Chapter 6: The Rogue Cultivator

Chapter 6: The Rogue Cultivator

The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed through the scrapyard as Kael practiced his strikes on the makeshift training dummy Garran had set up. His knuckles ached with each impact, but he didn't stop. The rhythm of his strikes—bam, bam, bam—was the only thing keeping him grounded as his thoughts swirled.

"Focus!" Garran's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. "You're throwing energy away again. Tighten your stance, control your core!"

Kael gritted his teeth, stepping back and shaking his sore hands. The Bio-Energy humming beneath his skin felt unstable, like a wildfire he couldn't quite contain. He'd managed to land a solid strike during their first lesson, but consistency was proving elusive.

"I'm trying," Kael muttered, frustration creeping into his voice.

"You're overthinking it," Garran replied, crossing his arms. "You're treating Bio-Energy like it's some tool you can just pick up and use. It's not. It's a part of you—an extension of your body. Until you understand that, you're just wasting your strength."

Kael glared at the battered dummy, his chest heaving. "And what if I can't do it?"

"Then you die," a voice said, cool and mocking.

Kael froze, his eyes darting to the edge of the scrapyard. A figure stood there, leaning casually against a rusted beam. He was tall and lean, dressed in a patched cloak that obscured most of his body. A hood shadowed his face, but Kael could see the faint glow of Bio-Energy pulsing along his forearms—a crimson light that danced like fire.

"Who the hell are you?" Garran demanded, stepping forward and placing himself between Kael and the intruder.

The man chuckled, pushing off the beam and sauntering toward them. "Just a wanderer passing through," he said, his voice smooth and dripping with amusement. "But I couldn't help overhearing your little training session. Figured I'd drop by and see if the rumors were true."

"What rumors?" Kael asked, narrowing his eyes.

"That someone out here was foolish enough to try teaching a kid Bio-Cultivation," the man said, stopping a few feet away. His eyes—sharp and calculating—flicked to Kael. "You're new to this, aren't you? Still fumbling around, trying to find your footing."

Kael bristled at the comment, but Garran stepped in before he could respond.

"Whatever business you have, take it elsewhere," Garran growled. "We don't want trouble."

The man raised his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, old man. I'm not here to start a fight. Just curious." He turned his gaze back to Kael, his lips curling into a smirk. "The name's Rian. And you, kid, look like you've got potential."

Kael hesitated, unsure how to respond. There was something unsettling about Rian—an aura of confidence that bordered on arrogance. He didn't look like the other scavengers or street thugs Kael had seen in the lower levels. There was a precision to his movements, a sharpness in his eyes that suggested he was far more dangerous.

"What do you want?" Kael finally asked.

Rian tilted his head, his smirk widening. "Straight to the point. I like that." He folded his arms, the crimson glow on his forearms pulsing faintly. "I'm offering you a deal, kid. A chance to learn from someone who knows what they're doing."

Kael frowned, glancing at Garran. "I already have a teacher."

Rian chuckled, shaking his head. "Him? Sure, he's got grit, but he's teaching you the basics—stuff any street-level cultivator can figure out. If you want real power, you need someone who can show you the advanced techniques. The kind that'll make you untouchable."

"And you think that's you?" Garran said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

"I know it is," Rian replied, his voice steady. He extended his arm, his palm glowing with concentrated crimson energy. A second later, it exploded outward in a wave of heat, the force of it knocking over the training dummy and sending a cloud of dust into the air.

Kael stared, wide-eyed. He'd seen powerful cultivators before—enforcers and gang leaders—but none of them had displayed that level of control. Rian's energy wasn't just strong; it was refined, precise.

"How did you—?" Kael began, but Garran cut him off.

"Enough!" Garran barked, his mechanical arm whirring as he pointed it at Rian. "We don't need your help, and we don't trust strangers. Leave. Now."

Rian's smirk faded slightly, his expression turning serious. "Suit yourself. But think about it, kid. This world doesn't care about you. If you want to survive—really survive—you need someone who's been through the fire. Someone who knows how to wield power, not just borrow it."

Kael didn't respond, his mind racing. He hated to admit it, but there was a part of him that was tempted by Rian's offer. Garran's training was helping, but it was slow, and Kael couldn't shake the feeling that he needed more. More strength. More control.

Rian seemed to sense his hesitation and smiled. "I'll be around. If you change your mind, just follow the smoke." With that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the scrapyard.

Kael turned to Garran, his expression conflicted. "Why didn't you let me hear him out?"

"Because people like him are trouble," Garran said bluntly. "He's a rogue cultivator—a mercenary who probably works for whoever pays the most. If you get involved with him, you'll end up dead or worse."

"But he's strong," Kael argued. "You saw what he could do. Don't you think I could learn something from him?"

Garran sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Strength isn't everything, kid. It's about how you use it. Rian might be strong, but he's reckless. He doesn't care about you or your future. He's just looking for another pawn."

Kael clenched his fists, frustration bubbling inside him. He wanted to trust Garran, but a part of him couldn't shake the image of Rian's controlled energy. What if Garran was wrong? What if Rian could teach him something he couldn't learn here?

"Go cool off," Garran said, his tone softening. "You've had enough for today."

Kael didn't argue. He turned and walked away, his thoughts a storm of doubt and curiosity. As he climbed to the top of the scrapyard, he gazed out at the city's skyline. The neon lights of the megacorporations glowed in the distance, a constant reminder of the world's power imbalance.

He couldn't afford to waste time. He needed to get stronger—fast. But the question lingered in his mind: How far was he willing to go to achieve it?