Felix sat with his back against the thick roots, his simple wooden spear resting at his side. Moss covered his shoulders like a blanket. The fire still hadn't come to life—just a pile of dry wood and ashless bark in front of him. He could feel the weight of the night pressing in around him.
The forest wasn't silent anymore.
There were sounds now—quiet movements in the dark. Leaves rustled. Branches cracked somewhere in the distance. Tiny claws skittered across tree trunks. Insects buzzed low to the ground. The world was alive, and it didn't care that he had no cultivation.
He didn't move. Just listened.
Then, he saw it.
A flicker of red between the trees. Two small orbs. Glowing faintly.
Felix narrowed his eyes. He didn't breathe.
This one was a Murkfang Lynx.
A creature of the Feral Realm, likely in the early stage. Stronger than a normal man. Fast, aggressive, and instinct-driven.
But not unkillable.
Felix crouched behind a tree, heart steady now, mind focused. The Murkfang's hide—he remembered reading about it. Durable, flexible, and naturally attuned to qi. It was often listed in old talisman recipes as a base for high-grade brushes or protective talismans. Even its whiskers were prized for fine-line inscriptions.
To cultivators, it was a valuable material.
To Felix, it was a sign.
This place… it wasn't just wild. It was rich—a cradle of forgotten resources.
And it was watching him.
The Murkfang sniffed the air once, then vanished into the brush like mist.
Felix didn't chase it. Not yet.
He needed a better plan. A trap, maybe. Or a surprise attack. Not tonight.
As he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs completely. His chest rose slowly, then fell, steady and calm. The forest was quiet around him—only the soft rustling of leaves and distant calls of unseen creatures broke the silence. The earth beneath him was soft with moss. A cool breeze brushed his skin.
His body was still weak—just flesh and bone, no strength beyond what any ordinary person might have. And yet… the air felt heavy with energy. The qi here was thick, like morning fog drifting through the trees. It swirled around him, brushing his skin, seeping into his breath. He could feel it even without reaching for it.
"This place is different," he whispered, opening his eyes for a moment. "So full of life… full of qi."
He sat cross-legged beneath the roots of a twisted tree, where the shade was cool and the forest sounds were softer. He placed both hands on his knees and closed his eyes again.
"Breath of the Mystic Vessel..."
The words came gently from his lips, like a prayer. This method was his own creation, shaped through years of trial, mistakes, and slow learning. Unlike other cultivation techniques that rushed to seize qi and force it into the body, his method was calm. Stable. It invited the qi, welcomed it, and prepared the body to carry it without harm.
He began the cycle. Inhale—slow, steady, through the nose. He guided the breath downward, focusing on the area below his navel. Hold. Count slowly in his mind. Exhale, releasing tension, letting the breath leave naturally. Again. And again.
At first, there was only stillness. But soon, the qi began to stir.
Like smoke drawn toward a flame, it moved. Not in great waves, but in slow streams, pulled gently toward him. The sensation was soft—warmth on his skin, a tingling in his limbs, a glow in his chest. The energy seemed to recognize his technique, as if it understood what he was trying to do.
Felix's breathing deepened. He fell into rhythm. Each cycle felt smoother than the last. The qi began to wrap around him, not fighting his control, but flowing into him like water into a dry sponge.
His eyes opened for a second—startled. Back in the outer world, drawing this much qi would have taken him hours, maybe even a whole day of meditation.
But here… it was like the land itself wanted him to grow.
"It's listening to me," he murmured.
He shut his eyes again and focused. The qi entered through his breath, settled in his chest, and slowly moved lower. Into his gut. Toward the place where his dantian had once been. He could feel something there now—faint, like a spark in ash. It was not a true dantian, not yet. But it was a beginning.
His body began to react.
His skin prickled with warmth. His blood felt thicker. Not sluggish—but alive. His veins tingled faintly as qi threaded through them. It didn't burn. It didn't tear him apart like the first time he had cultivated. It embraced him.
"It's working," he said under his breath, a note of wonder in his voice. "It's really working."