Dragonia

Draven stepped off the ship, his eyes scanning the vast landscape of Dragonia. The air was thick with spiritual energy, and the land itself felt alive with power.

Mountains towered in the distance, and dense forests stretched out as far as he could see. This was no ordinary place it was a land where only the strong survived, where cultivation was everything.

Dragonia... Finally," Draven muttered. The weight of the journey ahead hit him hard. This wasn't just any continent it was home to the Draconic Sect, one of the nine and most feared and respected sects in the realm.

If Draven wanted to grow stronger, if he wanted revenge for everything he'd lost, he would have to join them.

The path from the port led him through bustling villages, where farmers worked the fields and merchants peddled their wares. As Draven walked, he overheard conversations about cultivation, spirit beasts, and battles things that seemed foreign and yet familiar.

A merchant called out, waving a gleaming dagger in the air. "Spiritual weapons! Get them here! Only 50 mid-grade spirit stones!"

Draven clenched his fists. Spirit stones, the currency of the strong. He had none, and without them, surviving in Dragonia would be near impossible.

As he approached the city gates, the sheer size of Dragonia's main city took his breath away. Massive walls etched with glowing runes loomed above, and powerful cultivators stood guard.

Beyond the gates, the city stretched out like a labyrinth, filled with towering buildings and bustling streets.

But it was the Draconic Sect's Tower that drew Draven's gaze. Rising into the clouds, the dark, spiraling structure dominated the skyline, casting a shadow over everything. The Draconic Sect ruled this land, and their

"If I want to become strong... I need to enter that sect," Draven whispered to himself. It wouldn't be easy. The Draconic Sect didn't accept just anyone, but he had no choice. Power was the only way forward.

Inside the city, Draven wandered through the market. The sights and sounds were overwhelming.

Cultivators bartered for rare herbs and weapons, their auras intimidating. He passed a vendor selling cloaks lined with silver thread.

"How much?" Draven asked, pointing at one of the cloaks.

"40 mid-grade spirit stones," the vendor replied without looking up.

Draven sighed. He was broke, but that didn't matter. His focus was on getting stronger, and he'd find a way to earn what he needed.

As he explored further, a commotion near a fountain caught his attention. A group of commoners was harassing a young boy, shoving him to the ground.

"You dare cross my path, you filthy beggar?" one of them sneered, raising his hand to strike.

Draven's eyes darkened. Without hesitation, he stepped in, grabbing the man's wrist mid-swing.

"Enough," Draven said, his voice cold.

The man turned to him, fury in his eyes. "Who the hell are you? You think you can interfere?"

Draven tightened his grip. "Leave. Now."

The man hesitated, sensing the quiet strength behind Draven's calm. With a grunt, he shoved Draven off and stormed away.

The boy, trembling, looked up at Draven. "Thank you, sir... I don't know what I would've done..."

Draven gave him a nod. "Be careful. This city isn't kind to the weak."

_ _ _ _ _

That night, Draven found a small inn on the outskirts of the city. The room was barely more than a straw mattress and a wooden chair, but it was enough. He sat down, his mind racing with thoughts of the Draconic Sect.

"If I want power, that's where I need to go," he thought, staring out the window at the distant tower. "But first... I need to survive."

The next morning, Draven awoke early, determined to figure out his next move. He walked through the streets, keeping his eyes open for any opportunities.

He needed to get into the Draconic Sect, but it wouldn't be easy. Only the best of the best could join, and he wasn't there yet.

As he passed by the entrance of a bustling square, he overheard two men discussing the sect.

"I heard they're holding trials soon," one said.

"Yeah, but only cultivators at the 3rd stage of Body Tempering can even qualify," the other replied.

Draven's heart sank. He wasn't even close to that level, but it didn't matter. He wasn't going to back down. He'd train, fight, do whatever it took to enter the Draconic Sect.

.

.

Later that day, as Draven walked along the outskirts of the city, he came across a small group of cultivators practicing their martial arts in a clearing. He watched from a distance, studying their moves, their precision. His muscles tensed with anticipation.

One of the cultivators noticed him watching. "You interested in joining?" he called out, smirking.

Draven nodded. "I need to train

The man laughed. "Good. We could use someone to spar with. Don't expect us to go easy on you, though."

Draven stepped forward, his eyes locking onto the man. "I don't need easy."

The sparring was brutal. Draven's body ached from every hit, but with each blow, he felt himself growing stronger, more focused.

The men he sparred with were rough, but they had discipline, and Draven learned quickly from them.

After the session, one of them, a tall man with scars crisscrossing his arms, clapped Draven on the back. "Not bad, for a beginner. You've got potential, kid."

Draven nodded, panting. "Thanks."

As the sun set and Draven returned to the inn, his mind was clearer than ever. The Draconic Sect was within his reach. He just had to push himself harder, be smarter, and stay under the radar until he was ready.

Looking up at the night sky, Draven made a vow to himself. "I will enter the Draconic Sect. I'll become stronger than any of them. And I'll make sure no one ever stands in my way again...."