Soft breaths echoed inside the cave.
Far outside, a distant animal roar.
Wind scraping against stone.
The moment Arjun stepped into the cave, his eyes went first to the thin crack that served as a door.
The cave was tiny—so small that a grown man could only crawl inside.
Its mouth was little more than a fissure, and once he was in, his body no longer felt large.
Still, he barely fit.
Quickly he gathered every loose stone, thick branch, broken brick, and anything else his hands could reach, and jammed them into the opening.
The scrape of stone.
The rustle of rough cloth.
The instant the last rock settled into place, the outside world vanished into pure black.
Arjun held his breath.
The black iron nail remained clenched tight in his fist.
He sat completely still for several heartbeats, ears straining for any sound beyond the sealed crack.
At first, nothing.
Then a long, dreadful moan drifted from far away.
After it came the growl of something massive.
Then another.
Then, from a greater distance still, a laugh that sounded like a ghost’s.
A terrible laugh.
A strange scream.
No expression crossed Arjun’s face, yet his eyes stayed razor-sharp in the darkness.
He knew that in this city even a single mistake at night could be fatal.
The dangers he escaped by day doubled after sundown.
After a while the sounds passed close to the cave mouth and moved on.
Only then did a long, exhausted breath leave his chest.
A soft exhalation.
Leaning against the wall, Arjun opened his small pack.
Inside lay a piece of dry bread, a little dried meat, a small water flask, and a bone slip.
He took one sip of water, then drew out the bone slip hidden at the very bottom.
It was no ordinary bone.
Fine characters were carved into its surface.
In the dark they were invisible, yet Arjun could read them with his fingertips.
Every line, every scratch, every curve spoke to him like words.
This was a bone slip—containing the secret of a cultivation method.
He closed his eyes and traced the characters, recalling the technique.
**Ocean and Mountain Mantra.**
That was its name.
He had practiced it many times before.
Each attempt brought a new fear, a new pain, a new sensation rising inside him.
Still he never stopped.
In this world, stopping meant sealing oneself off—and sealing oneself off was the same as dying.
He straightened his spine.
Then he began the special rhythm of breath.
Slow.
Deep.
Long.
A brief hold.
Then deeper still.
Controlled breaths.
A heartbeat growing louder.
As the rhythm shifted, a strange image began to form in his mind.
A vast, monstrous figure.
A small body.
An oversized head.
A single leg.
Black skin.
And a face twisted with the cunning of an evil spirit.
Arjun fixed the image firmly in his mind.
He had been told it was a goblin.
The visualization was as bizarre as it was powerful.
The Ocean and Mountain Mantra was not meant for casting spells.
It was a method for forging the body—so that vital energy could settle within it, allowing the cultivator to resist the corrupted power of this world.
At first everything felt ordinary.
Then, within moments, a disturbance began inside his flesh.
A faint vibration.
Energy flowing like distant water.
Arjun felt the air around him change, as though invisible currents had started to move through the cave.
A sharp, cold force began to pour into his body.
He shuddered.
A strange chill raced from head to toe, as if someone had poured ice into his veins.
Arjun clenched his teeth.
No.
He would not stop.
Sweat soaked his back.
His breathing grew heavier.
Still he held the rhythm.
One thought alone filled his mind: if he quit today, tomorrow he would stand in the same weak place.
And in this world, weakness meant becoming someone else’s prey.
Suddenly something light tore open inside him.
A dull *thud*.
Arjun’s brows tightened.
A chain reaction began within his body, like bolts unlocking one after another on a closed door.
Cold and heat raced together across his skin.
The pain of moments earlier transformed into a dense, internal pressure.
He did not know how to name it, yet he felt a new strength rising somewhere deep inside.
At the same time his consciousness drifted elsewhere.
### Chapter 2
**The Day the Sky Opened Its Eyes**
He remembered—
A time long ago.
His childhood.
Narrow lanes of the settlement.
Houses with thatched roofs.
Mud walls.
Sick people.
Hungry children.
A world where even small children had to learn quickly who was safe and who was dangerous.
Fragments of that childhood still remained in Arjun’s memory.
A few faces.
A few voices.
A few hazy laughs.
Yet they were fading, like ash left after an old fire.
He could no longer clearly recall who his parents had been.
He only knew he had not been an orphan.
He had once had a family.
They had been lost—long ago.
And then the day arrived—
When the red rain began.
When that terrifying sky opened its eyes.
When he first saw the half-face that people now remembered with divine dread—the Broken God.
The memory of that day rose fresh in Arjun’s mind.
Panic gripped the entire world.
Blood-like rain polluted everything it touched.
Many melted on the spot into red mist.
Many turned into mad beasts.
Many saw their bodies turn green-black.
Very few survived.
Arjun was among them.
He had not tried to run in fear.
He had simply stood still.
And stared into the open eyes of the broken god.
In that instant, fear vanished from within him.
A low, mysterious melody.
Afterward he saw a violet light falling from the distant sky.
It struck exactly in the north-eastern region.
Then he lost consciousness.
When he woke, the world had already changed.
Everything around him was dead.
Yet he had survived.
From that day on he knew only one thing—he had to stay alive.
At any cost.
### Chapter 3
**The Mark of Corruption**
Arjun opened his eyes.
The dark walls of the cave remained unchanged.
Yet something inside him felt different.
He resumed the breathing rhythm.
This time a little deeper.
A little more stable.
The tempo of breath quickened.
Subtle vibrations stirred the air.
Gradually the cold within his body deepened.
With it came another sensation—a heavy, damp power, as though an unknown current had begun to fill him from within.
He knew this was the moment when cultivation opened two paths.
One path led to progress.
The other to destruction.
Because the vital energy of this world was not pure.
A polluted element mixed within it—corrupt energy.
Some called it mutagen.
Some called it the layer of the curse.
Whatever the name, the truth remained: if not properly separated, a cultivator’s body could warp.
Arjun did not break his rhythm.
It was as if he had locked his will onto an invisible saddle.
After a while sweat poured from him.
A sharp burning sensation rose near his chest and back.
Then a faint vibration stirred somewhere inside.
A small, unfamiliar breath escaped his lips.
A subtle cracking sound—like a fracture.
The fracture was not in any stone.
It was inside him.
When Arjun turned his attention to the feeling in his body, it seemed a new pathway was opening—as though a network of subtle meridians beyond the blood vessels was slowly awakening.
He froze for a moment in surprise.
Then he pushed up the sleeve of his left arm.
Even in the darkness he could see a small black spot.
No larger than a fingernail.
Deep black.
Arjun stared at it for a long time.
His eyes widened slightly.
So.
It was real.
Excitement and fear erupted together in his heart.
The spot was not a wound.
It was not an illness.
It was the mark of his cultivation.
The Corruption Mark.
In this practice, it was the sign of advancement.
His heartbeat quickened.
The first step had succeeded.
He was no longer merely a hungry boy.
He was becoming a cultivator.
A soft, rising melody.
Arjun slowly released his breath.
His palms were slick with sweat.
His body was exhausted, yet a quiet satisfaction lived somewhere inside—a small but vital seed of contentment.
He looked up at the ceiling, now drowned in black.
Outside, wolf-like sounds still drifted past.
Sometimes a ghost’s laugh.
Sometimes the growl of an unseen creature.
Sometimes claws scraping stone.
Yet Arjun felt different from before.
His body felt lighter.
His senses a little sharper.
His tolerance for cold improved.
Still one question remained—
He did not know why any of this had happened.
Was it only fate?
Or the effect of that violet light?
Or the terrifying gaze of the Broken God?
Or some other power pulling him upward?
He looked again at the bone slip in his hand.
Ocean and Mountain Mantra.
For him, it was the only path.
And then, suddenly, another thought rose.
The corpse-like figure in the north-eastern region.
Had it truly been a corpse?
Or a living human?
And what connection did the violet light have with it?
Arjun’s lips tightened.
Curiosity stirred again within him.
He knew that if he never returned to that place, he would lose something vital.
But it was still night.
And going outside at night was foolishness.
He carefully folded the bone slip, returned it to his pack, and drew his knees to his chest.
The sounds outside the cave gradually lessened.
His mind, however, remained unsettled.
Today he had taken the first real step of his life.
Today he had felt, for the first time, the breath of power inside him.
And today, for the first time, he felt that his survival in this ruined world might not have been pure chance.
A mysterious moan drifted from far away.
Arjun’s eyes gleamed in the dark.
He did not yet know what would open before him.
Nor where this cultivation would lead him.
Nor what the north-eastern glow still hid.
But one thing he already understood—
There was no longer any path back.