Xuanwu Kingdom, Longtang County. Moye Academy.

As a school with over three hundred years of history, Moye had long become a place young spirit warriors looked up to. Countless martial talents had been trained here, generation after generation.

Morning light broke over the eastern horizon, casting gold across the back mountain of the academy.

There, Jason Morgan was training alone.

His figure moved fast across the clearing—punching, kicking, lunging forward, leaping back. Every move exploded with force, slicing through the air.

"Pop, pop, pop..."

Hits landed like firecrackers.

Sweat dripped from his body, splattering against the ground.

They say youth trains in the morning, sweat falling on the soil—some warrior-poet wrote that long ago. Today, Jason was living it.

Mid-practice, he dropped hard, twisting his body. His right arm bent. Elbow down, he slammed it into the ground with everything he had.

Bang!

The impact cracked the earth and left a deep dent.

Pain? Of course it hurt. But that wasn’t something he cared about right now.

He was training "Bone-Crushing Technique"—true to its name, it was all about smashing and slamming, using beatings to toughen the body. Colliding with the ground, trees—that was nothing. Real training meant smashing into rock.

Every hit didn’t just temper his still-developing body—it hammered away inside his core, triggering his inner force: xuan energy.

Xuan energy—formless and mysterious. Only those who awakened it could wield powerful techniques, shattering stone with a slap, tearing beasts apart bare-handed.

Moye Academy offered a wide range of skills to their students. Like the flowing Dawn Dew Technique, which relied on drinking morning dew to refine xuan energy, light and pure. Or the Watercloud Method, practiced by soaking in pools—suited to calm, gentle techniques, perfect for women.

But among them, Bone-Crushing was by far the harshest. Out of 300 students in Class C, Jason was the only one who chose it.

Hard training, sure. But it paid off. It forced his xuan energy to grow fast and made his body tougher by the day.

He wanted strength, badly. That was the whole reason he’d chosen Bone-Crushing.

Towards the end of the routine, Jason suddenly kicked off the ground. In one fast motion, he flipped three times mid-air, body spinning like a top. Legs above, arms below, he came crashing down.

Boom!

His palms slapped the earth, leaving a clear mark behind. The force should’ve knocked anyone flat—but Jason stayed still, his body like a rooted tree.

That strike didn’t just shake the ground. It sent shockwaves deep inside him, slamming into a place within his body—the dantian.

Everyone had one. But for most, it was locked and useless. Only a spirit warrior could open theirs and grow xuan energy from within.

Every stronghold starts with a solid foundation. Awakening the dantian, nurturing xuan energy—this was where the path began.That last jolt finally brought some slight growth to Jason Morgan’s not-so-spacious dantian.

“Huff... huff...”

He panted heavily, chest rising and falling like a bellows, each breath scraping his nostrils like blades. The burn stung deep.

After a few seconds, Jason rolled to his feet, steadied his stance, and let his ragged breathing settle. He looked down at his calloused and grimy hands, eyes narrowing, a fierce unwillingness flickering in his gaze.

“I train every damn day without fail—but it’s still not enough. Not even close.”

He ground the words out through clenched teeth.

Jason wasn’t like those easy-going classmates who could afford to take it slow. He couldn't. He had to fight, get stronger—because only power could shatter the fate crushing him.

He might look like just another nameless kid, but Jason Morgan had a name that rang out in Longtang County. He came from the main bloodline of the Morgan Clan—a family with deep roots and historic prestige.

Back when the barbarians invaded from the north, burning and killing all in their path, the clan’s current patriarch took command of ten thousand Morgan troops and captured a heavily fortified town held by thirty thousand barbarians. During the chaos, a stray arrow struck the patriarch in the left eye. He didn’t flinch, didn’t cry out. He didn’t even bother pulling it out—just kept fighting with that shaft stuck in his skull until the battle ended.

That victory cemented the Morgan Clan’s glory in the kingdom of Xuanwu. Though they paid dearly in lives, they won recognition and earned a towering reputation.

At least in Longtang, they were second to none. They even held three royal pardon tokens—each good for absolving a crime—granted straight from the emperor.

To be born into such a clan should’ve been a blessing. But fate laughed in his face.

Ever since Jason’s birth, disaster after disaster had hit the family. Plagues. Crop failure. Fires. Misfortune stacked like bricks.

The patriarch grew suspicious and brought in some fortune teller. Whether the man had true power or just a clever tongue, no one knew. He walked the estate, squinted at the winds, and declared the family’s feng shui was fine—but the kid, Jason, he was the problem. Said he was a jinx. A bringer of doom.

All the misfortunes started after Jason’s birth. And to make it worse, he was born with a weird birthmark on his wrist—a jagged thing, like some ancient curse. It was enough to convince the patriarch.

The decision came fast and cruel. Jason, deemed the clan’s black star, was tossed out and forbidden to ever enter the gates again.

He was seven.

Since then, not once had he seen his parents again.

He tried going back a few times, hoping just for a glimpse—but never made it past the threshold. They threw him out like trash. Once, they even beat him so bad he nearly lost a leg.

His parents still lived… but he couldn’t even look them in the eyes. That kind of pain? No one else could understand it.

On countless nights, young Jason hugged his pillow, tears soaking the fabric as he tried to remember what his parents looked like.

Was this it? Was this how it ended?

Would he never see them again?

Was he really doomed to be a curse, hated by his own blood for the rest of his life?Was he really going to accept the fate others forced on him?

No way. Jason Morgan was far from willing.

If he didn’t want to be crushed by fate, he had to get stronger. Strong enough to flip the tables, walk back into the Morgan Clan like he belonged there, and slap down anyone who dared to stop him from seeing his parents.

In the world of spirit warriors, power came in levels—Bronze, Iron, Steel, Silver, Gold, and beyond.

Jason was sixteen, had been away from home for nine years, and spent the last three grinding at Moxie Academy. Even with all that effort, he was still stuck at late-stage Bronze, not even in Iron yet.

At this level, he didn’t stand a chance against the Morgan Clan. Showing up now would only get him beaten and tossed out again. If he wanted to go back with his head held high, he’d at least have to hit Steel rank.

He raised his hand and looked at his right wrist. There, a black birthmark sat—large, eerie, shaped like a grinning demon face.

That birthmark was half the reason he got branded as bad luck and kicked out in the first place. It looked ominous, cursed even.

“It’s all your fault,” Jason muttered.

If that mark hadn’t been right where one of his main bloodline meridians ran, he’d have scraped it off himself long ago. He hated it more than anything on his body.

Strangely, the ugly mark twitched just then. A faint pulse ran through his veins—but too weak to notice.

His morning training over, Jason made his way down the mountain path to Moxie Academy. Built into the mountainside, the academy had winding roads looping in every direction.

Halfway down, a figure appeared from another path and joined his. A girl.

She had delicate features, clear eyes like glass, pale skin, and slender brows that framed her face sharply. Sitting astride a peculiar mount, she rode a horse with emerald-green fur. The creature shimmered with scales and had two horns growing from its forehead—one big, one small.

Jason stopped and looked carefully.

He recognized her instantly. Sophia Morgan.

Another member of the Morgan Clan, just like him. They joined Moxie Academy around the same time and were now both students in Class C.

The clan claimed to be noble and proud, but when it trained its younger generation, it didn’t just hoard them at home—they sent them to academies and military units. Sophia was part of that program.

They were both from the same family, but their status couldn’t have been more different.

Sophia was a chosen candidate, groomed by the family, showered with resources. Her cultivation had already reached the peak of Iron rank, way ahead of Jason.

And him?

He was the outcast. The cursed one they kicked out without a second glance. Even if he died out here, no one back home would care, let alone toss him a single spirit stone for training.Jason Morgan’s progress had always been slow, no thanks to the lack of resources. That's why he was still stuck at the lowest bronze tier. But if he had the backing, he wouldn't lag behind anyone.

Sophia Morgan spotted him, her eyes cold as ice, gave a dismissive snort, and turned away without a word—like he'd never existed. Tugging at the reins, she rode off on that strange beast of hers, not even sparing him a nod.

In the three years since they'd enrolled, she hadn’t once looked him in the eye. Jason? In her books, he wasn’t kin—more like a ghost.

Jason was used to it. He took a breath, stuffing away the faint flicker of irritation.

She didn’t treat him as family? Fine. Then no need to pretend. He wasn’t the type to beg for warmth where there was none.

What he really cared about wasn’t her attitude—it was that beast she rode.

That wasn’t a regular horse. It was a battle beast.

Battle beasts were strange creatures—part weapon, part animal. They had two forms: animal forms like rats, oxen, or tigers, and weapon forms—blades, spears, you name it.

They were both beast and weapon. Hard to believe, but they existed. Real weapons for spirit warriors never came from blacksmiths’ forges. Only the weaponized forms of battle beasts could handle their power.

For spirit warriors, battle beasts were more than weapons—they were lifelines, treasures beyond value.

“I heard Sophia summoned a steel-tier ‘Obsidian Horned Horse’ a few days ago. Looks like the rumors were true. What a damn stroke of luck for her... and me? Still got nothing to show for all my trying.” Jason watched the beast fade into the distance, envy flickering in his eyes as bitter thoughts churned inside.

Battle beasts came from the distant Celestial Realm—another world connected to the Human Sovereign Domain by endless threads. If one wanted a battle beast, there was only one way—summoning.

Countless stars. Endless worlds. The universe was vast beyond imagining.

Among them, the Celestial Realm and the Human Sovereign Domain were just two, linked by the boundless River of Heaven.

But connecting to the Celestial Realm took money—a lot of it. Jason, with his empty pockets, could barely scrape enough together.

He’d cut corners, skipped meals, poured everything he had into his summoning attempts—nine times, all failures. Not even a shadow of a useful battle beast.

Compared to Sophia’s steel-tier Obsidian Horned Horse, those were like dreams he kept chasing, always just out of reach.

He checked his coin pouch—just enough for one more go at the summoning array.

Should he try again today?