As the Sovereign Legion continued its campaign, its growth became undeniable.
Thousands of recruits trained under the guidance of battle-tested veterans. The cities now under Legion control became training grounds, meditation sanctuaries, and spiritual hubs.
Zairon had opened the Skill Library to its fullest—techniques suited for every class and talent were made available. The air buzzed with energy from sparring duels, group cultivation sessions, and guided technique refinement.
Combat teams trained in live simulations.
Assassins practiced stealth under moonlight.
Archers meditated to feel the wind and strike true.
Healers learned to mend not just wounds, but morale.
New cultivation methods, each tailored to unique spirit alignments, were introduced. Some focused on fire, others on ice, shadow, metal, even sound. No one was left behind—every member had a path forward.
Amid this flourishing, Zairon sat alone atop the tower of their base. In his hand: the spirit beast egg.
It pulsed softly. Faint thumps echoed from within, like a heartbeat trying to sync with the world.
He stared at it, eyes narrowed.
"You've been dormant too long… You're close. I can feel it. So what's stopping you?"
He tried pouring raw spiritual energy into it, but it barely reacted—flickers of light, but no crack.
He tried immense battle aura, but the egg simply resisted, unmoved.
Then it struck him—this wasn't about brute force.
"You need true spiritual nourishment... not pressure, not dominance… but intent. Will. Life."
Now he had to figure it out:
Where could he find a place of pure spiritual flow?
Or could he construct one himself?
Or perhaps… does it need to feed during combat, like absorbing energy from the field?
Zairon tapped his chin.
"Guess I'll have to experiment… Let's wake you up, little monster."