For the next month, John remained hidden within the cool, stone-walled shelter of his cave.
His days passed in silence and solitude, his body slowly nding from the brutal battle with the winged horned bear.
Though the wound across his chest had been deep and nearly fatal, his cultivation in the Bone Refining Realm accelerated the healing process.
What would take ordinary n several moons to recover from had almost completely healed within four weeks.
His skin had begun to knit together, the bruising faded, and though a long red scar now crossed his chest, it served as a badge of survival, a reminder that he had staked his life to claim this cave, and won.
He rarely left the cave during this ti. Once, just once, he had stepped outside to fetch fresh water and hunt for food.
That had been enough.
In his current state, he couldn’t risk another confrontation with a wandering beast.
But luckily, at his cultivation level, he no longer needed to eat often.
Still, he preferred it.
The rich taste of cooked at, especially from spirit beasts, gave him a sense of warmth and energy that even ditation couldn’t replicate.
More importantly, spirit beast at subtly enhanced his cultivation speed, infusing his body with latent energy, reinforcing his bones, blood, and ridians.
This morning, sitting cross-legged atop a smoothed boulder within the cave, John took a slow breath and summoned his System Panel.
A familiar blue screen shimred into view, casting a soft light across the stone walls.
---
[System Panel]
Na: John Coral
Age: 24
Cultivation: Bone Refining Realm (246 / 400)
Upgrade Slot: Slow Toad Breathing Skill (Level 7) — (10,078 / 12,800)
(Upgrading at 1 point every 6.5 minutes)
Skills:
ditation (Level 6 – Max)
Breathing (Level 5 – Max)
Spatial Awareness (Level 5)
Slow Toad Breathing Skill (Level 7)
---
John’s gaze lingered on the numbers, a slight smile forming on his lips.
He had made steady progress, and there was one major reason for that, Fatmaster was no longer here.
Back in the Blue Sapphire Clan, during the six grueling months of imprisonnt, he had been watched like a hawk.
Fatmaster, the prison guard infamous for his cruelty and suspicion, made it his mission to crush any attempt at cultivation.
The mont a prisoner so much as adjusted their breathing rhythm or sat still for too long, Fatmaster would appear, smirking, baton in hand, eager to drag them out into the punishnt yard.
In that place, John had only cultivated in secret, stealing minutes during sleepless nights, muffling his breaths and burying his aura beneath layers of stillness.
But now?
Now there were no guards.
No walls.
No watchful eyes.
For the first ti in half a year, he could cultivate freely, both day and night.
And that had doubled his progress.
He exhaled deeply, the breath steady and powerful, cultivated through countless cycles of the Slow Toad Breathing Skill.
Today felt different.
Not just because of his growth or his safety, but because today was his birthday.
He was twenty-four now.
Last year, he had spent his birthday shackled in a cell, watching rats gnaw on cold bread crusts.
No sunlight.
No warmth.
No celebration.
But today?
Today, he was alive.
He was stronger.
And he was free.
"I won’t waste today just ditating like a madman," John muttered to himself as he stood, stretching his limbs with a quiet grunt.
His joints cracked softly, but his movents were steady and controlled.
He glanced down at the faint scar across his chest, then gave a short nod.
"I’ll hunt sothing fresh. I’ll eat like a king tonight."
His thoughts turned toward rabbits.
Over the past month, he had occasionally noticed signs, faint paw prints, half-eaten plants, rustling undergrowth.
He had ignored them before, focusing on recovery.
But today, he would hunt one.
Their at was tender, clean, and flavorful, perfect for a birthday feast.
Walking to the side of the cave, he retrieved a crude weapon from where it leaned against the wall, a sturdy wooden shaft, sharpened stone tied securely at its tip using woven bark and dried vine.
It wasn’t elegant, but it served its purpose.
He had used it once before to catch smaller prey, and it had proven effective.
He tested its balance, then nodded in approval.
With the spear in hand and the sun just beginning to rise over the dense canopy, John stepped out of the cave.
The wilderness greeted him with birdsong, cool morning air, and the quiet thrill of the hunt.
Today, he wouldn’t just cultivate.
He would live.
By late afternoon, John was already on his way back to his cave, two plump rabbits tied at his belt.
The thrill of the hunt and the scent of fresh at had lifted his mood.
He walked with steady strides, spear in hand, unaware that trouble had already begun to stir in the underbrush.
From the trees ahead, five figures erged, dirty, scarred, and ard.
The bandits stepped out with the confidence of predators who had cornered easy prey.
Their leader, a hulking man with a jagged scar down his cheek and eyes full of nace, cracked his knuckles.
"Well, well," he sneered. "What do we have here? A little rabbit collector straying too far from his burrow."
One of the bandits licked his lips. "Fresh at. And clean clothes. Looks like this one’s got sothing worth taking."
John’s expression didn’t change.
His eyes simply drifted across their weapons, machetes, swords, a dagger, and then returned calmly to the leader.
"Drop the rabbits, the weapon, and your bag," the scarred man growled. "And maybe we won’t gut you like a beast."
John inhaled deeply, the air cool and steady in his lungs thanks to his Level 5 Breathing Skill.
His heartbeat remained calm. Unhurried. Focused.
"Co and try," he said.
The silence that followed lasted only a breath.
"Cocky bastard—GET HIM!" the leader roared.
The bandits charged.
The first one swung his machete in a wild arc, clearly expecting John to panic or stumble.
But before the blade even reached its apex, John ducked, stepped inside the swing, and ramd the butt of his spear into the man’s ribs.
"What the!?" the bandit gasped, collapsing to the ground, clutching his side.
Another ca from the left, sword raised high.
John sidestepped and spun behind him in a blink.
The man barely turned his head before a brutal elbow crashed into his temple, sending him tumbling unconscious.
"Did...did you see that?! He’s fast!"
"Why the hell is he dodging everything?!"
"Is he... smiling?!"
John moved like flowing water, guided by his Level 6 Spatial Awareness.
Every motion of the bandits entered his perception like ripples in a pond.
He saw their footsteps before they landed, their blades before they moved.
A third bandit lunged, screaming. John twisted, grabbed his wrist mid-swing, and snapped it with a sharp jerk.
"AAAGH! MY HAND...!"
Before the scream could finish echoing, a spinning kick to the chest knocked him into the bushes.
The leader growled, finally stepping in. His presence was heavier, Bone Refinent Realm, like John.
He swung his large, serrated sword with brute force.
John blocked it with the shaft of his spear, but the impact sent shivers down his arms.
The leader’s eyes narrowed. "Not bad."
John t his gaze with ice-cold calm. "You’re too slow."
They clashed again.
The leader’s sword slashed, but John dipped, pivoted, retaliated with a spear butt to the knee.
Another bandit ca from behind, John turned and used the stunned leader as a shield, causing the newcor’s blade to cut his own ally.
"You son of...!"
John drove his knee into the second attacker’s stomach, then slamd his palm into the man’s jaw, dislocating it with a brutal pop.
The fourth bandit hesitated. "T-this ain’t normal. He’s just one guy!"
John raised his spear slightly, eyes dark and unreadable.
"You picked the wrong birthday party."
The battle dragged on.
Ten minutes beca thirty.
Sweat dripped.
Weapons clashed.
Blood painted bark.
John’s Level 5 Breathing made his stamina seem limitless, while the bandits panted and faltered.
His body moved with a rhythm, precise, practiced, inhumanly calm.
Every dodge was deliberate.
Every counter devastating.
The final clash ca when the leader raised his blade high, desperate, clumsy.
John stepped in, twisted beneath the swing, and drove his spearhead into the man’s chest.
The leader gasped, stumbled back, and crumpled with a hollow thud.
Silence fell.
The forest still watched.
John stood among the fallen, breathing slow and steady.
Five n had tried to rob him.
Five corpses now littered the forest floor.
John walked among the bodies, rifling through their satchels and belts.
He took two swords, both better than his current makeshift spear, and a small curved dagger from the leader, sheathed in worn leather.
"Not bad," he murmured, testing the weight.
Then, in one of the larger packs, he found a pouch of coins.
He poured them into his palm, thick, circular, and unmistakably gold.
After counting, he raised an eyebrow.
"One hundred gold coins."
It wasn’t much, not compared to the box of spirit stones he had buried near the Banayan-like tree just outside Nine Sky Clan, but it was far from worthless.
With this, he could buy better supplies, bribe when needed, or even pay for technique scrolls if he reached another city.
"Still useful," he said, pocketing the pouch and strapping the cleanest sword to his back.
He tossed the rabbits over his shoulder again.
They were still intact.
Still dinner.
Then, without another glance at the dead n, John turned and vanished into the trees, the shadows swallowing him whole.
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