The city gates loomed ahead as Ramon approached, cloaked in the shadows of the early morning sun. Cloudpetal City—once a dream whispered in the mind of a boy who'd grown up hungry—now spread before him in its pale, cracked glory.
It was not a city of jade and gold like the novels from Earth had described. Its walls were worn and gray, its stones layered in grime and history. The banners of the Cloud Lotus Sect still fluttered, but they were faded—like the sect's presence itself. And yet, it was alive. A web of commerce, ambition, and quiet violence.
Ramon entered through the same gate he'd slipped through a month ago, but this time he wasn't hiding. He had blood on his hands, beast cores in his satchel, and a heart that beat stronger with every step.
His first stop was the trade post near the outer bazaar—a sprawling collection of tents and stone storefronts run by merchants with sharp eyes and sharper tongues.
He laid out his goods: cured hides, beast fangs, a pair of spirit beast cores, and a bottle of lizard venom.
The merchant's eyes widened slightly. "You kill all these yourself?"
Ramon gave a small nod, allowing a bit of the old Ramon's gruffness to return to his voice. "Need coin. Not compliments."
The man chuckled but didn't argue. A few quick evaluations, and the final sum was tallied: eighty-six silver coins—a small fortune for an unaffiliated youth in the outer district.
Ramon took the pouch with quiet satisfaction. His stomach grumbled—he hadn't eaten since dawn—but he had another priority first.
The forge was nestled against the southern edge of the market, its black chimney belching thick smoke into the air. The clang of hammer against steel echoed like a heartbeat as Ramon stepped inside.
An old man stood at the anvil, arms thick with muscle, his face darkened by soot. He looked up only briefly as Ramon entered.
"You here to talk or buy?"
"Both," Ramon replied, lifting the beast bone spear shaft he'd carried all this time. "I want a real weapon. A spear. Balanced. Durable. One that won't break the first time it hits something tougher than a rabbit."
The blacksmith grunted and took the shaft, eyeing the reinforced bone. "Good material. You know your way around a fight?"
Ramon only smiled.
By the time they'd agreed on the design—a long, slender spear with a double-edged blade and reinforced core—the blacksmith had softened, even offered him a cup of bitter tea. They talked a little, and Ramon learned the man's name was Old Shen, and he used to make weapons for low-ranking sect disciples back in the day.
"Used to be more pride in this trade," Shen muttered, wiping his hands. "Now they just want flashy swords and gimmicks. A good spear? That's rare."
Ramon paid twenty-five silver up front. The rest he'd bring when the weapon was finished in three days.
Next, he bought clothes—simple but clean. A dark tunic, traveling pants, and a heavier cloak for the colder nights. He avoided the bright silks worn by some of the outer sect's playboys and chose things that blended in.
He needed to look competent. Not rich. Not weak.
With errands done, he wandered.
The outer district of Cloudpetal City was sprawling and chaotic. Wooden tenements leaned over narrow alleys. Stalls spilled into streets, shouting merchants, beggars, and spirit beast handlers all fighting for space. The scent of roasting meat mixed with sewage and ash.
But beneath the noise and clamor, Ramon began to notice something more subtle—structure.
The city was divided by more than walls and wealth. There was an invisible order.
The inner district sat to the north—beyond a wide iron gate guarded by cultivators in gray-blue robes. That was where the outer sect disciples lived, trained, and walked with authority. Their homes were made of stone and tile, not wood and canvas. The inns there glowed at night with spiritual lanterns, and you could smell incense instead of smoke.
But even more mysterious was what lay beyond—the true Cloud Lotus Sect, hidden outside the city itself, nestled in some mountain cloaked in illusion and spirit arrays. Few knew its exact location. Only inner disciples and higher ever set foot there.
Back in the outer district, Ramon learned of another layer of power.
At the top stood Master Xin, a sect-appointed overseer. Rumor had it he was at the Organ Refinement stage—one step below Energy Condensation, the threshold of true cultivation power. He rarely appeared in public, but his word was law.
Below him were the gangs—small organizations of locals and low-level cultivators, often backed by outer sect disciples from the inner district. These gangs helped gather herbs, beast materials, and other resources in exchange for favors and scraps of cultivation techniques.
Each gang had a territory. And turf disputes were common.
The outer district, in essence, was a playground for the outer sect disciples—a place to gain experience, build networks, and exert influence without staining their hands inside the sect walls.
Ramon stood near a food stall, watching two teenage cultivators in gray-blue robes laugh as a merchant bowed repeatedly to them.
He understood now.
Power didn't begin with cultivation. It began with structure.
In Earth terms, the sect was a university. The outer district, a city of interns and errand boys. Everyone was climbing something. Everyone was expendable.
Even him.
But not for long.
Ramon turned back toward the slums, toward his rented room above an inn. The spear would be ready in three days. He would rest, observe, and plan.
Soon, it would be time to formally enter the sect.
And once inside… he would climb too.