A carriage rattled over the rugged road, the wind whistling past as Alex leaned back. Moonlight poured over him, its pale glow giving his face an ethereal, almost ghostly look. Behind them, Goldcrest had long disappeared, swallowed by the dark.
Lars and Luck slept soundly at his side. At the front, Mischel controlled the reins, eyes steady on the road, while Shelly dozed off beside her. The night stretched endlessly—silent, heavy.
One step forward.
A necessary step.
Dealing with Carlas and Thorkan had been an annoyance. They had taken him to the guild branch, where Carlas explained everything to Thorkan—though Alex had been forced to reveal his identity in the process. Still, the Regaltha family was no longer a concern. The noble and his son were imprisoned. Goldcrest was safe.
Whether those kids at the inn continued living as they had or chose something different was up to them.
Carlas had been too emotional. He truly believed Alex had spent the last five years struggling in the streets, suffering, needing saving. Pathetic. The man had even cried, blaming himself, claiming they had tried everything to find him.
For a moment, Alex had almost laughed.
Did Carlas think his tears meant anything? That his guilt changed the past?
Why should I care?
The past was nothing but a shadow. He had cut his ties with it long ago.
Thorkan, on the other hand, was different. Unlike Carlas, he wasn't soft-hearted. A dangerous man. A relic of the old era. His instincts were sharp, his experience vast, and he carried the air of someone who had survived countless battles.
But in the end, it didn't matter.
He had provided a carriage. He had entrusted Mischel with this journey, confident in her strength. That was all.
Alex smirked to himself. As if I need protection.
His focus was elsewhere.
Power. Strength. Control.
Right now, he was still at the early Core Foundation Realm. Strong enough to crush a grandmaster knight like General Viscal. But not strong enough to be certain of victory against a king. And then there was the Dragon King—said to be on the same level as Leon.
If I want to take that artifact, I must be sure. Absolute power allows no room for uncertainty.
But that was just one goal.
The Nascent Realm.
That was where true answers lay.
There was a man waiting for him there.
Some called him the Chancellor of Souls. Others believed that he was Death itself.
Fools. They dress up power in superstition to justify their own weakness.
Alex knew the truth.
He was no god. No myth. No reaper of souls.
Just a cultivator. Like everyone else. Only stronger.
But… stronger in what way?
A gatekeeper.
Every cultivator met him when they stepped into the Nascent Realm. He alone decided if they could walk forward. He asked three questions—offered three answers. Truths about the world itself.
And in return, he gave three unseen martial arts.
But that was only the first step.
A cultivator had to forge a martial art of their own from what they were given. That was the test.
Fail, and the path would close forever.
Pass, and one could truly claim their Dao.
That was the price of ascension.
And Alex knew that only the Chancellor held the answers to calm the ripples in his mind."
Alex shifted slightly, then closed his eyes. His consciousness sank inward, focusing on his dantian.
His Inner World.
Darkness.
Then, a spark.
A vast, swirling void opened before him, its expanse infinite and unknowable. Floating within it, like dying embers in an endless abyss, were his Qi reserves. Thin wisps of golden energy coiled and pulsed, resembling tiny serpents of light. Each strand twisted and turned, converging at the center of his dantian—where a faint, flickering flame burned.
The Core Foundation Realm.
At this stage, his dantian was incomplete—his core merely a fragile ember, burning weakly amidst the abyss. Only after reaching the Nascent Realm would this ember ignite into a true flame.
His Qi reserves were fifteen years' worth.
Not bad. "Enough for prolonged battles, but for what he sought? Insufficient."
The embers shifted, flickering erratically.
Beneath the golden wisps of Qi, something else lurked.
A faint shadow.
Alex's eyes sharpened. The remnant of his Profound Martial Art.
Even now, it resisted him. A force that did not belong in this body—too great, too wild, too vast. If he tried to wield it now, it would tear him apart.
He had tested it over the years. The result was always the same. His body simply couldn't withstand its power. Only after reaching the Nascent Realm would he be able to take the first step.
Even now, its side effects lingered—his hair, his face.
In my past life, my hair had been dark. But over time, as I used the profound art I created, it turned white.
A small price to pay.
Alex exhaled, his mind withdrawing from his dan tian.
None of it matters.
"Only strength matters to me. Whether for revenge for my mother's death or the immortality I pursue, my path is clear—the Dao of Eternity.
With or without the heavens,
I will tear fate apart and forge my own path."