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Chapter 4: Foundation Establishment
Flux returned to his cave just as the sun dipped behind the trees, casting long golden rays through the canopy. The air grew crisp, ced with the scent of pine needles, moss, and the sharp bite of wet stone. His sapphire-blue eyes flicked to the concealment array etched around the entrance—symbols that shimmered faintly, undisturbed.
“Still safe,” he murmured with a quiet breath of relief.
Inside, the chamber welcomed him like a den carved by survival. The glowing stones in the walls cast a gentle light, flickering against shadows. The scent of dried herbs, smoked meat, and worn stone lingered in the air. He sat on his woven mat, the flick of his tails brushing over the cold floor as he pulled off his cloak.
His days resumed their steady rhythm—cultivate, hunt, refine, repeat.
Each morning, he sat cross-legged inside a circle of crude talismans drawn in charcoal and blood, slowly drawing in ambient Qi through his breath and pores. The pressure in his dantian thickened daily, the whirling liquid Qi within tightening into a denser, purer form. When he wasn’t cultivating, he stalked the forest like a shadow—hunting, learning, killing.
The beasts grew fiercer.
One afternoon, he found himself trading blows with a razor-tusked demon boar, its brute strength nearly crushing his ribs as it smmed into him. But with a well-timed dodge and a swipe of Qi-enhanced cws, he severed its tendons and brought it down.
“That’s what you get for charging head-on,” he huffed, wiping blood from his jaw. “Always look for the legs.”
At night, by flickering firelight, he chewed roasted meat while grinding herbs into bitter pastes using a ft stone.
He often talked to himself in those lonely hours.
“Need more fire-type ingredients. This one’s too cold-natured. Ugh.”
“I really need a pill furnace… would it kill that stingy creature to leave me an alchemy manual?”
He leaned back, arms crossed, scowling at the smoke from his fire. “I’m a literal fragment of a celestial being and I’m over here pounding herbs like some back-alley herbalist.”
Still month past by,and the routine brought results.
His spirit grew firmer. His Qi brighter, more refined. His senses honed. His body—leaner, stronger, sharper. His once-fragile physique now carried the signs of a real cultivator. Then one dawn, while meditating beneath the roots of a colossal oak, he felt it.
A tremble surged through his meridians. The Qi within him swelled like a tidal wave, crashing against the bottleneck.
He opened his eyes slowly.
“I’ve reached the 10th level,” he whispered. “No more deys.”
Foundation Establishment.
A cultivator’s first true step into the immortal path. Where the core of spiritual power shifted from misty liquid to crystalline solidity. It was also where the Tribution Lightning awaited.
“But I’ll need to survive the Tribution,” he muttered. “One mistake and zap—extra crispy fox.”
He didn’t fear pain. But death, sudden and absolute, still lingered like a shadow.
He spent the next several days searching for a secluded pce to ascend. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere safe. Somewhere the sky could split and scream without drawing attention.
He crossed icy rivers, climbed rocky ridges, darted past territorial beasts in his fox form. Finally, he found it—a hidden valley bnketed in morning mist, encircled by ancient trees. The air hummed with Qi, quiet and thick like honey.
Flux stood still, ears twitching.
“Good Qi flow. No big beasts. Secluded… perfect.”
He spent an entire day carving formations—concealment wards, illusion veils, spirit-suppressing sigils. When finished, the pce felt spiritually dead. Unseen. Untouchable.
At the center, he sat cross-legged, bare-chested, tails curled around him like a mantle. His gaze turned skyward.
“Alright,” he whispered. “Let’s try not to die.”
He activated the final formation and inhaled sharply, pulling in Qi like a vacuum. It tore through his meridians like wildfire. His dantian shuddered, the swirling liquid compressing rapidly.
Then—
BOOM.
The sky cracked open.
CRACK!
The first bolt struck him like a hammer of heaven. His back arched as divine electricity nced through his body, lighting his nerves on fire. His hair smoked. His lips peeled back in a silent scream.
“Ggghaa—!”
The second came moments ter.
And the third.
Each bolt tore at him. His skin split, blood sizzled, muscles twitched uncontrolbly.
But he endured.
“Not yet—!” he shouted through clenched teeth, eyes bzing. “I haven’t even started!”
The fifth bolt punched into his chest, and he colpsed to one knee, coughing blood. But his Qi was circuting. He forced it to flow—through pain, through smoke, through fire.
The sixth bolt came.
And then the seventh—final and most brutal.
It struck like a falling star, engulfing him in a pilr of light.
He screamed.
His bones glowed.
Then—silence.
The clouds began to part. The wind hushed. Leaves settled.
Flux gasped, the scent of ozone thick in his lungs. Slowly, he stood.
His body pulsed with stable, powerful Qi. His hair now gleamed with a faint silver sheen, and behind him, a second white fox tail swayed.
“…I did it,” he whispered, stunned. “Foundation Establishment…”
Power surged through his limbs—coiled, stable, burning beneath his skin.
“I’m finally a real cultivator.”
He looked down at his hands, then clenched them into fists. “Now I can fight back.”
But as the rush faded, practicality returned.
“No sword. No pills. No proper clothes. No money.”
He sighed, gncing at the distant tree line. “I guess it’s time to visit Oaktown.”
Returning to his cave, he hunted relentlessly—demon boars, crimson-banded snakes, a frost-furred bear, even a silver-eyed monkey with minor illusions. He stripped their cores, harvested herbs, and tanned pelts.
He organized his spoils with care.
“These are trade goods… these are for crafting…”
He paused over a particurly thick bear pelt. “Warm. Heavy. Waterproof. I’ll need this when winter rolls around.”
Using vine cord and hide, he fashioned a backpack, stuffed it with supplies, beast cores, dried herbs, and talismans carved from bone and ash.
He crafted a rough robe from beastskins—stitched together in mismatched colors—and yered the massive bear-hide cloak over it.
Before leaving, he looked into the reflecting pool near his cave. His face still looked youthful—foxlike, wild—but his eyes were sharper. .
He gave a small nod.
“Let’s go.”
He followed the trail he'd once marked with cw-rakes and talismans, trekking for days through thickening forest.
And then—Oaktown rose ahead, nestled in the roots of the great trees.
Two guards stood at the gate, spears in hand, watching a slow line of travelers pass through: cultivators, traders, farmers, all moving with purpose.
Flux stepped into line—just another figure beneath a bear pelt, dragging a heavy pack.
Flux smiled faintly, his sapphire eyes gleaming.
“Well,” he said softly, “it’s time I stepped into the cultivation world.”
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