Rising from meditation, De-Reece only now realises how hungry he is.
"Right," he thinks to himself. "I need to eat."
Retrieving the snake, he expertly fillets it, regretting the lack of seasonings in this new world. Still, food is food. Setting off to gather firewood, his path winds through the forest of massive oak-red trees stretching high into the sky. Their towering forms make him feel small—a reminder that, despite his recent progress, he remains at the base of an insurmountable mountain.
Methodically, he gathers dry branches and twigs, checking their weight and snapping them to ensure they will burn properly. The silence of the forest presses down, each crack of a branch echoing louder than it should. His mind drifts back to the Heavenly Demon's words—strength through mastery, not recklessness. Even in something as simple as collecting firewood, an eerie sense of purpose lingers, as though every action, no matter how small, is another stone paving his path forward.
During the journey, De-Reece practices, leaping from tree to tree. At first, his steps are clumsy, control over Phantom Shadow Steps still unrefined. But as the hours pass, a strange sensation creeps over him—freedom. The wind rushes past his face, and for a fleeting moment, he feels untethered from everything. No death, no battles, just motion.
Then the weight of memory hits—the faces of his lost brothers, the sound of their laughter—gone. The sensation of freedom evaporates as quickly as it came, replaced by a cold emptiness.
Grinding his teeth, De-Reece refocuses, pushing Qi into his newly opened leg nodes. The flow still feels awkward—like trying to redirect a river through half-built canals—but it is better than before. Regret gnaws at him over his choice to open the shoulder point first. If he had opened the leg nodes instead, his movement would already be smoother. His steps would be faster, control sharper. A mistake born of haste—one he vows not to repeat.
By the time he stumbles across a small deposit of rock salt, Phantom Shadow Steps have grown steadier, the flickers of movement less erratic. It isn't mastery, but it is something.
"Better than nothing," he mutters, pocketing the salt into his spatial pouch.
On the way back, he freezes.
A monkey tribe—brown-furred creatures with red stripes running down their backs—perches in the distance. War paint? No, just the natural colour of their fur. Their faces bear husky-like markings around their eyes, giving them a fierce, almost tribal look. The leader, larger than the rest, gnaws on a thick root, gaze scanning the forest with a sharpness that speaks of intelligence.
De-Reece's hand hovers over his zombie knife, but he shakes his head. Not yet. He will challenge them eventually—test himself against their speed and strength—but now is not the time. Quietly, he retreats.
Back at the cave, he prepares his meal, breaking down the rock salt into finer grains and sprinkling it over the snake meat. Each bite is a revelation—not because of the flavor, which remains bland and metallic—but because he can feel the faint pulse of Qi within the meat. It isn't much, but it is something. The snake's lifeforce has not completely dissipated, and with each swallow, a whisper of energy trickles into his meridians.
Eyes widening in amazement, he murmurs, "Even eating can strengthen me?"
Finishing his meal, De-Reece crosses his legs and runs Qi through his newly opened meridians. The flow remains rough, still burdened by the imbalance from his shoulder point, but he presses forward. When he finally stabilizes a crude circuit, he retrieves the body-tempering pills left by the Heavenly Demon. Without hesitation, he swallows one.
Pain erupts instantly.
It feels like molten iron coursing through his veins, each pulse of Qi clashing violently against his unrefined pathways. His muscles scream in protest, bones aching as if being chiseled from the inside out. He bites down on his lip hard enough to taste blood, riding out the agony until, at last, the storm passes.
When his breathing slows, a new strength hums beneath his skin. His body feels reforged, every fiber of his being honed sharper than before.
A glimmer of light catches his eye—a mirror tucked away in the corner of the cave. For the first time since coming to this world, he sees his reflection.
Shock hits like a hammer.
The face staring back isn't the 26-year-old man he remembers. It is younger—leaner—with skin smoother than it has been in years. His body, though still broad and muscular, seems just shy of fully matured.
"Sixteen?" De-Reece mutters, running a hand through his hair.
The chaos of fighting, training, and surviving has kept him too preoccupied to notice, but there is no denying it now. He is in his younger body.
"Well, damn," he whispers, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. He has always looked older than his age, even back then, but this… this is something else. One thing puzzles him, though. His dreads remain—a style he hadn't grown until later in life. A strange comfort, like a piece of his old self refusing to be left behind.
Shaking off the confusion, De-Reece's gaze lands on the glowing golden fruit resting beside the alchemy tools and the Formation and Arrays book.
He still doesn't know what to do with it. Eating it blindly seems reckless, yet the power it exudes is undeniable. Despite studying the formation and alchemy books, there is no mention of this strange fruit. Not even a hint.
His thoughts shift to the Heavenly Demon's words. Thinking of the sword hidden away, he retrieves it.
Magnificent—heavy, yet not bulky in appearance. The blade seems forged from some black obsidian-like metal, perhaps a fusion of the two. Intricate designs line its surface, flowing like dark veins of power. Flawless in craftsmanship, it is unmistakably a sword, yet its deceptive shape hints at versatility. A weapon capable of both sword and blade techniques. Adaptable. Lethal. Unpredictable. A reflection of the Heavenly Demon's philosophy.
De-Reece begins training, channeling Qi through his node points, but the techniques described in the book do not come naturally. His broader, bulkier frame clashes with the fluid, elegant strikes emphasized by the Heavenly Demon. The forms demand agility and grace—quick, sweeping motions that seem at odds with his powerful, grounded stance. Each swing feels off, like wearing clothes tailored for someone else. His strikes are too heavy, footwork too rigid.
Time slips away as the sun crawls across the sky. Days of repetition blur together—strike, step, parry—and each failure stokes the simmering frustration within him. The book speaks of moving Qi like a flowing stream, guiding it seamlessly from node to node, but his Qi is a crashing wave, wild and untamed.
By midday a few days later, his muscles scream from overuse. Sweat clings to his skin like a second layer. He forces himself to stop, gnawing on the last scraps of snake meat, only to find the energy gained meager—a whisper of what it had been before. A grim reminder that relying solely on these beasts for Qi will never be sustainable.
Gritting his teeth, he refuses to let the day slip away. Rather than forcing himself into the Heavenly Demon's mold, he tries something different—heavier, more deliberate strikes. He channels Qi into his legs, stabilizing his stance, and lets his sword arm swing with the strength of his entire body. Rather than finesse, he blends sword and blade techniques, shifting between quick slashes and bone-crushing chops.
The results are crude, unpolished—but they are his. Each swing carries the faintest spark of something new.
Not mastery. Not yet.
But the beginning of something that belongs to him alone.
As exhaustion claims his limbs, he slumps against the cave wall, staring at the formation book beside him. If sheer strength isn't enough, then perhaps manipulating the world itself will be.
The Heavenly Demon had spoken of mastery. De-Reece will carve his own path to it.
Starting small, De-Reece follows the most basic formation in the book—a simple concealment array using water and wind elements. He has been experimenting with these for the last few days during his breaks from trying to create some unity between his and the heavenly demons swordstyles. Painstakingly etching symbols into the dirt, he draws thin, flowing lines for water—soft curves meant to spread Qi like a mist—and sharp, erratic slashes for wind, adding a layer of shifting motion. As Qi channels along the drawn lines, the air itself ripples. Stepping back, he watches as the 3x3 meter area in front of him wavers like a mirage—a crude invisibility formation, blending the fluidity of water with the ever-moving veil of wind.
Encouraged, he pushes further, attempting a basic offensive formation. This time, fire and metal elements take shape—fire for destructive bursts, metal for precision. The symbols are more complex, demanding sharper focus and a more controlled Qi flow. Twice, his Qi sputters out, breaking the formation mid-process, but on the third attempt, a faint crimson glow lines the array. Tossing a small stone into the center, De-Reece watches as the symbols flare—a thin arc of energy, like a molten blade, slashing upward to split the stone cleanly in two.
Basic, but a start.
With formations, he isn't just a lone fighter—he can shape the battlefield itself, commanding the elements and weaving their forces into his design. Mastery over formations means more than brute strength. If he can control the flow of battle before it even begins, victory is no longer determined by raw power alone.
Slumping against the cold stone of the cave, De-Reece feels the steady ache in his muscles, a reminder of the day's relentless training. His sword rests across his lap, the dark obsidian-metal blade humming faintly with the remnants of his Qi. The crude, unrefined fusion of sword and blade techniques he has begun forging is only a foundation. Yet, something gnaws at him.
The formations.
The invisibility array had been a revelation—blending water and wind elements, he had managed to distort the air itself, crafting a 3x3 meter veil that shimmered like a heatwave. But it is unstable. The ripple effect flickers at the edges, and he suspects it would collapse with the slightest disruption to his Qi flow.
And the offensive formation—while it had successfully combined fire and metal elements to produce a slashing arc, the cut lacks precision. The stone had split, but not cleanly. The molten edge scorched the ground beneath it—a wild burst of flame and steel rather than a controlled strike.
A frown settles over his features, his mind turning like a millstone.
"I'm treating these like weapons," he mutters, clenching a fist. "But formations aren't swords or blades. They're... something more."
Grabbing the Formation and Arrays book again, he flips through the worn pages until the section on elemental infusions appears. Balance—each element carries its own essence, its own rules.
Water: Fluid, adaptable, used for concealment, healing, or erosion. It envelops or devours over time.Wind: Elusive, swift, for movement and misdirection. It never stays still, always flowing.Earth: Solid, unyielding, a force of defense and foundation. The backbone of any lasting formation.Fire: Wild, destructive, the raw pulse of power. It surges without care for stability.Gold: Sharp, precise, often used for cutting, carving paths through any obstacle.Metal: Structural, reinforcing, binding elements together like iron frames a building.
The key, the book emphasizes, is harmony. Elements don't merely coexist—they react. Fire devours wind but is smothered by earth. Water and wind dance fluidly, while metal carves through them both.
De-Reece's thoughts twist back to his swordwork. The same imbalance he'd felt while blending blade and sword techniques—that clashing of speed and power—mirrors the elemental struggles within these formations.
"What if I… merge them?"
The idea strikes like lightning.
Dragging his sword to his side, he stabs it into the ground before him. With a slow breath, he etches a new formation, larger than the others—a 5x5 meter array. This time, fire and metal form the core, harsh, jagged symbols feeding into one another like a molten blade cutting through steel. Around the perimeter, wind and water sigils loop together, forming a swirling barrier to corral the chaotic energy within.
As Qi flows through the design, the formation sparks to life. A fiery core roars at the center, but the wind-water shell keeps the flames from spiraling out of control, twisting them into a focused spiral. The outer layer shimmers—not quite invisible, but blurred, making the formation's heart a flickering, unpredictable blaze.
De-Reece steps back, breath shallow with anticipation. He hurls another stone into the center. The moment the rock crosses the boundary, the swirling wind funnels it directly into the molten core—the combined elements snapping together. A razor-thin arc of flame shoots out, slicing through the stone mid-flight. This time, the cut is clean. Precise.
The formation collapses a second later, the elements destabilizing—but not before leaving a deep, charred groove along the cave floor.
Sweat drips from his brow. His heart pounds—not from exertion, but from possibility.
"If I can do this with formations," he whispers, mind racing, "what happens when I merge these elements into my sword techniques?"
The thought is a spark—the promise of a new path. De-Reece doesn't want to simply learn the Heavenly Demon's techniques.
He wants to create his own.
As the last embers of the collapsed formation fade into the stone, his mind roars with potential. His sword remains planted in the ground, the obsidian-metal blade drinking in the ambient Qi still lingering from his experiment. The precision of the elemental slash, the fusion of fire's raw destruction and metal's honed focus—something deep within him stirs.
This… this is what I've been missing.
The Heavenly Demon's techniques had never belonged to him. They were chains, rules written by another's hands. But this—this could be his.
Rising to his feet, the ache in his muscles forgotten, he grips the hilt of his sword. If formations can weave elements into structured, explosive reactions, then the same principles can apply to swordplay. The Heavenly Demon's techniques have always felt like shackles—elegant, graceful, and utterly unsuited to his raw, unyielding power. But with this, he can forge something new.
I'm not him. The words burn as fiercely as the fire he just summoned. I'm not his shadow his disciple yes but never a shadow.
Closing his eyes, he guides his Qi, splitting it into threads. He visualizes the elements—fire for strength and momentum, wind for speed, earth for stability, and metal for precision. The threads tangle at first, the elements clashing, but frustration is forced aside as focus sharpens.
Balance. Fire rages—wind feeds or scatters it. Metal cuts through both—but without earth, there is no control.
Starting with fire and metal, he channels Qi along the blade's edge. Fire surges, metal reinforcing the structure, forging a contained but fierce energy. When he swings, the blade leaves a faint trail of heat, not wild like before, but a razor-thin arc that hisses against the cool cave air.
Good… but not enough.
Wind is added next. The current pushes against the fire, threatening to scatter it, but anchoring his stance like earth, he stabilizes the flow. Qi moves like a river along the blade's surface, wind feeding the fire, causing the thin line of flame to twist and flicker erratically.
Too fast. Too wild.
Strike. Step. Parry.
The sequence repeats, again and again. Each swing carves a story into the air—of imbalance, struggle, and relentless pursuit.
But exhaustion sets in. His grip trembles. The blade dulls, its energy spent. Qi burns too fast.
Panting, he lowers his weapon. This is just the beginning.
The Heavenly Demon's shadow still looms—but De-Reece no longer walks beneath it.
He forges a path of his own.