Whispers of the Past

The cold wind cut through the camp like a blade, whistling between the tents and carrying the scent of the nearby woods. Zhao Feng sat on a rock, a few paces away from the others, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. His body ached, each movement a painful reminder of his weakness. The battle earlier had taken its toll on him, though the others had seen only his efficiency. They didn't know the toll it had cost him. They didn't know that his body was not the divine vessel it once had been, nor did they understand the depths of his internal frustration.

His hand gripped the edge of the rock, his fingers turning pale from the pressure. His breathing was shallow, each inhalation reminding him of the frailty of his new form. Even with the small amount of Qi he had gathered, his body was too weak to contain it properly. He had no foundation to build on, no source of strength to pull from.

Zhao Feng closed his eyes, attempting to draw in the energy of the earth beneath him. It was slow, grueling work. The very act of breathing sent waves of fatigue through his limbs, but he continued nonetheless. This is where I must begin, he thought, a mere mortal who once stood among the heavens. But I won't stay here. I can't. Not for long.

The cultivation techniques he had once mastered—each movement and word of power—felt like a distant dream. They were fragmented pieces of a life long past, and now, in this new body, they were nothing more than wisps. He had tried to tap into his old knowledge, tried to make his hands move with the grace of a seasoned cultivator. But his body didn't respond. The once effortlessly flowing Qi was now stagnant, barely a whisper of energy inside him. Every time he attempted a technique, he felt like a blind man fumbling for a torch in the dark.

He exhaled sharply, opening his eyes to face the night sky. It will take time, he reminded himself, his voice barely a whisper in the wind. But I will rise again. I must.

Zhao Feng's attention shifted back to the campfire, where Raik and the other mercenaries were discussing the next course of action. His eyes lingered on Raik, the seasoned leader who had offered Zhao Feng guidance without even knowing the weight of the man before him. Raik, like the others, had no idea what Zhao Feng truly was. They saw only the quiet, observant young man who had proven himself in battle, using tactics and wit to win a fight he could barely stand in.

Raik is strong, Zhao Feng thought. But strength alone isn't enough. He knows that much.

Raik had spoken of the importance of patience, of strategy over brute force. Zhao Feng knew that the mercenary leader's words were not just empty wisdom. They were a reflection of the harsh truth that no matter how strong a person was, it meant nothing without the ability to outthink the enemy. For now, Zhao Feng had to rely on his mind and his will to get by. But even that wasn't enough. He had to grow. He had to cultivate.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he stood up. His knees felt weak beneath him, but he forced himself to stand tall. His hands moved to adjust the robe around his body, a gesture that seemed so ordinary, but which now felt like an effort. Zhao Feng's hands shook as he took a few slow steps toward the campfire, the warmth from the flames only serving to remind him of how far he still had to go.

As he approached, Raik glanced over, offering a tired smile. "You should rest," Raik said, his voice rough from the battle, though the leader's eyes still held a kind of keen awareness. "You did well today."

Zhao Feng nodded but didn't respond immediately. His eyes drifted to the mercenaries around the fire, some still cleaning their weapons, others tending to the wounded. They were all busy, all preparing for what came next. No one spared a thought for him. He wasn't one of them. Not truly.

Raik studied him for a moment, his gaze sharp. "You look like a man who's seen a ghost. What's on your mind, boy?"

Zhao Feng didn't immediately respond. His thoughts were too tangled, too heavy. But after a pause, he finally said, "I've been thinking about what you said… about strategy over strength."

Raik raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the young man's words. "Hmm, and? You don't seem the type to listen to old soldiers like me."

Zhao Feng's lips curled into a faint smile. "I've learned not to dismiss wisdom so easily."

The older man chuckled softly. "A lesson I had to learn the hard way. But it's true, lad. Strength is one thing, but the mind is sharper than any blade. There's always someone stronger than you. But no one can outthink you if you play your cards right."

Zhao Feng nodded in agreement, his thoughts drifting back to the battle. He had been useful, yes. But he had also barely scraped by. The strength of the bandits and mercenaries had been formidable, and he had only survived by avoiding direct confrontation. His mind had been his weapon, not his body. But what would happen when his mind alone wasn't enough?

He didn't have time for more doubt. Zhao Feng straightened his posture, pushing the fatigue aside, and finally spoke again. "I'll train tonight. I need to get stronger."

Raik studied him carefully, sensing the shift in Zhao Feng's demeanor. "We've all got our demons. But you can't rush things. You'll burn out. Rest now, and take it slow. When you've recovered, then you can push yourself further."

But Zhao Feng had already made up his mind. "I can't afford to wait. Not when every moment I waste keeps me weaker than I should be."

Raik's face softened with understanding. "I'll let you be then. But don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Zhao Feng walked away from the campfire, his heart beating faster as he moved into the shadows. The darkness felt comforting. It felt like the only place where he could truly think. He moved to the edge of the camp, where the trees grew thick and dense. The moonlight barely touched the earth here, and the only sound was the rustling of the leaves.

There, with the night around him, he began again. His hands trembled slightly, but he steeled himself. The very act of focusing on his Qi was a strain. His body refused to cooperate, but his will was unbending. He had been through so much worse. A little weakness could not stop him now.

Zhao Feng closed his eyes, focusing inward. He attempted to draw in the Qi from the surroundings, attempting to mold it within his body. It was slow, painfully slow, but the more he tried, the more he began to feel something—something small but growing. The energy swirled, hesitant at first, then with more certainty. It was weak, just a flicker of power, but it was enough to make his heart race. This was the first step. This was his beginning. 

The wind had picked up, stirring the dust around Zhao Feng as he continued his training, his concentration focused inward. He could feel the sluggishness of his Qi, the weak pulse of energy coursing through his veins. Each attempt at drawing more power from the world around him was met with resistance, but he persisted. His mind was sharp, aware of everything happening around him—even the smallest shifts in the air, the way the earth seemed to hum beneath him.

He wasn't strong yet—not by any measure. But the knowledge of combat, the battlefield tactics he'd mastered in his past life, were as fresh in his mind as if they had happened yesterday. His body might be weak, but his experience was not.

A shadow shifted in the corner of his vision. Zhao Feng's eyes snapped to the source, his senses heightened. Something wasn't right.

Far off, beyond the trees and through the light mist of the evening, figures emerged. A group. Zhao Feng's heart quickened, though not from fear—he had no time for that. His mind worked in overdrive as he counted the number of figures: a dozen, at least. They moved with military precision, not like the disorganized rabble of the bandits he had fought earlier.

The quiet was broken by a low growl of a wolf in the distance, and the figures were almost upon them. The familiar clang of weapons being readied reached his ears. Raik's voice cut through the air moments later. "Prepare yourselves!"

Zhao Feng could see the camp's mercenaries scrambling into position, drawing weapons and organizing quickly. His eyes scanned the approaching group, and his mind began to work, calculating their strength and numbers. These weren't just any bandits. They were cultivators—those with weapons imbued with Qi, and more importantly, they were much more skilled than the last group.

"They're Qi Foundation Realm or higher," Zhao Feng muttered under his breath. His heart skipped a beat as the weight of the situation settled in. This wouldn't be an easy fight.

Raik, already preparing for battle, shouted commands to his men. Zhao Feng's mind raced, trying to piece together a plan, but his body was weak—there was no way he could take on these opponents in direct combat. But that didn't mean he had to stand idly by.

As the first wave of enemies advanced, Zhao Feng dropped into the shadows, his body moving like a whisper in the night. He wasn't about to make his presence known—not yet. But even in his diminished state, his keen senses and strategic mind allowed him to see openings where others might miss them.

The first attacker—a tall man with a long spear—staggered forward, his eyes scanning the camp for an easy target. Zhao Feng was already behind him, his movements so swift and silent that the bandit didn't know he was there until it was too late. A swift jab of Zhao Feng's knife pierced the bandit's throat, the silent killing blow made without a hint of hesitation. He slunk back into the darkness before anyone noticed the body hit the ground.

Another bandit came rushing toward Raik, sword raised. Zhao Feng didn't hesitate. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a stone flying into the bandit's path, creating just enough distraction for Raik to land a blow. The bandit faltered for a moment, and Raik struck—killing him before the man had a chance to react.

Zhao Feng kept moving, his heart pounding in his chest. He used the environment to his advantage—disrupting the attackers from behind, flanking them with speed and subtlety. His hand barely brushed the air, and small bursts of Qi coursed through his body, just enough to sharpen his reflexes, to speed up his thinking. It wasn't much, but it was enough to give him the edge.

He couldn't risk revealing his true abilities—not yet. His Qi was still weak, and pushing it would drain him too quickly. Instead, he used his tactical mind to get ahead of the mercenaries' enemies, setting traps and striking from the shadows.

The bandits were beginning to realize that something wasn't right. One of them, a burly man with a giant axe, turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing as he scanned the darkness. Zhao Feng ducked behind a pile of crates, his body freezing as the bandit's gaze swept past him. He held his breath, willing his body to remain still.

A moment passed before the man moved on, still unaware of Zhao Feng's presence. Zhao Feng exhaled silently, his body tense from the near miss. The battle raged around him, but he remained a ghost in the shadows, his mind sharper than ever.

As the fight wore on, Zhao Feng continued to pick off the enemies with surgical precision, never staying in one place for too long. He used the terrain—trees, rocks, and low walls—to his advantage, staying out of sight while disrupting the bandits' movements.

But despite his strategic prowess, the battle wasn't easy. His energy was running low, and he could feel the familiar ache of exhaustion creeping through his limbs. He had to push through, though. There was no turning back now.

After what felt like an eternity, the battle began to turn in favor of Raik and his mercenaries. Zhao Feng had managed to take out several of the bandits, his silent strikes making it seem as if the enemies were falling one by one without explanation. The confusion among the attackers grew, their organized formation slipping into chaos.

But even as Zhao Feng felt the tide turning, he was already exhausted. His body was trembling from overuse. The small bursts of Qi he had drawn from the environment to enhance his reflexes were taking their toll on his body, and his Qi reserves were dangerously low.

By the time the last bandit fell, Zhao Feng could barely stay on his feet. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his body felt as if it were made of lead. His vision swam, and he staggered back to the shadows, seeking refuge from the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him.

Raik's voice rang out in the aftermath of the battle. "Well done, everyone. We've won this round."

Zhao Feng watched from the darkness, his body trembling, his mind working overtime to analyze the events. He had helped them win, yes. But at what cost? His energy reserves were spent, his body drained. He was still too weak to confront the true strength of these cultivators directly.

Raik came into view, his eyes scanning the battlefield for survivors. Zhao Feng noticed the way Raik's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of recognition.

"Good work, Zhao Feng," Raik said with a nod. "You've got more in you than I thought."

Zhao Feng didn't reply. He simply nodded, his breath slow but steady as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Raik hadn't seen the full extent of what he had done. He had merely seen the results. But Zhao Feng knew. The cost of that victory was high, and the road ahead was still long.

As the mercenaries began to regroup, Zhao Feng stepped away, finding a quiet place to sit and recover. His mind was already turning, thinking of the next steps in his journey.

One step at a time, he thought, his gaze turning to the horizon. I will rise. It's just a matter of time... just a matter of time.