Carter waited until Khafra had long gone before he exhaled, his face pale, heart still racing from the encounter. It had been brief but perilous, teetering on the edge of life and death.
Just as he had anticipated, Khafra had sought revenge. Carter had noted from his earlier conversation with Isiara Nebtawi that she and Khafra would be leaving Sarnath City with the Immortal tomorrow. As expected, Khafra would try something before he left.
He had considered seeking help, reaching out to what remained of his family's connections. But doing so would only drag those left into a dangerous mess, offering no real solution.
Khafra's life was no longer just his own; he was soon to be part of the Celestial Storm Sect. Killing him now would inevitably draw the Immortal's ire. And who would dare face such wrath?
Carter had never killed before. But when he held that knife to Khafra's throat, he felt no fear, no remorse. If anything, he had felt a strange thrill, a temptation to unleash all the anger bottled within him.
Tomorrow could bring the end of his world, yet part of him didn't care. It would have been so satisfying to rid himself of that arrogant tormentor. And if he perished in the process, so be it.
For the first time, Carter realized that there was a fierceness, a simmering anger in his blood. He was no mere refined noble nor was he just some transmigrator; he held the instincts of someone born for battle. The sharpness of his knife spoke louder than any scholarly achievement.
"Years of refinement couldn't match the edge of a blade," he muttered to himself, a dark smile playing on his lips. "A noble title means nothing if it can't defend what matters."
He tossed the knife aside and lay on his bed, though sleep eluded him. His thoughts churned, replaying the encounter. He knew one truth with certainty: Khafra would return, perhaps not soon, but eventually, bringing vengeance sharpened by his new powers. There would be no escape from that fate.
Yet, as bleak as it seemed, the possibility of hope remained. If he could grow strong enough before Khafra's return, he might stand a chance.
What did it mean to cultivate? What was a renka root, and why was it something he lacked? Why was the world of immortals forbidden to him?
'Am I not good enough,' Carter thinks to himself, depreciatingly. 'Is this what my destiny is to be? Killed by someone future immortal. What a life.'
As his questions swirled, and his thoughts raced, exhaustion finally pulled him into a restless slumber. His dreams twisted with images of power and whispers, calling him to something beyond his reach.
"Do you want to cultivate?"
The words echoed in his mind, soft yet clear. The question reached deep within him, touching a place he hadn't known existed. His entire being screamed a silent answer: yes. He had never felt the desire for strength as intensely as he did now.
Startled, Carter awoke, breathing heavily. The voice from his dream lingered in his mind, too vivid to be dismissed as mere imagination. He knew it was real—someone had spoken to him.
Rising from his bed, Carter opened the door and stepped into the hall. He stopped short, mesmerized by the sight before him. Just past the door leading out to the courtyard, there, beside the ancient persea tree, Carter could see that the mysterious young woman stood, facing him.
Her robes were a dark indigo, almost black, blending with the twilight like shadows. Her eyes, a striking amethyst, watched him with a quiet intensity that held him rooted in place. The rising light of dawn bathed the courtyard, casting a soft glow over the scene, making her appear both ethereal and otherworldly.
"Do you want to cultivate?" she asked again, her voice as soft as a whisper, yet it filled the space between them. There was a gentle, almost lazy quality to her tone, as if such a monumental question was merely casual.
Carter took a deep breath, grounding himself, though his mind raced with questions. Especially the biggest question of all: Is she an immortal?
His entire life had been reshaped in a matter of days, but the thought of cultivating—a path to power, to hope—dominated all else.
"Yes," he replied, his voice steady, the single word relaying the depth and weight of his newfound resolve.
"Then I will teach you," she replied, as if offering him the simplest of gifts. Her expression remained calm, unaffected, as if this was nothing more than an idle task.
Carter descended the stone steps toward her, stopping only a foot away, looking into her clear, amethyst eyes. She met his gaze, and he felt as if her eyes pierced through him, peeling away every layer, exposing his thoughts, his fears, his desires.
In that moment, Carter had a startling realization: this woman knew everything that had happened. She had likely witnessed his confrontation with Khafra, sensed his turmoil, even understood the conflicted emotions he himself struggled to grasp.
"I have no renka root," he finally confessed, his voice low, eyes dropping down. Defeat almost claiming him.
"There is a path that does not require one," she replied smoothly, her amethyst gaze unwavering.
"What path is that?" he asked, his eyes rise to meet hers, alight with hope and curiosity that was slightly blossoming.
"It is chaos cultivation," she said, her tone quiet but firm. An aura seemed to emanate from her as she spoke, a sense of ancient power.
Carter took an involuntary step back. Though he knew little of cultivation, he sensed the weight of those words, a feeling of raw, dangerous energy that sent chills down his spine. Even in this world, where power dictated status, there were limits, taboos. The way she spoke of chaos cultivation felt like stepping onto forbidden grounds, ones he wouldn't come back from.
But it didn't take long for Carter to make up his mind. "I'll learn," he said, his voice unwavering. He couldn't afford to be choosy. His survival depended on power, no matter the cost.
She nodded, as though she had expected this answer. "If you wish to follow this path, there are conditions. First, do not ask about my identity or background. I will teach, and you will learn. Second, you must never reveal this cultivation technique to others."
Carter agreed without hesitation, his mind already focused on the future. "Understood."
"One more thing," she added, her voice colder now, almost indifferent. "If you follow this path, you will face dangers beyond imagination. You may lose your life at any moment. Do not expect me to save you."
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Life and death are already preordained."
Her expression softened, and, for the first time, Carter caught a glimpse of a smile. He found himself mesmerized by it, almost lost in her beauty.
"If you have questions, now is the time to ask," she said, her tone light, almost playful.
Carter refocused, gathering his thoughts. "What is a renka root? Why can't I cultivate without it?"
"The renka root, spirit root in some worlds, is akin to an extra sense, a means for humans to perceive the energy of Heaven and Earth and Universe. Without it, mortals cannot absorb or manipulate that energy," she explained. "However, the Nine Reversions Chaotic Senet is… different. You will not be bound by the laws of traditional cultivation."
She went on to outline the cultivation technique, breaking down each level.
"This technique is not ordinary and unlike any other. It is divided into nine grueling stages, each one a gateway to power through pain. The first major realm is the Body Foundation Realm, further split into layers: skin, muscles, and bones—the outer shell. Then comes tendons and marrow, the inner network of vitality. After that, organ refinement and sensory reconstruction—eyes, ears, and mind. Each set of three must be reverted thrice, your cultivation forcibly broken down and rebuilt again and again."
She looked at him, expression unreadable. "Every reversion will purge your flaws and multiply your strength—but it will hurt. It will take your will, your pain, and your very essence to survive it. And yet, should you endure… you will become something far beyond mortal."
Carter was shocked, marveling at just how much work he would put himself through. But, his will is steely.
"What is the name of this cultivation technique?" Carter asked, feeling the weight of each word.
"Nine Reversions Chaotic Senet," she replied, her gaze unwavering, an ancient and unspoken truth echoing in her tone.
At the sound of the name, Carter felt a pulse, a menacing aura that seemed to fill the courtyard, pressing down on him. Yet he welcomed it, feeling the power as an affirmation of his choice.
"The first section, Body Foundation, will involve refining your skin and flesh," she said. "Each breath, each movement will transform you."
She guided him in the first steps of the breathing technique, a method unfamiliar and strange, but one that quickly stirred his blood. As he settled into the rhythm, his skin began to prickle, his blood warming and churning as if infused with energy. He could feel the beginnings of a transformation, subtle yet unmistakable.
"This method traces back to the early epochs of creation," she said, her voice carrying a distant weight. "It was forged from chaos itself, shaped by the forces that predate structure, form, and understanding. It is seamless—you can cultivate it in stillness, in motion, even in dreams. With time, your body will transcend fragility. Your skin will not merely harden; it will resonate with chaotic frequencies, becoming resistant to blades, elements, and force."
Carter nodded his head at, signaling that he understood her lengthy explanation.
She left him to his practice, slipping away without another word. Carter, immersed in the technique, felt a deep sense of focus, of connection with a power beyond himself. As he breathed in, his body seemed to respond, his skin toughening, strength building within.
Dawn faded, and the light of day passed in a blur. Lost in the cultivation process, Carter felt as though his body had become something more, his skin resilient, his senses heightened.
When dawn finally broke again, Carter opened his eyes, disoriented. To his shock, he felt a strange hardness protruding from his forehead, as if two horns were pushing outward. And two long fangs, resembling saber-toothed tigers, extended well past his bottom lip.
The power of the Nine Reversions Chaotic Senet had transformed him, even in such a short time, into something stronger and more formidable.
The mysterious young woman reappeared, her eyes alight with an unspoken pride. "To master the essence so quickly… You truly are a prodigy."
Before he could respond, she struck him with a force that sent him stumbling back. Dazed, he looked up in confusion, his hand instinctively reaching for his head.
"Are you courting death?" she asked, her tone sharp. To which Carter felt his mind swirl in confused. What did he do wrong?
"What do you mean?" he asked, bewildered.
She summoned a water mirror with a flick of her wrist, and he stared into his own reflection, stunned by the gaunt, emaciated figure that stared back. He looked skeletal, his cheeks hollow, his skin stretched tightly over his bones.
"This technique consumes your body's energy," she said coolly. "Without sustenance, you're depleting yourself. You must eat—and eat well—to survive this realm."
Hunger tore through him, sudden and intense. Carter rushed to the kitchen, devouring everything he could find, easing the gnawing emptiness within.
When he returned to the courtyard, he felt invigorated, his body humming with newfound strength. Picking up a thin iron basin, he squeezed it, marveling as his fingers left deep impressions in the metal.
For the first time, true confidence surged within him. He could feel the beginnings of power, a strength that would only grow.
"This is cultivation," he muttered, his gaze steely, his heart resolute.