back,¡± he ordered softly, though his own hands trembled. He crouched beside the man, pressing two fingers to his neck.

    ¡°He¡¯s alive,¡± Grewe announced, though his tone carried little reassurance. He turned to his wife, a skilled healer who had already begun preparing a salve. ¡°We¡¯ll need every bit of your skill. Quickly.¡±

    The villagers remained silent, their unease palpable. Some whispered among themselves:

    ¡°Who is he?¡±

    ¡°What did he mean by ¡®he¡¯s back¡¯?¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Is this an omen?¡±

    The child didn¡¯t react to the voices around them, sat motionless, cradling the newborn wrapped in the tattered cloak, its pale face emotionless. Grewe¡¯s wife approached cautiously, her healer¡¯s instincts taking over. She knelt beside the child, reaching out to touch the newborn within the cradle. Her fingers brushed against its cold skin, and she gasped.

    ¡°Grewe,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling. ¡°This baby¡­ it¡¯s alive, but barely. Its skin is ice cold.¡±

    Grewe¡¯s brow furrowed. He reached for the cradle, his hands steady despite the unease gripping him. When he peered inside, he froze. The newborn lay completely still, its tiny body pale and fragile. Its skin had an almost translucent quality, as if it were carved from fragile glass. A faint glow radiated from its chest, like the flicker of a dying ember.

    ¡°What kind of child is this?¡± Grewe muttered to himself. He glanced at the older child, whose wide, unblinking eyes stared at him. ¡°And why bring it here, to our village?¡±

    The stranger stirred faintly, drawing Grewe¡¯s attention. His breaths were shallow and labored, each one a struggle. Summoning the last of his strength, the man grasped Grewe¡¯s arm. His grip was weak but insistent. With ragged breaths, he rasped:

    ¡°Protect¡­ the child. The seal¡­ is weakening. They¡­ are coming¡­¡±

    His hand fell limp, and his eyes closed for the last time. Grewe sat back, his mind racing with questions he couldn¡¯t voice. The gathered villagers exchanged uneasy glances, the tension in the air growing thicker.

    Grewe¡¯s wife broke the silence. ¡°We must take the children inside. They won¡¯t survive the night in this cold.¡±

    Grewe hesitated. He looked at the lifeless stranger, then at the trembling older child. Something in their hollow gaze struck him deeply. Finally, he nodded.

    ¡°We can¡¯t leave them out here,¡± he said firmly.

    ¡°Whatever burden they carry, they¡¯re here now. We must care for them.¡±

    The villagers murmured in agreement, their fear tempered by compassion. The child lay silently, unable to express any feeling, yet there was a strange sense of safety emanating from the room. These people¡ªstrangers who didn¡¯t know who or what the child was or where it had come from¡ªhad still opened their arms to protect it during this most vulnerable moment. The flickering light of the hearth cast shadows across their faces, shadows that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken questions and fears. Even in their uncertainty, they chose kindness over fear, their actions driven by an instinct to preserve life, no matter how strange or mysterious. In that small room, amidst the storm of doubt, a fragile yet powerful bond began to form¡ªa promise of guardianship that none dared to voice aloud but all silently understood.

    Grewe¡¯s wife gently lifted the newborn from the cradle, cradling it against her chest.

    ¡°It¡¯s alive,¡± she said softly, as though convincing herself. ¡°As long as it breathes, we have a chance to help it.¡±

    Grewe approached the older child, kneeling to meet their gaze. His voice was gentle but steady.

    ¡°Come with us,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ll take care for both of you.¡±

    The child hesitated, clutching the empty cradle tightly. Its small hands trembled, but after a moment, it nodded faintly. Grewe reached out his hand, rough from years of work but steady. The child¡¯s small hand shook as it hovered uncertainly before finally taking his. Their grip was weak and unsure, barely holding onto his fingers. Grewe held on gently but firmly, offering silent reassurance that they were safe and would not be left alone.

    The three of them made their way to Grewe¡¯s small cottage. The villagers watched in silence, their whispers fading as the group disappeared into the warm glow of the hearth light. Inside, Grewe¡¯s wife busied herself tending to the children.

    The older child sat quietly by the fire, its thin frame hunched forward as though the weight of the world rested on its small shoulders. The eyes, shadowed with exhaustion, were fixed on the newborn, unblinking and intense, as though nothing else in the world mattered. Every so often, its hands would twitch, clutching their knees, a subtle sign of nerves or fear that it could not put into words. Its breathing was shallow, uneven, as if they were holding in some invisible storm threatening to break free. Yet, in that moment, it remained still, bound by an unspoken responsibility that seemed far too heavy for someone so young.

    Grewe and his wife exchanged a glance. Unspoken understanding passed between them¡ªan acknowledgment that their lives had just changed irrevocably.

    ¡°We will protect them,¡± Grewe said quietly. ¡°Whatever comes, we¡¯ll face it together.¡±

    Outside, the wind howled through the night, carrying with it the faint cry of a distant animal. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows over the village. Though the warmth of the hearth filled the cottage, an unshakable sense of foreboding lingered in the air¡ªa silent promise of the trials to come.

 Chapter 4: The Journey Begin

    Chapter 4: The Journey begin

    The first thing Jul noticed was a disorienting haze. He thought he opened his eyes, but the world around him was blurred, filled with dim lights and shadowy shapes cloaked in a thick fog. His body felt distant, foreign, as though it wasn¡¯t his. Everything was cold, as if he had been broken into fragments and clumsily reassembled.

    ¡°Where am I?¡± The question echoed in his mind, but no sound left the lips. He tried to move a finger, but his body didn¡¯t respond. All he could feel was an icy numbness, as if frost had encased every part of him.

    "Am I still alive?" The thought consumed him as a faint, unsteady heartbeat drummed in his ears. It wasn¡¯t familiar; it felt strange, weak. Like the faint flicker of a candle on the verge of extinguishing. The realization struck like lightning: this body is a body of a newborn. It was far too small and fragile.

    He then heard voices drifted from above, muffled and distant. They sounded distorted, like echoes bouncing through water. The words were incomprehensible, fragmented bits of conversation that refused to take shape.

    He thought he heard a woman¡¯s voice, her tone tinged with worry, but the meaning slipped away before he could grasp it.

    "Why can¡¯t I understand them?" Jul thought.

    "Is it because of this body? Or is it a language I¡¯ve never heard before? Either way, I need to figure this out fast. Whoever she is, her voice doesn¡¯t sound hostile¡ªthere¡¯s concern there, but I¡¯m helpless right now. This is frustrating."

    Then, a sudden chill pulled him out from his thoughts. A rough hand touched his skin. The faint warmth it carried felt almost foreign against the overwhelming cold that enveloped him. Someone was looking at him

    "I could feel their presence" he thought.

    "Even though this body is fragile and burdensome, my consciousness remains as sharp and clear as it was on Earth."

    "But I couldn¡¯t move to see them. My body felt heavy. Felt like a cage. Now this is annoying"

    Another voice spoke. It was deeper, heavier, carrying a foreboding tone that sent a shiver through him. Though he didn¡¯t understand the language, but the tension and fear in their voices were unmistakable.

    Slowly, the murmurs faded, replaced by a heavy silence that pressed down like a weight. He felt himself being carried, though he couldn¡¯t tell where. His thoughts circled endlessly, fixating on the body he now inhabited. He tried to move again, to flex those tiny fingers or toes, but the weak, cold form remained unresponsive. A sinking realization settled in his chest: He had definitely become a child. Not just any child, it''s a newborn milk sucking tiny human.

    He forced himself to breathe deeply, calming the whirlwind of emotions in his mind.

    "Well, it''s a fresh start!" he thought, excitement bubbling within him. "Let''s see what wonders this world holds for me!"

    Instinctively, he reached inward, searching for something familiar.

    "Breathe in pure, let Qi flow clear,The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Gather it deep, where strength draws near.

    Through Ren it climbs, to crown it goes,

    Through Du it falls, the cycle grows.

    Yin and Yang in balance flow," he chanted in his mind.

    First, he breathed in deeply to calm his mind, feeling the density of energy around him.

    Second, he focused on gathering energy at the Dantian, located about three fingers above the belly button.

    Third, he directed the Qi to flow through the Ren channel, moving upward.

    Fourth, he guided the Qi to flow downward through the Du channel, completing the Microcosmic Orbit.

    Lastly, as the cycle ended, the energy returned to the Dantian, creating harmony between Yin and Yang.

    To his surprise, the dantian stirred faintly. Energy, faint but familiar, began to spread through his body¡¯s pathways. He focused deeply, reaching out to the world around him. Slowly, he tried to gather the energy from the air, the earth beneath him, the surrounding trees, and even the faint warmth of fire lingering in the atmosphere. Each element offered its unique pulse, flowing toward him like streams converging into a river. As it flowed, he became acutely aware of the world around him. The energy here was extraordinary¡ªthick and potent, saturating the air like an invisible mist.

    "Just by the first step of Qi gathering, I can feel the energy around me flood inside this body like a magnet."

    "If I trained in this environment, my progress would be unmatched."

    He had been reborn, and this was only the beginning.

    Having confirmed that the Qi gathering technique worked seamlessly in this new environment, he decided to push further. Despite the limitations of his infant body, his mind remained sharp. Carefully, he began experimenting with the energy flow, channeling it toward specific points within his body. He aimed for the meridians, the energy pathways running through the body. These pathways acted like rivers, carrying Qi to different parts of the body to nourish and strengthen it. By guiding the energy through these channels, he could awaken dormant connections and improve the flow, making the body stronger and more responsive.

    Jul knew there were twelve main meridians, each corresponding to vital organs such as the heart, lungs, liver, and stomach, among others. These pathways formed the foundation of Qi flow in the body. Additionally, there were eight extra meridians, often referred to as the extraordinary vessels, which supported and supplemented the main channels. To fully open all energy pathways, Jul would need to unblock all twenty meridians.

    "Twenty pathways to complete mastery," he thought. "It¡¯s going to take time, but every step will bring me closer to the potential this world offers." It was a slow process, like coaxing life into a withered plant, but he could feel the faint tingling as Qi began responding to his intent.

    He visualized small spheres of energy forming in his hands and feet, anchoring the flow. As the spheres solidified and the energy flowed smoothly, he felt the first stirrings of strength in his fragile body.

    "Nice. I can feel the numbness in my limbs fading away," Jul murmured as he slowly tried to close and open his palm. The movement was small but deliberate, signaling the first signs of control over his fragile body. Though the process was slow and required intense focus, Jul could sense the pathways responding, becoming clearer with each cycle. His determination grew as he realized: every small success was a step closer to rebuilding his strength in this new world. Though his body protested with its fragility, he pressed on, determined to establish a foundation. The dense energy of this world supported his efforts, almost as if it welcomed his presence.

    "This body may be small, but it will adapt," he thought, his confidence growing. ""The potential here is limitless," he thought, his mind racing with excitement. "There are no limits to what man can achieve. Not even the sky is a boundary¡ªfor there are skies above skies, each more vast than the one below."

    "Above the heavens and beneath the earth, I alone am supreme," Jul whispered to himself. "A thousand skies and a thousand lands, yet I am unrivaled."

    Between cycles of energy cultivation, he began to attune himself to the natural elements around him. The air carried a refreshing clarity, the earth offered grounding stability, and the faint echoes of fire brought warmth to his core. Even the stillness of water in the unseen distance seemed to resonate within him. Each element complemented the other, weaving a balance that he could harness.

    A plan formed in his mind. "If I can strengthen this fragile vessel, I¡¯ll have the foundation I need to uncover this world¡¯s secrets. For now, I must focus on refining the basics. One step at a time."

 Chapter 5: The Meridian

    Chapter 5: The Meridian

    The first rays of sunlight pierced through the cracks in the crumbling walls of the hut. The once oppressive darkness was now replaced by a golden hue, illuminating the faint dust particles floating in the air. Jul lay on the small cot, his tiny body barely taking up any space, but his mind was alive, brimming with determination. He was no ordinary infant. The soul within this fragile vessel held the knowledge and discipline of a former world, and today marked the beginning of his path to power in this one.

    His small chest rose and fell with deliberate breaths, each one measured. The air around him felt alive with energy, an unseen force saturating the environment, ready to be harnessed. For Jul, this wasn¡¯t just a new day; it was the start of rebuilding himself from the ground up.

    The hut was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves outside and the gentle hum of nature awakening to the day. Old Man Grewe had left early to gather herbs, muttering about finding the freshest dew-laden plants before the sun fully rose. His wife remained, tending to the other child who had arrived with Jul, offering food and warmth to the older sibling who still clung tightly to the cradle.

    Jul, however, had only one focus. Cultivation.

    "As an infant, much of my time will be spent sleeping, which feels like such a waste. I need to find a way to cultivate even while I sleep. The first step is to focus on building a solid foundation. This fragile vessel must adapt to the Small Circulation technique before I can push further." He thought.

    He closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath through his tiny lungs. Despite the weakness of his physical form, his mind reached out to the energy around him. The Qi in the air was rich, almost intoxicating. It swirled like a gentle breeze, brushing against his senses, waiting to be invited in.

    Jul focused inward, visualizing his dantian as a calm void.

    "I need to guide this energy toward my dantian like water flowing to a quiet lake."

    With each breath, he drew energy from the surroundings, guiding it toward the datian, slowly and calmly. Any hush could lead to a major internally injury. The energy rippled, steady and controlled, as he began forming a cycle. The Small Circulation begins at the dantian, flowing upward through the Ren Meridian to the crown of the head, then descending along the spine through the Du Meridian, returning to the dantian. With each cycle, the energy gathered in the dantian spirals like a whirlwind, twisting and merging into a seamless, endless flow, resembling an eternal vortex of power.

    The process was slow. This body, so new and undeveloped, resisted the surge of Qi, but Jul¡¯s determination was unwavering.

    "I have to be careful not to draw in too much Qi at once, or this fragile vessel will break," Jul thought with caution. He carefully breathed in the energy, letting it flow gently as he worked to cleanse each cell of his body.

    He cycled the energy through his meridians, carefully avoiding any abrupt movements that might cause harm. It was like threading a delicate needle, but each successful pass brought a sense of accomplishment.

    "The twelve main meridians must be cleared step by step," he reminded himself. "Rushing this will only lead to internal chaos."

    As Jul breathed in, energy from the outside surged into his tiny body, washing through every cell like a cleansing tide. When he exhaled, a thick white fog drifted out, heavy and dense, like mist on a winter morning. To an outsider, it might have looked like the cold air condensing around him, but in reality, that fog carried away the impurities buried deep within his fragile form. This was no ordinary mist¡ªit was the waste expelled from the very essence of his being.

    With each cycle, subtle transformations began to take place. Jul could feel his skin becoming smoother yet tougher, like the first layer of a protective shell forming. His tiny muscles gained a slight firmness, and even his delicate bones seemed to strengthen, as though fortified from within. These micro improvements, though small, filled Jul with a profound sense of progress.

    "This body is changing," he thought, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his mind. "Every breath brings me closer to turning this fragile shell into a foundation worthy of my goals." The process not only cleansed his body but also breathed new life into it, preparing him step by step for the challenges of cultivation ahead.

    Days turned into weeks, and the sun continued its cycle, rising and setting over the quiet hut. By now, Jul was a month old, though his physical form still appeared fragile and infantile. Yet within, his body and spirit were undergoing profound transformations. Each day brought steady progress, and Jul''s tiny form remained seemingly motionless, but within him, a storm of activity continued to take place.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    "This should be enough for the first Meridian: Lung,"

    Jul thought as he examined the energy gathered in his dantian. The dense energy within swirled like a steamy fog, forming a whirlwind that grew stronger with each rotation. It was a stark contrast to the beginning when his dantian had been completely empty, a silent void with no trace of power. Now, it pulsed with life, a growing reservoir of energy. "From nothing to this... and it¡¯s only the start," he reflected with a sense of accomplishment.

    "This place is incredible," he mused.

    "The energy here is so abundant that I¡¯m building it up faster than I ever expected. It¡¯s like drinking from an endless fountain of power."

    "Okay so let¡¯s start with the Lung Meridian, the first of the twelve paths,"

    Jul thought as he focused his mind. The Lung Meridian plays a vital role, governing the amount intake of breath and the energy exchange with the air.

    "The first step is always the hardest. But since a newborn''s body has no impurities in its meridians, I can cleanse and clear them much faster than expected."

    As Qi flowed through this channel, Jul felt a slight resistance. It was like encountering a partially blocked river. As Qi attempted to flow through, Jul felt a heavy pressure pressing on his chest, squeezing his lungs tightly. The sensation radiated down his arms and hands, leaving them numb. He gritted his teeth mentally, knowing this was the pathway of the Lung Meridian resisting his effort to clear it. He didn¡¯t push; instead, he coaxed the energy gently, letting it wash over the blockage again and again until it began to loosen. The sensation was subtle but rewarding, like feeling the first cracks in a dam.

    "Progress," he thought, a faint smile crossing his lips.

    The first cycle was complete, and Jul immediately moved to stabilize the Qi within the Lung Meridian. This time, the flow was smoother, the resistance lessened. He continued, repeating the process until the meridian was clear, leaving behind a pathway that pulsed with vitality.

    Jul heard a crack inside his chest as the Lung Meridian cleared. Suddenly, air rushed into his lungs, filling them completely. It was like being deprived of air for an eternity and then breathing in fresh oxygen from an oxygene tank. The whirlwind of energy in his dantian spun faster, growing denser and more concentrated with each passing moment. He felt a rush of vitality surge through him, as if his entire body was awakening for the first time.

    As the Lung Meridian cleared, Jul felt a chilling sensation sweep through his entire body. It was as if each cell had transformed into cold metal, reflecting the element of the Lung Meridian itself. With this breakthrough, he felt a new power awakening within him¡ªa unique ability tied to the Lung Meridian. His body seemed to instinctively regulate his breath and Qi flow more efficiently, even drawing energy passively through each breath. This ability extended to his sleep, ensuring the cultivation process never truly stopped, allowing him to grow stronger without interruption. After the Lung Meridian was cleared, Jul noticed the energy coating each of his cells, making them stronger and more resilient. His lungs gained a new ability¡ªthey could now detoxify harmful substances to a certain extent. Jul thought to himself,

    "If I continue to cultivate and grow stronger, this power might make me immune to toxins entirely."

    The day wore on, and Jul¡¯s focus remained unbroken since he had nothing to do beside eat sleep and cultivation. By the time a week had passed, the transformations within his body had become undeniable. After unlocking the ability to passively gather energy, his cultivation had entered a new phase. Even during his sleep, the energy flowed steadily through his meridians, enhancing his progress. By the end of the week, the changes in Jul¡¯s physical form were no longer subtle.

    His skin now had a slight glow, appearing smoother and tougher, as if reinforced by the very energy he absorbed. His previously fragile bones carried a newfound strength, and his tiny muscles, though still underdeveloped, seemed denser and more responsive. The once frail and delicate infant now radiated an aura of vitality, as though life itself coursed more vibrantly through his veins.

    Old Man Grewe, ever observant, had started to notice these changes. While tending to Jul one evening, he paused, his calloused hand resting lightly on the child¡¯s forehead. ¡°Strange,¡± he muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. ¡°This boy doesn¡¯t seem like other newborns. His skin feels firmer, warmer... and his breathing¡ªso steady and strong. It¡¯s almost unnatural.¡±

    Mrs. Grewe, a healer by nature, had also remarked on Jul¡¯s rapid growth.

    ¡°It¡¯s as if he¡¯s thriving on something more than just milk,¡±

    she had whispered one night, her voice tinged with awe and a hint of unease.

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t cry or fuss like other infants. There¡¯s a calmness about him, almost like... he¡¯s aware.¡±

    Jul, though aware of their observations, remained focused inward. ¡°This progress is faster than I expected,¡± he thought. ¡°The passive gathering is more efficient than I could have hoped for. Each day, I can feel my body adapting, growing stronger.¡±

    By the week¡¯s end, Jul had fully cleared the Large Intestine Meridian and had begun working on the Stomach Meridian. Clearing the Large Intestine Meridian unlocked a unique ability: Jul found that his body now processed impurities and toxins with incredible efficiency, further purifying his flesh and enhancing his stamina. He noticed that his energy reserves replenished faster, and even minor discomforts within his fragile body seemed to heal at an accelerated pace. "This is more than I expected," he mused. "It¡¯s like my body is learning to adapt and thrive on its own." With each passing day, the energy within his dantian grew denser, swirling like a storm contained within a calm lake. The once laborious cycles of Qi circulation now felt almost natural, as though his body was beginning to operate on instinct.

    The transformations, while still in their early stages, were setting a solid foundation for what Jul knew would be an extraordinary path. ¡°This is just the beginning,¡± he thought with a faint smile. ¡°One week in, and I¡¯m already surpassing expectations. Let¡¯s see how far this body can go.¡±

 Chapter 6: Leon

    Chapter 6: Leon

    The air in the dimly lit hall felt heavy, almost choking. Flickering torches threw uneven shadows on the cold stone walls, making the place feel alive in the worst way. It smelled damp, with a faint burnt odor lingering, a reminder of some past calamity. Five men stood in a half-circle, their heads low, their breathing shallow. This wasn¡¯t just a hall¡ªit felt like a tomb, a place where silence hung thick and threatening, daring anyone to disturb it.

    ¡°You failed.¡±

    The words cut through the silence like a blade. The voice was deep and commanding, sharp as thunder, the kind that made arguments shrivel before they could form.

    One of the men, a scar running down his cheek, hesitated before stepping forward. His voice quivered when he spoke. ¡°My lord,¡± he began, ¡°they used a transportation scroll¡ª¡±

    ¡°Spare me your excuses,¡± the voice interrupted, sharp and cold. ¡°You come back to me with nothing?¡± The shadows in the hall seemed to quiver as the words echoed, pressing closer to the group.

    The scarred man¡¯s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his voice cracking. ¡°We underestimated¡­ the butler. He was more skilled than¡ª¡±

    ¡°Skilled?¡± The word dripped with disdain, heavy and bitter. ¡°A mere servant outsmarted you? Do you understand what your failure has cost me? What it could destroy? My name, my plans¡ªyou¡¯ve tarnished it all. And you think you deserve another chance?¡±

    The man fell to his knees, trembling.

    ¡°My lord, I beg you, we can still¡ª¡±

    ¡°Enough.¡±

    The single word cracked through the air like a whip. The torches flared violently, their light stretching and twisting the shadows into jagged shapes.

    ¡°Do you think I tolerate failure?¡±

    The voice dropped lower, a soft, venomous hiss. ¡°Let this be your lesson.¡±

    The scarred man screamed as dark energy erupted around him, tendrils of shadow coiling and twisting until they engulfed him completely. The air grew icy, the kind of cold that seeped into the soul. The others watched, frozen in terror, as the man¡¯s form dissolved into ash, leaving nothing but a faint, dark outline on the stone floor.

    Silence returned, broken only by the unsteady breaths of the remaining men. The weight of the room felt even heavier now, crushing and merciless.

    ¡°Does anyone else wish to fail me?¡± the voice asked, low and seething with malice.

    ¡°Or will you do as I command?¡±

    ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± they answered, their voices weak and trembling with fear.

    ¡°Good.¡± The voice was colder now, more dangerous.

    ¡°Find the newborn. Bring it to me. And this time, there shall be no mistake.¡±

    Without another word, the men scattered, their hurried footsteps echoing down the stone corridors until the hall was silent once more.

    <hr>

    From the moment he awoke each morning, Leon took it upon himself to contribute to the household. Though young, his actions were driven by a discipline far beyond his years. While Mrs. Grewe prepared breakfast, Leon would sweep the dusty floors with a broom nearly as tall as himself. He carried buckets of water from the nearby well, his small frame straining under the weight but never faltering.

    Old Man Grewe often chuckled at the sight. ¡°You¡¯re a hard worker, lad. Reminds me of my younger days.¡±

    Leon would only nod, too focused on his task to reply. Despite his age, he seemed to understand the value of hard work. He wanted to repay the kindness the Grewes had shown, but more than that, he wanted to grow stronger¡ªto be someone worthy of protecting Jul.

    When chores were done, Leon would slip into the small clearing behind the house. There, amidst the tall grass and scattered stones, he trained. With a stick he had fashioned into a makeshift sword, he mimicked the movements of knights he had once seen or fleeting memories. Each swing, each lunge, was deliberate, practiced. The boy¡¯s determination burned brighter than the midday sun.

    ¡°One day,¡± Leon whispered to himself, ¡°I¡¯ll be strong enough to face anything, to protect him.¡±

    Though his movements were unrefined and his body often ached from the exertion, Leon refused to stop. He practiced until his small hands were blistered and his legs trembled beneath him. He knew that strength was not given but earned, and he was willing to pay the price.

    Leon¡¯s days were not solely consumed by chores and training. Much of his time was spent by Jul¡¯s side. The infant rarely cried, rarely fussed, but Leon sensed there was something extraordinary about him. Jul¡¯s quiet demeanor and steady breathing gave an air of serenity that was almost unnatural. It wasn¡¯t just that he was calm; it was as if the infant held a presence far beyond his age, a silent power resting just beneath the surface. Leon often found himself drawn to Jul, watching over him with a mixture of curiosity and awe.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°He¡¯s no ordinary child,¡± Leon thought one day as he gently rocked the cradle. "There¡¯s something about him¡ªsomething important. My duty is to protect him, no matter what."

    While Mrs. Grewe tended to Jul, Leon would watch closely, his bright eyes scanning for any sign of discomfort. When the old couple were busy, he took on the role of caretaker with surprising competence. He would gently rock Jul¡¯s cradle, humming tunes he barely remembered from his past. At night, he kept watch, ensuring the infant was warm and safe.

    ¡°You¡¯re different, aren¡¯t you, my lord?¡± Leon whispered one evening as he stared at Jul. The baby¡¯s skin seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, and his breathing was impossibly steady. ¡°I must protect you. It¡¯s my duty as your knight,¡± he said, a faint smile crossing his face as he vowed silently to uphold his duty.

    He didn¡¯t expect an answer, but somehow, Jul¡¯s calm presence felt like reassurance. It was as if the infant, despite his silence, understood.

    Both Old Man Grewe and his wife had taken note of Leon¡¯s unusual maturity.

    ¡°The boy works harder than most grown men I know,¡± Grewe remarked one evening as he sat by the hearth, a pipe in hand.

    Mrs. Grewe nodded. ¡°He¡¯s got a good heart. And the way he looks after the baby... It¡¯s like he¡¯s already a big brother.¡±

    ¡°More than that,¡± Old Grewe said thoughtfully. ¡°There¡¯s something driving him. Something deep. You can see it in his eyes.¡±

    Their conversations often circled back to the two mysterious children who had come into their lives so suddenly. While Jul¡¯s otherworldly aura raised questions, Leon¡¯s unrelenting resolve left them in quiet admiration.

    "Think you should teach him some of your skills, old man?" Mrs. Grewe asked with a sly smile.

    Old Man Grewe chuckled, "If the lad can keep up, maybe I will."

    With that, he hefted his axe, and a radiant golden light began to pulse from the blade. The energy seemed to hum in the air, resonating with an unseen force. With a powerful stomp, the ground trembled slightly, sending a pile of logs bouncing upward. In a single fluid motion, he swung the glowing axe, releasing shimmering golden air slashes that sliced cleanly through the wood. Each log fell into perfectly cut chunks, ready for the fire stove.

    "Efficient, isn¡¯t it?"

    He said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he rested the axe against his shoulder. Mrs. Grewe rolled her eyes, but there was a glimmer of admiration in her gaze.

    Suddenly, Mrs. Grewe paused in her work, a thoughtful expression crossing her face.

    ¡°About the little one,¡± she began, her tone tinged with curiosity and caution.

    Old Man Grewe looked up from his chair, raising an eyebrow. ¡°What about him?¡± he asked, his voice gruff but intrigued.

    Mrs. Grewe hesitated for a moment before speaking. ¡°I used my skill to observe him more closely,¡± she said, her voice quieter now. ¡°His breathing... it¡¯s not normal. There¡¯s an energy flow surrounding him, moving in and out with every breath. It¡¯s subtle but unmistakable.¡±

    Old Man Grewe¡¯s brow furrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. ¡°Energy flow, you say? Like the kind mages harness in their secret practices?¡±

    She nodded, her eyes lingering on the cradle where Jul lay, serene and quiet. ¡°It¡¯s unlike anything I¡¯ve seen before. It¡¯s as if he¡¯s naturally drawing energy from the surroundings without any effort at all. Even in his sleep, the flow continues, steady and unbroken. It¡¯s almost... otherworldly.¡±

    Old Man Grewe¡¯s brow furrowed as he let out a low whistle. ¡°Even I needed decades of practice to control my mana flow just through breathing. If he¡¯s doing it naturally... well, that changes everything.¡±

    For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearth. Old Man Grewe finally spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. ¡°If that¡¯s true, then the boy¡¯s no ordinary child. There¡¯s something special about him¡ªsomething we¡¯ll need to watch closely.¡±

    "And... we have to keep him out of sight of those hypocrites," Old Grewe said firmly, his voice heavy with a mix of caution and resolve. He glanced out the window, his eyes narrowing as if scanning the horizon for unseen threats.

    "The Church and the royal court," he continued, his tone sharpening, "they¡¯re always searching for children with rare talents, those they call ¡®gifted seeds.¡¯ They take them away, mold them into weapons, pawns for their games of power. This little one... they¡¯d never leave him alone if they knew what he was capable of."

    Mrs. Grewe¡¯s face darkened, a rare display of anger crossing her normally kind features. "It¡¯s not just the boy they¡¯d take," she said quietly. "They¡¯d tear apart anyone who tries to protect him."

    Old Grewe nodded solemnly. "We¡¯ll protect him, no matter what. But we have to be careful. Keep him hidden, keep him safe. The world out there is ruthless, and if they find him... well, I shudder to think what they¡¯d do."

    Months had passed, and Leon¡¯s progress was subtle but meaningful, reflecting the tireless efforts of a determined child. His small frame, while still lacking the strength of maturity, now carried itself with a newfound sense of purpose. His posture was straighter, his grip steadier, and there was an unmistakable spark of resolve in his eyes. The blisters on his hands from training and chores had begun to harden into calluses¡ªa visible testament to his growing resilience and grit.

    Leon¡¯s improvement wasn¡¯t quick, but it was steady and deliberate. During his mock training sessions, he showed a knack for adaptation. He adjusted his footing, experimented with different angles of attack, and learned from every mistake. His movements, while still clumsy, began to show traces of thought and strategy. His stick, crude as it was, became a symbol of his unyielding dedication.

    One afternoon, Old Man Grewe stood watching from the doorway, his pipe in hand, as Leon swung and lunged with his makeshift weapon. The boy¡¯s determination brought a rare smile to the old man¡¯s weathered face.

    ¡°Hold your stick like this,¡± Grewe said, walking over and adjusting Leon¡¯s grip. His calloused hands guided the boy¡¯s small fingers into place. ¡°And don¡¯t waste your energy overextending. Balance is everything.¡±

    Leon nodded, his wide eyes fixed on Grewe with unshakable focus. He mimicked the old man¡¯s movements, though his execution remained rough. Every mistake led to another attempt, and every attempt brought a tiny improvement.

    By the end of their session, Grewe chuckled softly, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯ve got spirit, lad. Keep at it, and you might just make something of yourself one day.¡±

    Leon felt a flicker of pride, but it was quickly overshadowed by a deeper resolve. His thoughts turned to Jul, the infant he had sworn to protect. He gripped his stick tighter, silently promising, ¡°I¡¯ll get stronger. For him. For us both.¡±

    Nearby, under the shade of an apple tree, Jul sat quietly, his infant form strangely serene. Though his eyes were closed, his small body seemed to radiate an inexplicable calm, as though even in his silence, he was meditating on something far beyond the understanding of a child. Leon glanced at him briefly and felt a renewed determination swell within him. This wasn¡¯t just about strength¡ªit was about ensuring Jul¡¯s safety in a world that felt far too dangerous for someone so small.

 Chapter 7: Cover

    Chapter 7: Cover

    The second month in the Grewe household marked a turning point for Jul. Though he was only an infant by appearance, his progress was nothing short of extraordinary. His once faint and steady aura began to grow subtly more vibrant. To someone who didn¡¯t know, Jul seemed like a treasure as an unusually calm baby, so peaceful and never bother the adults. But to the Grewe''s, who had decades of experience with energy and subtle magics, Jul was like a storm gathering power in silence. Both he and his wife couldn¡¯t help but feel they were seeing something truly unique, something they had never imagined before.

    Old Man Grewe often found himself wondering late at night.

    "What kind of life lies ahead for a child like this?" he mused as he sat by the dim firelight.

    "Power like his will attract attention, and attention like that brings nothing but danger."

    Mrs. Grewe shared her husband¡¯s unease, though her thoughts were tinged with a motherly protectiveness.

    "He¡¯s just a baby," she would whisper to herself as she rocked Jul to sleep.

    "Whatever he is meant to become, he deserves to grow up safe, to know kindness before the world¡¯s cruelty."

    Their combined resolve deepened with each passing day, as did their fear of what might happen should Jul¡¯s secret ever be discovered. One evening, as the fire crackled softly, Mrs. Grewe voiced her thoughts aloud, her knitting needles paused mid-stitch.

    "Osric, what if someone finds out about him? What if they come for him?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

    Old Man Grewe exhaled a plume of smoke from his pipe, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

    "If they find out, it¡¯ll be chaos," he said gravely.

    "The court, the Church¡­ they¡¯d tear this place apart to get to him. But they won¡¯t find out. Not as long as I¡¯m alive."

    She placed her hands on her lap, her eyes reflecting both worry and determination.

    "He¡¯s just a baby, Osric. Whatever power he has, he deserves a chance to grow up safe."

    Old Man Grewe nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames.

    "Aye, he does. And we¡¯ll make sure he gets it, no matter what."

    Mrs. Grewe first noticed the change when she held Jul one crisp morning. The boy''s skin was warm to the touch, not feverish but radiating a comforting heat. When she looked into his eyes, it felt as though she were staring into an endless well of calm yet unfathomable depth.

    ¡°It¡¯s like he sees right through me,¡± she murmured, brushing her thumb gently across his cheek. ¡°

    Osric, have you noticed anything¡­ unusual?¡±

    Old Man Grewe leaned against the doorway, his ever-present pipe in hand. He watched the boy for a moment, his brows furrowed.

    He stepped closer and knelt by the cradle, placing a hand above Jul¡¯s small form. Without touching him, he could feel the energy radiating outward. It wasn¡¯t wild or chaotic. It was controlled, steady, and unnervingly vast for someone so young.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    ¡°Most children take years to develop any significant energy flow,¡± he muttered. ¡°But this one¡­ it¡¯s as if the world itself bends to him.¡±

    Jul spent much of his time in quiet observation. From his cradle, his wide, curious eyes followed the movements of everyone around him. Leon¡¯s boisterous training sessions, Mrs. Grewe¡¯s bustling chores, and Old Man Grewe¡¯s quiet musings all seemed to hold his rapt attention. He watched, he learned, and¡ªthough no one could truly know¡ªhe understood. Jul began to piece together the simple language spoken around him. His keen observation of how the Grewes and Leon communicated helped him associate sounds with actions, emotions, and objects. When Mrs. Grewe lovingly cooed words while rocking him, he started to understand their meaning from her tone and repetition. Leon¡¯s loud shouts during play and Old Man Grewe¡¯s quiet instructions added more to his learning. Little by little, Jul¡¯s mind picked up the rhythm and patterns of their speech, preparing him to one day talk back to them.

    But it was at night that the changes became most apparent. As the household slept, Jul¡¯s body subtly glowed with faint threads of silver light. The light seemed to respond to the moonlight streaming through the window, as if drawing strength from its soft glow. They wove around him like living threads, pulsating in time with his breathing, and the air around him grew still, almost reverent. It was as though the energy of the moon itself was being harnessed, channeling through Jul¡¯s small form in an intricate, unspoken rhythm. Each pulse brought a subtle ripple of warmth and calm to the room, like the tide ebbing and flowing under lunar guidance. The energy flow that Mrs. Grewe had noticed before was now undeniable. It wasn¡¯t just growing; it was evolving.

    One night, Old Man Grewe stood silently in the doorway of the nursery, watching the phenomenon unfold. His face was unreadable, but his mind raced.

    ¡°If the Church or the court ever finds out about this,¡± he thought, gripping the doorframe tightly, ¡°this child will never know peace.¡±

    He turned away from the nursery and went to find his wife. Together, they discussed the danger Jul''s growing power posed if it were ever noticed by the outside world. By the end of the night, they had resolved to create a barrier around their home, using knowledge rooted in old legends and arcane practices.

    Mrs. Grewe took inventory of their herbal supplies, gathering ingredients known for their protective properties. She used sage for purification, rue to ward off ill intent, and elderflowers, said to shield against unwelcome spirits. Meanwhile, Osric meticulously carved runes of protection into the wooden beams of their home, drawing from symbols described in ancient tomes. The sigils included the Shield of Aegis for defense and the Binding Knot to trap and dissipate leaking energy.

    In addition to the herbs and carvings, the Grewes worked with natural elements. They placed enchanted salt lines around the house''s perimeter and buried small quartz crystals at each corner of the property. These stones, once charged under the light of the moon, would amplify the barrier¡¯s strength.

    The couple worked tirelessly for days, their combined knowledge and determination driving them forward. Finally, on the night of the full moon, they completed the ritual. Together, they recited an incantation invoking the protective spirits of the land and sky, their voices merging with the hum of the barrier taking shape:

    "Ansuz berkanan algiz, l?ka oss til land og himmel, Skjold v?rt hjem fra pr?vende ?yne. Thurisaz raidho gebo, forsegle linjene med styrke og n?de, La ingen skade finne dette hellige sted."

    Their chant, spoken in the ancient Runen tongue, filled the air with a resonant energy, the words wrapping around the house like invisible threads of protection. As the last syllable faded, the glow of their efforts shimmered around the property before vanishing into the night.

    Inside the house, Jul¡¯s eyes fluttered open. Though his infant form remained still, his mind was keenly aware of the energy swirling through the air. The intricate web of magic created by the barrier hummed faintly, resonating with the natural flow of the world around it. Jul observed this with an almost unnatural clarity, feeling the rhythm and pattern of the spell as if it were a language written in light.

    He focused on the energy¡ªhow it moved, how it connected each rune and symbol etched into the house¡¯s frame. It wasn¡¯t just magic; it was a tapestry woven from the essence of the earth, air, and the ancient knowledge of the Grewes. Jul absorbed every detail, his mind grasping the fundamental principles of the spell. Even as an infant, he was learning, not from words or instruction, but from the silent language of energy itself.

    A faint shimmer of light enveloped the house, glowing momentarily before fading into invisibility. The air grew still, charged with a quiet power that reassured the Grewes.

    ¡°It¡¯ll hold,¡± Osric said, his voice steady but weary. He turned to his wife and added, ¡°As long as we¡¯re alive, no one will find him.¡±

    Mrs. Grewe nodded, her fingers brushing his arm. ¡°He¡¯s safe now. And we¡¯ll make sure it stays that way.¡±

 Chapter 8: Awaken

    In a distant cathedral, high within the spire where the light of the moon filtered through stained-glass windows, a lone figure knelt before a glowing scrying pool. The man, dressed in ceremonial robes of the Church, muttered a series of incantations under his breath. His hands hovered over the pool, his fingers trembling as the ripples in the water began to settle.

    For weeks, he had been searching for the source of an unusual energy. A chaotic disturbance that surged and faded, disrupting the natural flow of the world¡¯s ley lines. Tonight, however, the disturbance had vanished entirely.

    The priest furrowed his brow, his voice tense.

    "This cannot be right," he whispered to himself.

    His hands moved faster, tracing symbols in the air, and the pool glowed faintly in response. Yet no trace of the energy remained. It was as though a thread had been cut from the great tapestry of the world.

    ¡°Impossible,¡± he muttered, his frustration mounting.

    The distortion had been consistent until now, a beacon of untamed power drawing his attention. And now it was gone.

    He leaned closer, staring into the shimmering surface of the scrying pool. The chaotic flow he had been tracking for weeks should have been unmistakable, but now there was only silence. It was not a natural disappearance; someone had masked it.

    Rising to his feet, the priest turned sharply toward the ornate door of the chamber.

    ¡°Summon the Inquisitors,¡± he commanded to the acolyte standing outside.

    ¡°There is something¡­ or someone¡­ powerful enough to disrupt the flow of the ley lines. This disruption¡ªit reeks of witchcraft. A disgrace to the purity of Goddess Drita¡¯s creation," the priest declared, his voice filled with righteous fury.

    "Some vile practitioner of dark magic dares to contaminate the sacred balance of this world. We must uncover who, or what, is responsible and cleanse this blight from existence.¡±

    The acolyte bowed and hurried away as the priest turned back to the pool. His eyes burned with determination, the faint glow of the scrying water reflected in his steely gaze.

    "No one hides from the light of Drita, for her divine radiance will uncover all secrets and lay bare all darkness." he vowed.

    <hr>

    Leon, ever energetic and eager, had thrown himself into his training with the zeal of a young knight. Despite his tender age, he mimicked the drills of seasoned warriors, practicing clumsy but determined sword swings with a wooden stick. He often sprinted across the fields near the Grewe household, imagining himself charging into battle. His small frame wasn¡¯t built for such intense activity, but his spirit burned brightly.

    ¡°Watch me, Mr. Grewe!¡± he¡¯d shout, his voice filled with excitement as he swung his makeshift weapon in wide arcs.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to be a real knight one day!¡±

    Old Man Grewe, observing from the shade of the house, would often shake his head with a mixture of amusement and concern.

    ¡°Slow down, boy,¡± he¡¯d call. ¡°Knighthood isn¡¯t about flailing a stick until you collapse.¡±

    But Leon rarely heeded such advice. He would push himself beyond his limits, running laps until his legs wobbled and practicing strikes until his small hands blistered. Mrs. Grewe, watching from the window, often fretted.

    ¡°That child is going to work himself into the ground,¡± she¡¯d mutter, wringing her hands.

    And indeed, Leon¡¯s relentless training took its toll. His cheeks flushed with exertion, his breaths coming in short gasps as he refused to stop. The determination in his eyes was admirable, but it blinded him to his own physical limits. One particular day, his training led him to a daring challenge: practicing under the cold stream of a nearby waterfall. With the icy water crashing down over his small frame, Leon stood firm, gripping his wooden stick as if it were a knight¡¯s blade. The force of the water made every movement a struggle, yet he pressed on, swinging and thrusting as if battling an unseen foe.

    ¡°Leon, that¡¯s enough! You¡¯ll catch your death!¡± Old Man Grewe had called from the edge of the stream, his voice tinged with both anger and worry.

    But Leon shook his head, his teeth chattering as he replied,

    ¡°Knights don¡¯t stop when it¡¯s hard! They protect everyone, no matter what!¡±

    Mrs. Grewe, watching from the distance, clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

    ¡°That boy¡¯s going to freeze himself solid one day,¡± she murmured, half in exasperation, half in admiration of his sheer willpower.

    By the time Leon finally stumbled out of the freezing water, his lips were blue, and his body trembled uncontrollably. Still, he managed a weak smile, proud of his accomplishment.

    "See? I told you I could do it," he said, his voice hoarse but determined.

    Old Man Grewe draped a blanket over him, muttering under his breath.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got the spirit of a knight, lad, but if you don¡¯t learn to rest, you won¡¯t live long enough to become one, you know?¡±

    By the evening, Leon was feverish and shivering, his small body unable to cope with the strain. His breathing was labored, shallow, and accompanied by faint wheezing sounds. A persistent cough racked his chest, each spasm leaving him more exhausted. His skin was pale, with a bluish tint around his lips, and beads of sweat clung to his forehead despite the chill that made him shiver uncontrollably. Mrs. Grewe stayed by his bedside, dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth, her face lined with worry. She muttered soft prayers under her breath, asking the spirits for protection.

    "Stay strong, little one," she whispered, her hands trembling as she adjusted his blankets.

    Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Old Man Grewe worked hurriedly, grinding herbs into a fine paste.

    "The fever¡¯s too high," he muttered, frustration evident in his tone. "This concoction will help bring it down, but we need more than just herbs."

    Leon, despite his fever, managed to murmur faintly,

    "I¡­ I¡¯m okay¡­ don¡¯t¡­ worry.¡± His words, though weak, carried the stubbornness of a child determined not to trouble others.

    "Hush now," Mrs. Grewe said gently, smoothing his hair. "Just rest. Let us take care of you."

    As they bustled to help Leon, the air in the house grew heavy with tension. Jul, lying quietly in his cradle, stirred. His usually calm demeanor gave way to a focused intensity as he observed the scene. The faint glow of his silver aura began to brighten, unnoticed by the adults until the room seemed to shimmer with warmth.

    Mrs. Grewe turned toward the cradle, her eyes widening.

    "Osric!" she called, her voice filled with both awe and alarm.

    Old Man Grewe rushed in, his sharp gaze landing on the infant glowing with an otherworldly light.

    "What¡¯s he doing?" she asked, clutching Leon¡¯s hand protectively.

    "Let him be," Osric said firmly, his tone cautious yet curious. "This might be exactly what we need."

    Jul, lying quietly in his cradle, suddenly stirred. His small hands twitched, and his usually calm breathing grew deep and deliberate. The silver threads of light around him began to brighten, swirling in a slow, deliberate pattern.

    Mrs. Grewe, busy at Leon¡¯s bedside, didn¡¯t notice at first. But when the room grew inexplicably warm, she turned toward the cradle. Her eyes widened as she saw the silver light coalescing, its glow illuminating the room.

    ¡°Osric!¡± she called, her voice a mix of fear and awe.

    Old Man Grewe rushed in, nearly dropping the bowl of herbs in his hands. His sharp eyes took in the scene instantly.

    ¡°Stay back,¡± he warned, his voice steady but firm. ¡°Let¡¯s see what he¡¯s doing.¡±

    The silver light extended from Jul¡¯s small form, reaching toward Leon like tendrils of mist.

    <hr>

    In his mind, Jul focused intently. Though his infant body was weak, his thoughts were clear.

    ¡°Hmmm. It''s look like pneumonia,¡± he thought, recalling his past life as a medicine student.

    ¡°The fever, the shallow breathing, the strain on his chest¡­ it¡¯s all there. His lungs are struggling.¡±

    He could feel the chaotic energy within Leon¡¯s body, like a storm raging in his small chest. In his mind, Jul recalled the basics of treating pneumonia from his past life as a medicine student.

    "Increase air circulation, reduce inflammation, and drain the fluids," he thought.

    "I need to mimic what the medicine would do. Support the lungs, calm the fever, and stabilize his breathing."

    Jul closed his eyes and focused on the delicate energy pathways within Leon¡¯s chest. He could feel the inflamed tissue constricting the boy¡¯s lungs, like taut strings pulling tighter with every shallow breath.

    ¡°The inflammation is everywhere,¡± Jul thought, as if he were staring directly at the affected tissue.

    ¡°Have to ease the tension first.¡±

    Carefully, he visualized his energy flowing in waves, loosening the tightness as though unraveling tangled threads.

    His mind returned briefly to his old training: ¡°Keep the airflow steady. Clear the buildup.¡± With deliberate precision, the flow of energy sweeping through the lungs like a cool breeze clearing a congested passageway.

    ¡°This should help with the breathing,¡± he thought, then shifted his focus. The pockets of fluid trapped within Leon¡¯s lungs felt like heavy, stagnant pools. Jul directed his energy into gentle pulses, nudging the fluid to disperse and reintegrate safely into the boy¡¯s system.

    ¡°Every move matters,¡± Jul reminded himself. ¡°Too much, and I¡¯ll cause harm. Absorbing the fluid too quickly could overwhelm the tissue, leading to ruptures or internal damage. The delicate lung walls might collapse under the sudden pressure, causing more harm than the illness itself. I need to balance this perfectly. Too little, and it won¡¯t be enough. If the pressure isn¡¯t enough to push the fluid to be absorbed back into the body, it could stagnate, creating a breeding ground for further infection. The lungs would struggle to expel the fluid, leading to worsening inflammation and potentially permanent damage to the delicate tissue."

    Jul knew he had to balance it perfectly, neither rushing nor holding back too much. He felt his energy threads working in harmony, a mix of his past-world knowledge and the natural forces of this one blending seamlessly.

    ¡°If this succeeds,¡± Jul thought, determination sharpening his focus,

    ¡°I¡¯ll know just how far I can push this power. This energy¡ªit¡¯s like something out of modern physics. It¡¯s kinetic when it moves through me, potential when it pools in my core. Even the act of drawing it in feels measurable, like counting joules in a laboratory experiment. If I can control it as precisely as I would, like a chemical reaction, there¡¯s no telling how much I can achieve.¡±

    Carefully, Jul directed his energy to flow like a cooling stream over the affected areas, reducing the heat and swelling.

    He sensed the buildup of fluid pressing against the fragile lung walls, threatening to drown the boy from within. Adjusting the flow, he created gentle pulses of energy, mimicking the rhythm of steady breaths, coaxing the fluid to disperse and be absorbed by the body naturally. It was a meticulous process¡ªeach adjustment requiring precision and patience.

    As the energy spread, Jul noted the improvement: the tissue softened, the airflow widened, and Leon¡¯s breathing grew deeper and steadier. Despite his infant body, Jul felt a deep satisfaction; he was applying what he knew, blending his past life¡¯s medical knowledge with the mystical energy of this world. ¡°It¡¯s working,¡± he thought, the faintest glimmer of pride flickering in his mind."

    Slowly, Jul directed his own energy, steady and deliberate, letting the silver light flow gently into the boy¡¯s form. The energy wrapped around Leon¡¯s lungs, soothing the inflamed tissue and dispersing the congestion that had built up over the day.

    Leon let out a soft sigh, his shivering ceasing almost immediately. The room¡¯s temperature stabilized, the oppressive heat giving way to a soothing warmth. Jul continued to focus, ensuring every trace of the fever was driven out, every fragment of imbalance corrected.

    Within moments, Leon¡¯s fever was gone. His breathing evened out, and his face, once flushed and strained, returned to its normal hue. As the last threads of silver light faded, retracting into Jul¡¯s tiny body, he felt a wave of exhaustion but also satisfaction. It had worked.

    Old Man Grewe approached the cradle cautiously, peering down at the infant. Jul¡¯s eyes met his, calm and unblinking, but behind them was a depth of knowledge that no baby should possess.

    ¡°This child¡­¡± Grewe whispered, his voice filled with both awe and fear.

    ¡°He¡¯s something else entirely.¡±