Dust and Diamonds

The morning bell rang cold and sharp through the Iron Wind Pavilion.

Outer disciples gathered like insects before a storm, silent and tense. The training hall at the mountain's base was wide and bare, carved directly into the cliffside. Wind formations buzzed in the corners, keeping the air stiff and heavy.

An elder appeared in a swirl of gust and dust, robes snapping in the wind. His face was carved from stone, and his voice even harder.

"You're not cultivators. Not yet. What you are is moldable."

With a wave of his hand, scrolls clattered onto the stone floor in front of us.

"Mortal-grade, low-tier qi skills. Stone Body Scripture. If you can't handle this much, you're not worth teaching."

When my name was called, I stepped forward and retrieved my scroll without a word. The parchment was old and smelled of dry dust, as if even the ink had grown tired of existing.

Back in my quarters, I sat cross-legged and unrolled it beneath the pale light of my lantern.

📜 Stone Body Scripture

> "Root your qi in your bones. Anchor your breath to your flesh. Let your will settle like stone. Temper your limbs until they grow heavy and firm, unmoving in the face of time."

I read it once.

Twice.

Then I laughed.

Not out loud. Just a breath. A dry, bitter sound from the back of my throat.

Compared to the True Martial Body, this was a child's bedtime fable—slow, shallow, inefficient. It read like someone had tried to imitate a real method and failed to even scratch the surface.

The True Martial Body pulsed inside me even as I read—quiet, vast, ancient. Every breath I took under its rhythm strengthened me. My skin had hardened, my flesh had tightened, and the fire of my bones had already begun to stir.

Where this "Stone Body Scripture" required blind repetition, the True Martial Body guided me like instinct—teaching not only how to train, but why. It wasn't just cultivation.

It was transformation.

This scroll?

Trash.

Still, I rolled it up and stored it neatly in the corner of my room. I had no use for it, but I wasn't foolish enough to openly reject the sect's offerings. Not yet.

Later that night, I reached under my bed and retrieved the smuggled book again.

📖 Foundations of the Martial World – Volume I

Its pages crackled as I turned them, the ink still dark, the knowledge dense.

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🔹 Cultivation Realms

> Body Tempering Realm

1. Skin

2. Flesh

3. Bones

4. Blood

5. Marrow

6. Organ

7. Veins

8. Meridians

9. Core Body Completion

> Qi Condensation (1–10)

Foundation Establishment

  Early (1–4)

  Middle (5–8)

  Peak (9)

Core Formation (1–9)

Nascent Soul (1–9)

Soul Formation (1–3)

Saint (1–9)

Great Saint (1–9)

Void (1–3)

Void Refining (1–3)

Void Core (1–9)

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🔸 Universal Ranks of Power

> Whether pill, weapon, talisman, martial art, or cultivation skill—they all followed one structure:

Mortal

Yellow

Profound

Each tier divided into:

Low

Mid

High

Even a Profound-Low pill could cause a breakthrough, while a Yellow-High martial art could kill an expert in one strike.

I leaned back, breathing slowly.

The True Martial Body... where did it even belong in that system? It wasn't Mortal. Not even Yellow. It felt deeper than anything I had read—more complete. Like it came from a world that had already forgotten the concepts of "tier."

The sect had given me a stone.

But I held in my chest something closer to a mountain.

And I intended to climb every step until the heavens cracked beneath my feet.