The evening was beginning to settle when Vaelorian left his friend's house. The streets were gradually becoming quieter, and the fading sunlight cast long shadows across the road. He had spent most of the afternoon with his friends, discussing ordinary things and laughing about meaningless arguments. For a while, he hadn't thought about dimensions, strange symbols or the unexplained sensations he had experienced recently.
As he walked along a narrow street, a loud argument caught his attention. Several young men had gathered near a small roadside shop. At first, Vaelorian assumed it was an ordinary disagreement and continued walking. Then he noticed someone sitting on the ground, trying to protect himself while two men stood over him.
"Get up! I haven't finished with you!"
One of them grabbed the young man's shirt and pulled him forward. The victim tried to explain something, but another man struck him across the face. Vaelorian stopped walking.
He looked around. A few people were watching from a distance, but nobody seemed willing to intervene. Some whispered among themselves, while others simply looked away.
Vaelorian hesitated. He wasn't a trained fighter, and he had no idea how many people were involved. He knew that getting between them could put him in danger. But watching someone being beaten while everyone stood silently made him uncomfortable.
"Hey! Leave him alone."
His voice wasn't particularly loud, but it was enough to make the men turn towards him. One of them looked Vaelorian up and down before laughing.
"Who are you?"
"Just leave him. Whatever happened, you don't need to beat him."
The man stepped closer.
"Are you going to teach us what to do?"
Vaelorian glanced at the injured person. He was still on the ground, breathing heavily. Vaelorian looked back at the group.
"Let him go. That's all I'm asking."
For a moment, nobody moved. Then one of the men suddenly pushed him. Vaelorian stumbled backwards, barely managing to regain his balance.
"Mind your own business."
He should have walked away. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that. But when the man turned back towards the person on the ground, Vaelorian stepped forward again.
"Didn't you hear me?"
The next moment, a fist struck his face.
His head turned sharply, and he stumbled sideways. Before he could recover, another blow landed against his ribs. Pain spread through his body, forcing the air out of his lungs. He tried to defend himself, but his movements were uncoordinated. He had no proper fighting technique, no experience and no understanding of how to respond to multiple attackers.
A hand grabbed his shirt and threw him against the ground. His palm scraped across the rough surface, leaving a bleeding cut.
"Stay down if you know what's good for you."
Vaelorian tried to stand, but a kick struck his side. He fell again, struggling to catch his breath. The pain was sharp, and his body felt heavier with every movement.
He looked towards the injured person. The young man had managed to move away from the attackers, but Vaelorian himself could barely get up.
A familiar voice suddenly shouted from behind.
"Vaelorian!"
One of his friends came running towards them, followed by another. The attackers hesitated when they saw more people approaching. A few bystanders also began moving closer, and the group eventually backed away.
"Let's go. This isn't worth it."
They left, disappearing down the street.
Vaelorian remained on the ground for a moment. His friend immediately crouched beside him.
"Are you crazy? What were you thinking?"
Vaelorian tried to answer, but his ribs hurt whenever he breathed deeply.
"Help me up."
His friends supported him and helped the injured person move to a safer place. One of them checked Vaelorian's face while another looked at the cut on his palm.
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"You're bleeding."
"It's nothing."
"Nothing? Look at your hand!"
Vaelorian glanced down. Blood had begun running along his fingers.
His friend shook his head.
Vaelorian didn't argue. He knew that his friend was right, but he also couldn't bring himself to regret helping the person who had been attacked.
After making sure the injured young man was safe, his friends helped Vaelorian return home. The journey felt longer than usual. Every step reminded him of the pain in his ribs, and he had to hide his discomfort whenever someone looked at him.
When he reached home, his mother immediately noticed his condition.
"What happened to you?"
"Nothing serious. I just got into a small fight."
His mother looked at his injured palm and swollen cheek.
"Does this look like nothing serious?"
His father came over after hearing the conversation. He examined Vaelorian's injuries and asked him what had happened. Vaelorian explained everything without hiding the fact that he had intervened.
His father listened quietly.
"Helping someone is a good thing," he finally said. "But you also need to understand what you're capable of. Being brave doesn't mean you should put yourself in a situation you cannot handle."
Vaelorian lowered his eyes.
"I know."
His mother cleaned the wound on his palm and applied medicine. The sting made him pull his hand away.
"Stay still," she said.
He obeyed.
For the rest of the evening, he remained mostly quiet. His parents didn't continue questioning him, but he could tell that they were worried.
Later, when he was alone in his room, Vaelorian sat beside his desk and looked at his injured hand. The cut wasn't deep, but it hurt whenever he moved his fingers. His ribs were also painful, and even taking a deep breath reminded him of the fight.
He opened his notebook.
For a long time, he stared at the empty page before finally writing:
Today, I tried to help someone. I knew there was a risk, but I didn't expect to be so helpless.
He paused before continuing.
Having the courage to confront someone doesn't mean having the strength to defeat them.
He read the sentence several times.
He wasn't ashamed of helping the injured person. What bothered him was how easily he had been overwhelmed. He hadn't been able to protect himself, and if his friends hadn't arrived, the situation could have become much worse.
Vaelorian closed the notebook.
For the first time, his interest in understanding the human body felt more personal. He wanted to know how strength was developed, how the body adapted to physical stress and how much a person could improve through proper training.
But he also understood that strength wasn't something he could obtain simply by wishing for it.
Far away, beneath an ancient mountain range, a different kind of confrontation was taking place.
An enormous stone platform stood at the centre of an old ruin. Its surface was covered with weathered inscriptions, and several damaged pillars surrounded it. The air carried a faint pressure that ordinary humans would have found difficult to endure.
A cultivator wearing crimson robes stood before the platform. His expression was cold as he examined the inscriptions.
"After all these years, the records were right."
An elderly cultivator stood several metres away, blocking his path.
"Leave this place. You have no understanding of what you're disturbing."
The crimson-robed man gave a dismissive laugh.
"An old ruin with a few broken formations. Do you expect me to believe there's something here worth protecting?"
The elderly cultivator raised his hand. A faint wave of energy spread through the surroundings, causing dust and loose stones to rise from the ground.
"Walk away while you still can."
The crimson-robed cultivator's expression hardened.
"Then I'll remove you first." This chapter was taken from novelping.com without permission.
He moved.
A violent collision shook the platform. Energy surged between the two cultivators, and several damaged pillars cracked under the pressure. The elderly man attempted to defend himself, but his opponent's attacks were relentless. A powerful strike sent him crashing against the stone floor.
Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
The crimson-robed man approached.
"Now, tell me what is beneath this platform."
The elderly cultivator struggled to raise his head.
"You have no idea what you're trying to awaken."
Before the crimson-robed man could respond, the atmosphere changed.
The surrounding energy became unnaturally still. The dust suspended in the air stopped moving, and a heavy pressure descended across the ruin.
Someone had arrived.
A figure dressed in black robes stood at the entrance. His face remained hidden beneath his hood, and he showed no visible reaction to the destruction around him.
The crimson-robed cultivator turned.
"Who are you?"
The black-robed figure didn't answer.
He simply took one step forward.
The pressure across the ruin intensified. The crimson-robed cultivator's expression changed as his body suddenly became difficult to move. He tried to circulate his energy, but the surrounding space seemed to resist him.
The black-robed figure finally spoke.
"You simply haven't understood the difference between courage and survival."
His voice was quiet, yet the words seemed to settle over the entire ruin.
The crimson-robed cultivator clenched his teeth.
"What do you want?"
The black-robed figure ignored him and turned towards the stone platform. His attention settled on a section of the inscriptions that had been disturbed during the fight.
He approached it slowly and examined the markings.
For several moments, he remained silent.
Then he raised one hand.
A faint energy spread across the surface, revealing traces of an unusual disturbance beneath the platform.
His expression remained hidden, but his attention had become noticeably sharper.
Something had changed.
And he wanted to understand what.
Back in his room, Vaelorian was still awake. He had placed his notebook aside and was staring at his injured palm. The events of the evening continued returning to his thoughts, particularly the moment when he had fallen to the ground and realised he couldn't defend himself.
He slowly closed his fingers.
Pain.
Weakness.
Helplessness.
He didn't want to experience those things again.
But he also knew that becoming stronger would require more than anger or determination. He would need patience, discipline and an understanding of his own limitations.
He looked towards the books on his desk.
Tomorrow, he would begin with the basics.
He didn't know how far he could go, or whether his efforts would ever lead to anything extraordinary.
For now, he only knew one thing.
He didn't want to remain this weak forever.