The sun had barely risen over the Fire Mountain when rumors began to swirl like a brewing storm. The once-quiet whispers among the spectators now roared like wildfire through the valley, climbing towers and leaping across sect courtyards. Even the winds seemed to carry only one name—Kent.
“The Golden Naga Ancestor… he circled the mountain thrice in joy! Have you ever seen a divine beast express such delight?”
“A mortal cured the Naga’s venom. He drank the serpent’s blood and stood unharmed!”
“They said his elixir was so potent it shed cursed scales like dry skin… What kind of alchemist is he?!”
“He’s no ordinary cultivator. Some say he’s the true heir of the Immortal Physique Sect!”
“Someone from the lower realms doing all this? Unbelievable!”
These voices bounced between the skyships, echoed in teahouses, filled the scroll forums, and even reached secluded cultivation rooms. Disciples and elders from other sects, rogue cultivators, and even clan spies disguised in humble robes all had only one wish—meet the boy named Kent.
But every attempt was met with a single response from the Living Immortal Pool Academy’s disciples:
“All visitors are barred. The pool area is sealed until further notice. No audience will be granted with disciple Kent.”
The command came from the administration itself. Guards were doubled. Protective arrays were strengthened. The name “Kent” had suddenly become not just famous—but protected.
–
While the world talked, Kent and Elder Jill walked silently through the serene pathway leading into the administration hall of the academy. Jade steps glistened with morning dew, and spirit birds chirped as they flitted through spirit trees lining the road. Kent’s mind, however, was not at peace.
When they reached the grand jade hall, two robed elders received them.
“You’ve returned in time,” one of them said. “But… the first-month trials have ended. The selection for descending near the Living Immortal Pool has already concluded. Only those with prior authorization or merit points can descend now.”
Kent’s face darkened slightly, the light in his eyes dimming. He had endured venom, created miracles, and walked the line between life and death—yet still, the gates to the core of cultivation had been sealed behind time’s rigid rules.
Elder Jill noticed the shift in his expression. With a faint smile, she placed a hand on Kent’s shoulder.
“Go to your room,” she said softly. “Leave this matter to me.”
“But—”
“No buts,” she interrupted firmly. “The sky doesn’t open just because you roar at it, Kent. But it can be cracked by those who know where to strike.”
Kent glanced at her, unsure of what she planned. Yet, trusting her wisdom, he bowed and departed in silence.
–
Night fell with a silver sheen, casting a tranquil glow over the academy. The moonlight gently slipped through the window slats of Kent’s modest room.
He sat on his meditation mat, lost in thought, when a quiet knock echoed on the wooden door.
Knock. Knock.
Opening it, Kent found himself face-to-face with a bent old man dressed in plain gray robes. His long white beard brushed his chest, and a thin bamboo hat shadowed his forehead. He carried no qi fluctuation, no identifiable presence—yet Kent instinctively felt a suffocating pressure just from standing before him.
The man didn’t introduce himself. Instead, he handed Kent a single folded note, bound by a silver thread.
“From tonight, I am your master.
Your new room is marked within this note.
Training begins at dawn.”
Before Kent could utter a word—”Who are you?” “Why me?” “What training?”—the old man had already turned, vanishing into the darkness of the corridor without a backward glance.
Kent stood frozen for a moment. The note trembled slightly in his fingers—not from fear, but from the surge of anticipation racing through his veins.
He unfolded it.
Row 3, Room 9 –
Reserved for Inner Circle Disciples and Personal Apprentices.
Access to Tier-One Spirit Veins – Approved.
Pool Energy Limit – Lifted.
Report before dawn.
Kent blinked. The third row? That was the closest row to the Living Immortal Pool, reserved only for handpicked talents—those directly taught by elders or granted status through lineage.
He wasted no time. Gathering his few belongings, he made his way up the terrace path, lanterns illuminating his way like stars guiding a destined soul.
When he reached the new quarters, his breath caught.
The room wasn’t just spacious—it radiated sacred energy. The air itself shimmered with qi, so pure it clung to his skin like silk. The faint hum of the Living Immortal Pool reverberated through the walls. Even standing there, Kent could feel his meridians involuntarily absorbing energy. It was cultivation heaven.
He stepped inside and, for the first time in days, allowed a relaxed smile to touch his lips.
He waved his sleeve and summoned his spirit beasts and pets—Gale, the thunder hawk; Shadowtail, the night-panther; Dewdrop, the spirit lotus; and the rest of his silent companions. Each of them instantly felt the purity of the energy and rushed to the corners of the room to begin their own meditation.
“Cultivate well,” Kent said with a rare softness. “You’ve all earned it.”
Then, he sat down at the stone table in the center of the chamber. Upon it lay blank golden spirit paper, gifted to core disciples for design inscriptions.
He dipped his ink brush into black celestial ink and slowly began to sketch.
The bow—long, sleek, forged to handle his fury and intent.
A quiver—engraved with immortal runes, capable of generating spell-arrows from qi alone.
The mechanism—refined with living metal, and powered by his own blood essence and storm will.
He worked deep into the night, eyes burning with focus, lips murmuring formulas, runes, and names. His brush danced like a sword in the battlefield—elegant, precise, deadly.
This wouldn’t be just a weapon.
It would be a companion in war.
A symbol.
A storm born in silence.
–
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