The sound of a stone striking the ground echoed through the deserted clearing.
Vaelorian stood several steps away, breathing steadily.
A few weeks had passed since his awakening. During that time, he had returned to the same secluded place almost every day, gradually learning to understand the changes within his body.
At first, his perception had appeared and disappeared unpredictably. Even the slightest attempt to focus had left him exhausted.
Now, things were different.
He closed his eyes.
The surroundings slowly became more distinct.
The trees, the stones, the soil beneath his feet—everything seemed to carry faint fluctuations. He could distinguish the subtle patterns surrounding different objects without becoming overwhelmed by them.
He focused on a small stone.
Its presence became clearer.
Then he shifted his attention towards a tree several metres away. The faint fluctuations surrounding its trunk appeared in his perception.
He could move his attention between them deliberately.
For the first time, he could activate and suppress his perception without losing control.
A slight smile appeared on his face.
"So this is what control feels like."
He tried extending his perception farther.
The patterns became increasingly difficult to distinguish. His concentration began to weaken, and a dull pressure formed behind his eyes.
He immediately stopped.
He had learned something important.
Control did not mean pushing beyond his limits.
It meant understanding where those limits existed.
Vaelorian picked up his notebook.
Energy Perception — stable activation, controlled focus, limited range.
He paused before adding another sentence.
Still unable to manipulate energy.
That remained his next obstacle.
"Vaelorian!"
His mother's voice came from the doorway.
He looked up.
"Yes?"
She stood with her arms folded, watching him put away his notebook.
"Where do you disappear every day? You leave in the morning, come back late, and barely tell anyone where you've been."
Vaelorian scratched the back of his head.
"I just go somewhere quiet. I need some time to practise."
"Practise what?"
"Exercise. Breathing. A few things I've been studying."
His mother looked unconvinced.
"At least eat properly before leaving. And don't keep coming home so late."
"I will."
"And don't think I haven't noticed how distracted you've become lately."
Vaelorian gave her an awkward smile.
"I'll be fine."
She sighed and returned to the kitchen.
For a moment, he remained where he was.
The ordinary conversations, familiar voices and small concerns of home had not changed.
Yet his own world was slowly becoming unfamiliar.
He closed his notebook and followed her inside.
Deep within a hidden mountain territory, the sound of steel striking steel rang across an enormous training ground.
Hundreds of young cultivators had gathered.
At the centre stood two figures.
One wore a dark blue robe embroidered with silver patterns. His long hair was tied behind his head, and a calm expression rested on his face.
His name was Kael Dravorn.
He belonged to one of the ancient clans and had already reached the seventh stage of the Mortal Realm.
Opposite him stood a young man wearing crimson robes.
Rhaegar Voss.
He was the direct descendant of an influential clan elder and had reached the eighth stage of the Mortal Realm.
The difference between their cultivation levels was small.
But neither intended to yield.
For the source, look to NovelPhoenix: the author posts this chapter there, while this version was reproduced without consent.
"Are you planning to stand there all day?" Rhaegar asked with a faint smile.
Kael adjusted his grip on his sword.
"Don't worry. I'll give you something worth remembering."
A few disciples laughed.
Rhaegar's expression changed.
In the next instant, he moved.
His crimson blade swept forward with astonishing speed.
Kael shifted sideways, allowing the strike to pass close to his shoulder. His sword immediately followed, aiming for Rhaegar's ribs.
Metal clashed.
A powerful shockwave spread across the training ground.
Several spectators stepped backwards.
Rhaegar's feet slid across the stone, but he quickly regained his balance.
"Not bad."
He raised his sword again.
This time, the energy surrounding his body became noticeably stronger.
Kael's expression remained unchanged.
He slowly lifted one hand.
The air around his sword began to tremble.
Their next exchange was faster.
Blade after blade collided, sending sparks across the training ground. Neither gave the other an opportunity to retreat.
Finally, Kael redirected Rhaegar's attack and placed the edge of his sword against his opponent's neck.
Silence fell.
"Perhaps next time."
Rhaegar stared at him for several seconds before stepping back.
"Enjoy your victory. It won't happen twice."
Kael simply smiled.
"Then make sure you improve before we meet again."
The spectators erupted into discussion.
Some praised Kael's technique. Others argued that Rhaegar had been holding back.
For the younger generation, such competitions were more than entertainment. Reputation, resources, clan recognition and future opportunities often depended on these battles.
And nobody wanted to be remembered as the weak one.
Yet the territory in which they trained was not merely a secluded settlement hidden among mountains.
It was protected by an enormous concealment formation.
From outside, the region appeared to be an ordinary stretch of mountainous terrain. Certain routes led travellers away from it, while others seemed to end at cliffs or dense forests that did not exist within the territory itself.
Even satellite observations could not reliably reveal what lay beneath the formation. The surrounding landscape was concealed through a combination of spatial techniques and advanced systems maintained by the clan.
Such formations were not exclusive to one family.
Across Earth, hidden cultivation clans maintained their own territories, each protected by barriers established through generations of cultivation and technological advancement.
But concealment was only one purpose.
The formations also controlled access.
An ordinary person could not simply discover a hidden territory and walk inside. Even a cultivator from another clan might be unable to enter without permission.
Leaving was not always simple either.
A clan member who wished to travel beyond the formation required an authorised passage. Their clan could open a temporary route through its own techniques or activate a designated passage point.
However, every passage carried a cost.
Maintaining a route through a powerful formation consumed energy and required resources. Depending on the clan, the traveller might have to contribute rare materials, cultivation resources or a portion of their accumulated energy.
Some clans also required an oath of secrecy from those permitted to travel outside.
The conditions differed, but the principle remained the same.
Access was a privilege controlled by the clan, not a right that every cultivator could claim.
And there were reasons why the hidden world had become so strict.
Long before the present generation of cultivators, the separation between ordinary humanity and the cultivation world had not always existed.
Ancient records described an age when powerful cultivators moved openly across vast regions of the planet.
Their conflicts were not limited to isolated training grounds or hidden territories.
They involved entire factions, powerful techniques and resources capable of affecting enormous areas.
Then came a catastrophe.
The surviving records did not agree on every detail. Some described a conflict between ancient cultivation factions. Others referred to a struggle over an extraordinary resource whose true nature had been lost to history.
But they shared one disturbing conclusion.
The destruction had not stopped with the cultivators.
Ordinary settlements had disappeared. Vast regions had been devastated. Countless people who had possessed no cultivation ability had been caught in conflicts they could neither understand nor survive.
The strongest cultivators had eventually realised that their battles could destroy far more than their enemies.
They could destroy the world in which everyone lived.
The catastrophe became a turning point.
Several surviving factions began discussing restrictions on their interactions with ordinary civilization. Their leaders disagreed over the details, but they gradually reached a common understanding.
The cultivation world could no longer continue interfering with ordinary humanity without restraint.
That understanding eventually became the foundation of an ancient agreement.
The Separation Accord.
It was not simply a rule demanding that cultivators remain hidden.
It established boundaries between the cultivation world and ordinary human society.
Cultivation territories would maintain their independence. Clans would be responsible for controlling their own members and preventing unnecessary interference with ordinary civilization. Dangerous techniques, cultivation resources and knowledge that could cause widespread destruction were to remain protected.
In return, ordinary governments were not expected to control the internal affairs of hidden cultivation territories.
The agreement also established restrictions on the use of cultivation abilities in the ordinary world.
But the Accord was never a perfect solution.
Some clans considered its restrictions necessary. Others believed it limited their influence and prevented them from obtaining resources beyond their territories.
Even among those who respected the agreement, disagreements remained over what counted as interference.
And the old catastrophe had left behind another problem.
Resources.
Elsewhere, inside a vast stone courtyard, another gathering was taking place.
This territory belonged to a powerful ancient clan.
At its centre stood a young woman dressed in white and pale gold.
Seraphina Veyr.
She appeared calm, almost indifferent to the crowd surrounding her.
A young cultivator stepped forward.
"Senior Sister Seraphina, may I request a match?"
She looked at him briefly.
"Your cultivation is at the fifth stage?"
"Yes."
She turned towards the training platform.
"Then come."
The young man rushed forward, gathering energy around his fists.
Seraphina did not move immediately.
She waited until he was close enough.
Then she took a single step.
Her palm struck his chest.
The young man flew backwards and landed several metres away, struggling to catch his breath.
The entire exchange had lasted only a moment.
Seraphina adjusted her sleeve.
"Your energy is strong, but your movements reveal your intentions before you attack."
The young man lowered his head.
"I understand."
From the upper platform, an elderly woman watched silently.
"She is improving," one of the elders remarked.
The woman nodded.
"Her control is becoming exceptional. But strength without judgment can become a weakness."
She had no interest in celebrating a victory over someone far weaker.
The elderly woman continued watching the training ground for a moment.
"Has the preparation for the upcoming gathering been completed?" she asked.
"Almost. Several clans have already confirmed their participation."
"And the resource exchange?"
"That remains under discussion."
The elderly woman's expression became slightly serious.
"Make sure our representatives understand which resources can be exchanged and which must remain within the clan."
The other elder nodded.
Rare cultivation resources were among the most valuable possessions of any hidden clan.
Some could accelerate cultivation. Others were necessary for refining weapons, maintaining formations or treating injuries that ordinary medicine could not address.
Many existed only in specific regions, ancient ruins or dangerous environments.
As a result, control over those resources had become one of the greatest sources of conflict between clans.
The Separation Accord had been established partly to prevent such conflicts from spilling into ordinary human civilization.
It had not eliminated competition.
It had only attempted to contain it.
And not every clan agreed with the boundaries it imposed.
Inside a different hidden territory, a dispute was taking place behind closed doors.
Several elders sat around a long stone table.
A young cultivator stood before them, his clothes torn and one arm wrapped in bandages.
"You lost the eastern training grounds?" one elder asked.
The young man lowered his head.
"The opposing clan interfered. Their disciples attacked before the competition was officially concluded."
An elder struck the table.
"Then why did you retreat?"
"We were outnumbered."
"An excuse."
The young cultivator clenched his injured hand but remained silent.
Another elder intervened.
"Enough. The matter is not as simple as it appears. Their clan has been gathering resources near our territory for months."
"Then we should respond."
"And start another clan conflict?"
The hall fell silent.
The eldest figure finally spoke.
"Prepare the younger generation. The upcoming gathering will determine more than a few cultivation rankings."
His gaze moved across the room.
"We will not allow another clan to decide our future."
One of the elders leaned forward.
"Then perhaps we should reconsider our position regarding the Accord."
Several figures turned towards him.
"What are you suggesting?" another elder asked.
"Our territory is restricted by agreements made generations ago. We cannot expand our influence freely, and every attempt to establish a new passage beyond our formation requires approval."
"Those restrictions exist for a reason."
"Reasons established by people who are no longer alive."
The eldest elder raised one hand.
The discussion stopped.
"The Separation Accord was not created to make our clan weak," he said. "It was created because the previous generation learned what happens when powerful cultivators act without restraint."
He paused.
"Do you think the ancient catastrophe affected only the factions that fought in it?"
Nobody answered.
"The ordinary civilizations caught between those conflicts had no means of defending themselves. Entire regions were lost. The agreement was established so that such destruction would not become the fate of every generation."
The elder who had questioned the Accord lowered his gaze, but his expression remained dissatisfied.
Another figure spoke.
"Then why do some clans still send cultivators beyond their formations?"
"Because the Accord does not prohibit every journey," the eldest replied. "It regulates interference. Authorised passage is still possible."
"And the price?"
"Each clan decides its own conditions within the limits of the agreement. Formation energy, resources, secrecy oaths and the responsibility of the traveller. A passage is never entirely free."
The eldest elder looked around the table.
"Remember something. Our independence is protected by the same agreement that restricts us. If we abandon its principles, we may lose both."
Silence settled over the hall.
The upcoming gathering was no longer merely a competition between young cultivators.
It was an opportunity for clans to strengthen their positions, negotiate resources and influence decisions that could affect the hidden world for generations.
And beneath the formal discussions, old disagreements continued to grow.
Far away from those hidden territories, Vaelorian sat at his desk.
His notebook lay open.
He looked at the observations he had recorded over the past few weeks.
His body was responding better to physical training. His breathing had become more controlled. His perception was no longer an uncontrollable sensation.
But whenever he attempted to influence the energy he sensed, nothing happened.
He leaned back in his chair.
"There's still something missing."
His eyes moved towards the window.
Outside, the world continued its ordinary routine.
People went about their lives without knowing that another civilization existed beyond the boundaries of their familiar world.
They had no reason to suspect that certain mountains concealed entire settlements, that ancient families maintained territories beyond ordinary access, or that powerful cultivators followed laws that had existed for generations.
Vaelorian knew nothing about the battles taking place beyond concealed mountain boundaries.
He knew nothing about the clans competing for territory, reputation or power.
He knew nothing about the ancient catastrophe that had changed the relationship between two worlds, or the agreement that continued to govern them.
And he certainly knew nothing about the people who had begun searching for newly awakened talents.
For now, Vaelorian had no clan, no master and no powerful inheritance waiting for him.
He had only his own determination.
And that was where he intended to begin.