Prologue
In a remote corner of the kingdom, nestled within the Eastern continent of Galendray, stood a town called Skull Howler.
This town was comprised of many ordinary families who huddled together, struggling through their poverty, all bound by a single clan: the Death Lotus Clan.
Inside the Elder's Hall, the head of each family was present, along with the High Elder of the town itself, to discuss their economic woes.
"This is no longer acceptable, Elder Morem. As time goes on, the land we claim outside the town is shrinking. Our meager harvests dwindle every day due to those arrogant noble clans. They’re even trying to take our territory without permission!" declared one elder.
"That's not all. The river that should be flowing fresh into our town and fields, they’re polluting it, filling it with rocks, deliberately making it hard for us to grow our food. We need to fight back. Our children are constantly falling ill from hunger. We’re all affected by these events." Another elder voiced their concerns.
Morem listened silently to their grievances, understanding their frustration.
"If this problem continues, we won’t even have a few years before we have a cultivator in our town who becomes a full-fledged adventurer and lifts us out of this hardship."
Morem sighed. He longed for a break from all the burdens he carried, but he held back from simply remaining silent.
"Elder Morem. How is Raisen? Your grandson? He hasn’t returned to our town in three years since he went as a candidate to the White Temple Institute. He hasn’t even sent a letter."
"Is he a full-fledged adventurer now?"
"Others speculate he’s dead."
Morem stood up, silencing everyone. They stared at him as he stroked his long beard. "Let's stop this conversation for now. Allow me some time to think peacefully, and tomorrow I will take steps for the betterment of everyone."
Many murmured in response.
When Morem left the hall, he went straight to a forest near their town.
His hands were hidden behind his back as he inhaled the fresh air, his steps measured and calm.
As the elder moved further away from the houses, the environment became increasingly quiet. The serenity brought a sense of peace to the elder, causing him to smile and exhale a deep sigh with his eyes closed.
A strong wind blew for a few seconds. It sent leaves swirling around him and danced the branches and leaves of every tree.
As the wind subsided, a young man appeared behind the elder. He held a wooden sword, and as he plunged it toward the elder’s back, a powerful energy blocked the wooden sword from striking. The weapon shattered spontaneously, accompanied by a blast of wind that sent the young man flying backward along with the surrounding leaves.
The young man was disarmed, but he had three wooden daggers in reserve. He threw them one after another at the elder.
Morem turned towards him, and with the agility of one hand, caught all the wooden daggers, trapping them between his fingers. The young man’s attack didn’t end there.
He ran towards the elder and delivered a swift punch aimed at his face, but Morem simply turned his head slightly, avoiding the blow.
He followed with a series of kicks, but none of them struck the elder. Finally, Morem flicked the young man’s forehead, causing him to stumble backward in pain. "Ouch! You’re cheating!"
The elder laughed and threw the three wooden daggers back at the young man. The young man caught them while Morem returned his hands behind his back.
"May I speak with you, Emrys?"
The young man nodded with a smile.
They walked together towards the deeper part of the forest.
"What would you like to talk about?" Emrys asked, hands in his pockets.
"Before anything else, there’s one thing I want to clarify." The elder began, turning to Emrys. "Has your dream of becoming an adventurer ever changed?"
Emrys smiled. "No! Never. If you allow me to enter the White Temple Institute, I assure you, I won’t disappoint anyone here."
"Due to our town’s extreme poverty, we can’t even afford a single cultivation stone. It’s unfortunate, but none of the young people today have the ability to raise their levels beyond Stage Cat of cultivation."
This level was only the second in the total nine levels of cultivation. In essence, it was the weakest level that novice cultivators should possess before entering the White Temple Institute.
"It seems we won’t be able to send any cultivators this year. That’s disappointing." Emrys clenched his fist and looked down. "If I could only raise my level from Stage Rat, maybe I’d have a chance to be sent to the Institute tomorrow, or even before. But no matter how much I cultivate, my level has never increased once. I remain the weakest cultivator of all. I’m useless."
Because of this, Morem turned to the young man. "Your current state isn’t your fault, Emrys. What matters is the burning fire within your chest, the desire to change your fate if you persevere. Learning not to give up despite all the weaknesses that hinder you from achieving your aspirations. That’s more important than the traits you’ve been given now."
"Then, what should I do? You’ve already taught me everything you needed to teach. But none of it works. I’m doing everything I can."
The elder stroked his chin. "As I told you before, there seems to be something unusual about your level-raising system. There’s something blocking it that I don’t understand about your body’s system."
"Why don’t you become a full-fledged Adventurer, Elder Morem?" Emrys suddenly asked.
"If I do that, our clan will be left unprotected, and there’s a high chance that someone will take it over if I’m absent from the town for even a few days. So, I have no choice but to stay until I can trust someone with my position. The problem is, there’s no one I can entrust with such a crucial role."
Emrys sighed. "If Father were still alive, it would have been easier for the two of you to make this decision."
"You’re right." And Morem ruffled the young man’s hair.
"Elder Morem."
"What is it?"
"I’d like you to send me to the White Temple Institute tomorrow."
