Chapter 2: The First Brick
Chapter 2: The First Brick
The sun rose gently over the Pineshade Wilds, casting golden rays over the mossy earth, tall trees, and the quiet stream that had been Aeron's sanctuary for the past month. Birds chirped in the distance, their songs soft, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the forest canopy.
Aeron sat cross-legged beside a cluster of flat rocks, his eyes closed, breathing slow and steady.
A thin mist circled around him—barely visible spiritual energy—drawn into his body with each inhale. His meridians pulsed faintly as the energy moved through them, nurturing his core, slowly building his foundation.
> Level 1 Body Foundation, nearing Level 2.
He had made progress. Not much by worldly standards, but progress earned with pain, blood, and unwavering will.
A squirrel scurried across the branch above. Aeron opened his eyes.
Today was the day he would leave the forest.
He rose and tightened the cloth around his wrist where the ring was bound. The Spatial Ring still looked like nothing more than a piece of scrap leather to anyone else, but within it… lay treasures no one could imagine.
Weapons. Techniques. Herbs. The foundation of an empire.
He had not dared to use everything inside yet. Much of it required higher cultivation or deeper understanding. But the basics—tools for survival, cultivation manuals, and basic spiritual techniques—had been useful.
He stepped toward a wide rock and drew a small formation with chalk—an entry array.
"Open."
With a shimmer, the space in front of him twisted like water. He stepped through—and entered the Spatial Kingdom.
Inside was a vast realm.
Fields of spiritual herbs swayed under artificial skies.
Lakes of condensed energy glowed faintly.
Mountains surrounded the realm, humming with natural power. In the center, a floating platform hovered above a circular temple. That was where the God had trained in his final days. Aeron had not stepped near it yet.
He focused on the fields.
One plot held Soulroot Grass—used to calm the mind.
Another, Firefern—useful for crafting low-level pills that boost energy absorption.
He harvested several stalks and placed them into a wooden pouch. He would need these for trade once he reached a settlement.
He moved toward the armory—a building shaped like a fortress tower, lined with racks of weapons glowing faintly with spiritual light.
He selected a steel-forged spear—simple, durable, and light.
He wasn't ready for spiritual weapons yet. Those would drain his energy too fast at his current level.
With preparations made, he stepped out of the Spatial Kingdom and back into the waking world.
—
The journey south from the Pineshade Wilds led to the Broken Thorn Ridge, a jagged line of hills that separated the wilderness from the outer territories of the eastern provinces.
Travelers rarely used this path. Bandits did.
Aeron knew.
That's why he walked with caution.
He wore a hood now, made from stitched wolf hide. His face was mostly hidden, and he looked more like a young hunter than a noble-born heir.
Around midday, he saw smoke rising in the distance.
Creeping over a ridge, he spotted a caravan. Two wagons, three horses, a group of guards and merchants circled up, tense. One of the guards had a sword drawn, pointing toward the forest.
Then—figures emerged.
Six bandits. All of them cultivators.
Aeron narrowed his eyes. He focused his senses.
> Two at Body Foundation Level 3… one at Level 5… one at Transition Level 1…
And one more behind the trees. Level 6.
These weren't just petty thieves. They were experienced killers.
The merchants were clearly outmatched. Their guards looked worn, barely holding formation.
Aeron exhaled slowly.
He didn't owe these people anything.
But he also knew what it felt like to be helpless, surrounded by enemies, waiting for death to arrive.
And he needed allies. Information. Supplies.
He stepped down the ridge.
—
The bandit leader, a scarred man with thick arms and a crude axe, laughed as he swung it lazily through the air.
"Put down the cargo, and maybe we won't gut you all."
One of the caravan guards stepped forward. "We've already paid the toll at Ashridge Crossing! We don't want trouble!"
The bandit grinned. "Then you should've stayed there."
The moment was thick with tension when a voice rang out.
"Six men to rob three families. That's brave."
Everyone turned.
Aeron stood at the edge of the clearing, spear resting across his shoulder.
The bandits sneered. The merchant guards blinked in confusion.
The leader barked, "Who the hell are you, boy?"
"I'm someone who doesn't like cowards picking on the weak."
The bandits spread out. Their leader gestured. "Kill him."
Two charged.
Aeron moved.
The first swung a curved blade.
Aeron ducked under it, twisted, and drove the butt of his spear into the man's ribs. There was a crack as the bones broke. The man screamed and dropped his weapon.
The second came in with a thrusting dagger. Fast. Aeron deflected with the spear shaft, pivoted, and kicked the man in the knee. The joint bent sideways. Another scream.
The leader roared. "Enough!"
He charged forward with surprising speed, swinging his axe in a downward arc. Aeron raised the spear to block, but the sheer force of the attack knocked him back several steps.
> He's stronger than the others. Level 6 for sure.
Aeron gritted his teeth and activated his technique.
> Stone Pulse — a basic Earth Technique from the Spatial Kingdom. It channeled spiritual energy into the feet, enhancing strength and stabilizing posture.
His body grew heavy. His stance firmed.
The axe came again.
This time, Aeron blocked it cleanly.
The sound echoed like thunder.
He countered with a thrust—aiming for the chest.
The leader stepped aside, barely avoiding the strike. But Aeron followed up with a spinning sweep. The spear struck the man's side, throwing him off balance.
Then Aeron surged forward, blade-first.
The spearhead sliced through the leader's shoulder.
He staggered.
Blood sprayed.
Aeron didn't wait.
He pivoted behind the man and struck the back of his neck with the shaft, dropping him unconscious.
The remaining bandits hesitated.
One turned and ran.
The others followed.
Silence returned.
—
The caravan guards stared.
A bearded merchant stepped forward. "You saved our lives."
Aeron nodded. "It's nothing. But I need a favor in return."
The merchant tilted his head. "Anything."
"I need a ride to the nearest city. And I need information."
"Done."
They introduced themselves. The merchant's name was Rolf of Bramore, and he was bound for Grayharbor, a trade hub near the eastern border of the kingdom.
It was small, but rich with merchants, mercenaries, and adventurers.
A good place to start.
A good place to build.
As Aeron climbed into the wagon, Rolf looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Who are you really, boy?"
Aeron looked ahead.
"The last son of a fallen house."
Rolf frowned. "Is that a title?"
Aeron's voice was cold.
"It will be."
The wagon rolled over uneven roads, the creaking of the wheels blending with the rhythmic clops of the horses' hooves. Aeron sat near the back, sharpening his spear with a small grinding stone while Rolf sat beside him, stealing curious glances.
Aeron had kept mostly silent since the fight. The only thing he'd asked for was a map—hand-drawn on a rough parchment—highlighting cities, provinces, and major landmarks of the eastern realm. He studied it now, eyes scanning routes and names.
Grayharbor was two days away.
Between them and the city stood the River of Blades, a treacherous valley once used for sword testing in ancient times, now home to dangerous spiritual beasts. Most merchants went around it, taking longer but safer roads.
But Aeron had different plans.
Rolf cleared his throat. "We'll camp before the valley. You planning to go through it?"
"Yes."
"Bad idea. There are wolves in there. Big ones. They glow."
"I need the cores."
Rolf blinked. "You're mad."
"No," Aeron said, wrapping the map. "I'm just building something."
—
That night, under a sky choked with stars, Aeron stood at the edge of the River of Blades. The others had made camp half a league behind him, far from the valley. Only a single lantern flickered at their campsite. Here, the darkness pressed in like a blanket.
The valley below was littered with jagged rocks—many of them still bearing the marks of swords long since rusted. Narrow paths wound through the gorge, and tall cliffs loomed on either side.
But what caught Aeron's eye were the faint green lights moving in the distance.
Gladefang Wolves.
Medium-tier spiritual beasts. Dangerous in packs. They were known to move silently and tear prey apart with precision. Their spiritual cores were worth a small fortune in the eastern markets, and their fur could be refined into spiritual cloth.
Aeron exhaled and stepped forward.
His spear was tied to his back. Instead, he drew a short blade from the ring—a curved dagger etched with runes of concealment.
> Phase Dagger – grants temporary sound suppression when activated with spiritual energy.
He activated the dagger.
The hum of nature faded slightly around him as his steps grew quieter.
He crept into the valley.
—
The first wolf didn't see him coming.
It was crouched beside a bush, chewing on bones. Aeron came from the side, using the dagger's silence effect to close the distance, and stabbed into the beast's neck in one fluid motion.
The wolf spasmed, whimpered once, then fell limp.
> One core secured.
He removed the glowing green orb from its chest and stored it in a spirit pouch. The energy inside still pulsed faintly.
Then he moved again.
By the time the second wolf noticed him, it was too late.
Aeron had already slipped behind it, and with a flick of his wrist, opened the beast's spine.
But then the third howled.
> So much for stealth.
Four more wolves emerged from the shadows, growling, eyes glowing like emerald lanterns.
Aeron drew his spear and activated Stone Pulse.
This time, he added a secondary technique:
> Iron Root — A movement-based technique that rooted the body momentarily during combat to stabilize posture, amplify force, and reduce recoil.
The wolves pounced.
The first came in from the right.
Aeron met it mid-air, rotating his spear upward in a sweeping arc, slamming the beast into the rocks. The second lunged low. He kicked downward with enhanced strength, cracking its skull into the earth.
The third was faster. It bit into his left forearm, teeth scraping against his bracers.
He winced, twisted, and drove the butt of the spear into its gut repeatedly until it let go.
Blood ran down his arm.
But he didn't slow down.
The fourth tried to flank him.
Aeron spun, sweeping with full force—Iron Root anchored him to the ground as the tip of the spear severed the wolf's jaw and sliced across its throat.
Four corpses.
And silence.
He knelt, breathing heavily, as the last growls faded.
He collected the cores.
> That makes six cores total. Enough to buy a cultivation manual, some spirit pills, and a disguise in Grayharbor.
He sat down, crossed his legs, and began a short meditation—pulling in the lingering spiritual energy in the valley. His injuries hurt, but they were not fatal.
He wouldn't die here.
This was just the beginning.
—
By the next afternoon, Aeron reached the gates of Grayharbor.
It was a sprawling city with grey stone walls, spires topped with metal flags, and crowds surging through the entrance. Merchants. Adventurers. Warriors. Vagabonds. The smell of spice and smoke filled the air.
Aeron wore a hood now, hiding his face. His spear was wrapped and slung over his back.
Inside the city, the first place he visited was the Hall of Professions—a large marble building with separate wings for Alchemists, Blacksmiths, Array Masters, and Spirit Appraisers.
He entered the Alchemy Wing.
Dozens of vendors hawked their pills, spiritual roots, and powders. Loud bartering echoed through the stone corridors.
He approached a small stall manned by a grumpy old man with silver hair and sharp eyes.
"I'd like to sell these." Aeron dropped six glowing spiritual cores on the table.
The man's eyes widened. "Gladefangs?"
"Yes."
"Where did a cub like you get these?"
"Killed them."
The old man inspected the cores. After a few moments, he nodded. "They're fresh. Good purity. I'll give you four gold per piece."
Aeron stared silently.
The man sighed. "Fine. Five gold. But no more."
"Deal."
He received thirty gold coins and immediately went to the scroll vendor down the hall.
There, he purchased two low-tier techniques:
1. Blazing Thrust – a spear technique that launched concentrated energy in a straight line.
2. Vein Meditation – a cultivation technique that improved energy circulation efficiency.
With the remaining coins, he bought a disguise: black robes with reinforced linings, and a new cloak stitched with resistance runes.
Finally, he bought two healing pills and one Spirit Focus Pill—used to break into the next level of cultivation.
—
That night, in a rented room above a blacksmith's shop, Aeron sat in silence.
He placed the Spirit Focus Pill in his mouth.
Swallowed.
And began to meditate.
The room filled with a soft blue glow as energy rushed into his body. His core pulsed.
His meridians tightened, then loosened.
A shudder ran down his spine.
And then—
> Breakthrough! Body Foundation Level 2 achieved.
He opened his eyes.
The room had shifted. His senses were sharper. His skin tougher. His perception clearer.
He rose and looked at himself in the mirror.
He no longer looked like a boy from the woods.
He looked like a cultivator.
A brick had been laid. The first of many.