A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

I didn't know much about the Heavenly Tribulation.

Sure, I'd heard from my past life's owner, when she read something about Heaven's wrath falling upon the audacious mortals who dared climb too high—great thunder and black clouds and all that.

But living through one?

Feeling it in my bones as the sky raged and tried to swat me down was another matter entirely.

Right now, I was just grateful to be alive.

My eyes were shut tight. I laid pressed flat against cold, wet stone.

The world outside my own fur was a violent outburst from the Heavens themselves: the crash of thunder, the roar of rain like a waterfall, the howl of wind whipping the surroundings.

I didn't dare move.

A single twitch felt like it might shatter the fragile equilibrium I'd fought so hard to maintain. Deep inside me, the storm of Qi that had been surging moments ago was finally slowing, ebbing from a flood to a manageable tide.

The power that had threatened to tear me apart was now settling, coiling back into my core where it belonged.

I could finally relax a little.

Then a sharp crack of thunder split the air overhead. I flinched, ears flattening against my skull.

The scent of rainwater was heavy, and every fur on my body stood on end.

But still, my heart thumped with joy. A breakthrough.

Core Formation complete, and, judging by the literal wrath of heaven still dissipating around me, the start of something else. The next realm.

〈Pophet, The Gentle Faith That Echoes〉

[Mana: 0 / 0]

[Skills: 3]

Skill: Breath of the Awakened Heavenly Beast

In its early form, it gathered Qi through the body's calm, inviting energy only when the soul and breath were perfectly aligned in rest.

But the stillness has broken. The beast has awakened for itself.

Alive with emotion long suppressed. Tempered by restraint. Forged in stillness, this technique no longer draws quietly.

Stage: Nascent Soul

Skill: Thousand Fats Body Compression

A secret technique born from the ancient and mostly-forgotten ██████████████, this minor art was developed by low-ranking disciples who needed to evade both danger and responsibility with equal grace. By tightening the meridians and weaving Qi, the user may compress their physical vessel into a deceptively diminutive form.

Practitioners of this technique once used it to sneak past gatekeepers, hide beneath floorboards, or nap inside sacred urns to avoid morning drills. While compressed, power output is greatly reduced.

Legends say true masters could vanish into a teacup. You, however, are pug-shaped and still squishy.

Skill: Claw Intent

A martial resonance born not from the blade's cold precision, but from a beast's raw will to impose its truth. Where swordsmen speak of splitting the world cleanly in two, this art rejects such binaries entirely.

To claw is not to divide; it is to rend. To tear jagged lines into which exists. To leave behind scars that speak louder than any cut. Four strokes at once, not one. Four truths carved into the world.

This intent does not manifest visibly, but the world remembers where it has been.

Gradually, the chaos began to subside. The thunder's grumble became more distant, each rumble further away than the last. The sheets of rain lessened to a steady patter. The air, which had moments ago been charged with enough energy to make my fur crackle, started to calm.

I lifted my head, water pouring off my snout.

My ears pricked cautiously. I dragged myself up from the prone position I'd held for who-knows-how-long.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

I looked around in a daze. The mountaintop was unrecognizable. What had been a stony ledge was now slick with water and mud. Small rivulets ran between cracks in the rock, pooling into fresh puddles.

Pebbles and stone debris skittered downward, making soft clicking sounds.

For a moment, the only thing I could do was stand there, legs braced, sides heaving as I caught my breath.

The white cloud that had been my original target was nowhere to be seen. The patch of sky where it had floated was now empty.

I looked around, trying to spot any trace of it, but there was nothing left. Whether it had been dispersed or simply blown apart by the Heavenly Tribulation, I couldn't tell.

In any case, Eline's experimental cloud was gone.

That should have been good news. Mission accomplished, right?

No more runaway magical cloud to threaten the city of Lumineth with a flood.

Instead of relief, however, I felt dread creeping up my spine.

I stepped closer to the edge. A cold breeze carried the scent of drenched soil and raw earth, and something else: a faint acrid tang of uprooted vegetation and torn greenery.

With my heart hammering in my ears, I peered over the edge.

At first, I couldn't understand what I was looking at. The forested slope below me, where there had been a thick cloak of trees hugging the mountainside, was gone.

I blinked hard, thinking my still-blurry eyes were deceiving me. But no.

An entire section of the mountain had been stripped away.

From up here, I could see dark, slick earth, shattered rock, and tree debris stretching downwards in a wide scar. All of it pressed down in one direction.

A landslide. A massive one.

My stomach dropped.

Even as the words formed in my mind, I denied them.

'No, it couldn't be. Eline said it would just be a small flood if I popped the cloud early. That's what she had predicted. A contained burst of rain, maybe a small flood. Something minor.'

This was not minor.

I traced the path of destruction with my eyes, down, down into the foothills where the forest grew denser.

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There, mud and rock and uprooted trees cut through the sea of green. It looked like it had barreled straight toward the valley below.

There was a village down there. I remembered passing by it on my way up here—a small settlement nestled comfortably at the base of the mountain.

Now, all I saw was a slope choked with debris where that village should be.

"No..." The word slipped out as a hoarse whisper.

My vision tunneled, focusing entirely on the distant base of the mountain. I couldn't actually make out the village from here, but I knew its approximate location.

'Maybe it missed them,' I thought wildly. Maybe the landslide stopped short, or happened to curve around…

The silence of the mountain was broken by a distant, echoing sound.

It was a scream. A faint, high-pitched scream had carried up the slopes.

I scrambled down from the ledge and onto the trail I'd used to climb up, nearly losing my footing on the slick rocks.

'I have to get down there. Please let me be wrong. Please let them be safe.'

The descent was a blur of reckless speed. The path that had taken me nearly an hour to carefully climb was now half-washed out and filled with mud..

At last, as I rounded a bend marked by a shattered boulder, I saw open air ahead. The treeline ended abruptly where the side of the mountain had given way.

I skidded to a halt at the edge of an enormous swath of mud.

My heart lurched. The village…

It was gone.

Where a cluster of wooden houses and rice paddies once sat was now a field of earth and debris. The landslide had swept through. A thick layer of mud and shattered rocks and trees blanketed what must have been fields and gardens.

Here and there, the jagged remains of structures poked out—half a wall, the corner of a roof, splintered beams..

For a moment, I could only stare. My chest tightened until I almost couldn't breathe. Despite having braced myself, the reality of it hit me.

The village of Maple's Rest—named for the grove of maple trees just beyond it—was effectively erased from the map.

Now, in place of all that life, there was devastation and silence.

No. Not silence.

As I pawed forward, numb and disbelieving, I began to pick up faint sounds.

Whimpers. Cries. The desperate, wordless wailing of the survivors.

I slid down the last short drop, paws sinking into soft mud. It came up to my ankles and made each step heavy. The mud sucked at me, as if trying to pull me down, but I pushed through.

The first people I saw were two men and a woman clambering over a heap of debris. They hadn't noticed me yet; they were frantically pulling planks and broken roof tiles aside with their bare hands. Their clothes were drenched and caked with mud. One man's shoulder was bleeding from a gash, but he didn't seem to care.

Beyond them, a little further, I spotted more movement: a small cluster of villagers gathered around a spot completely enveloped with mud. They were digging with tools and hands, mud flying as they shouted a name over and over. I couldn't make out what it was.

My throat clenched.

I must have stepped on a branch or made some noise, because a woman suddenly looked up and saw me. Her eyes went wide with alarm, and she yelped something. Both men spun around, one brandishing a splintered plank like a weapon.

Only then did it occur to me what I must look like: a huge, drenched beast prowling out of nowhere.

Not everyone knew what the Sixth heir of Sunmire looked like yet. In their panic and grief, they saw me as a threat.

I halted immediately and took a cautious step back.

Before I could attempt to reassure them, a new voice rang out.

"Wait! Stop! He's a Godbeast!"

I turned toward the voice. Picking his way toward us over the debris was an older man with streaks of gray in his beard. It seemed that he knew who I was.

He raised a hand toward the others in a calming gesture. "It's the Sixth heir," he said, voice shaking not with fear, but emotion. "Lady Aurelith's son, Prophet."

At that, the three villagers' expressions changed from fear to astonishment. The plank in the man's hand wavered, then fell from his fingers.

"That one…?" one of the men whispered.

I wasn't sure what rumors or news had reached them, but it was clear they now saw me not as a monster but something else entirely.

Perhaps a savior.

The woman's knees gave out and she plopped into the mud, sobbing—perhaps in relief or just overwhelmed by everything.

The chief limped toward me. His left leg was caked with mud up to the thigh; it looked like he might have been caught at the edge of the slide and dragged for a bit.

Still, he stood tall, resolve in his eyes even as despair etched his face.

"There's help already," he said. "I can't believe... a Godbeast came to help."

Each word was like a dagger of guilt stabbing into my chest.

I didn't trust myself to speak, so I just nodded mutely.

The chief's eyes brimmed with tears. "Thank the light… We prayed for aid, and the heavens sent one of their own."

My throat was bone-dry. I wanted to correct him, to say I wasn't sent by anyone.

But what good would that do?

Behind the chief, one of the men let out a sobbing laugh. "We're saved," he gasped softly.

They were looking at me with such hope. The chief especially, his gaze was that of a drowning man who'd just found a lifeline.

He moved closer and gripped my fur with a muddy hand. His voice dropped, thick with pleading. "Your Reverence, please… my daughter and a few others, they're trapped here. We've been trying to get to them, but… we don't have the strength or tools."

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. A stone seemed to be wedged in my throat.

My eyes flickered over his shoulder to the collapsed building where villagers were digging.

A woman shrieked from another direction—a wail of pure agony. "My baby! Someone get my baby out!"

I saw the villagers straining to lift a fallen beam as others clawed at the mud beneath it. They were trying so hard, but it was obvious they were fighting a losing battle with just their bare hands.

I could help. I could probably clear the debris quickly, pull survivors free. With my strength, doubled now by whatever power-up I gained from that tribulation.

I should help.

My body refused to move. It was as if invisible chains held me rooted to that spot.

'I should help them. I have to do something.'

No, I argued with myself, panic rising. I didn't know this would happen. Eline told me it would be fine. A small flood.

"Please," the chief begged, and his voice cracked. "We're running out of time."

My eyes met his. In them, I saw hope, desperation, faith. He genuinely believed I was here as a savior.

A savior.

I…

I was not a savior.

My vision blurred, not from rain but from the sting of tears that I hadn't realized were welling up.

I'd never intentionally harmed an innocent in this world. I had tried so hard to be careful, to be a good boy like my owner had told me to be. And now…

My failure had brought hell upon these simple folk.

And they had no idea.

A whine rose in my throat, an involuntary canine whimper of distress. I tore my gaze away from the chief, unable to bear it.

He thinks I'm a miracle. If he knew the truth… if any of them knew…

"Your Reverence Pophet?" the chief asked softly.

I flinched at my own name. My legs trembled, and a sudden, overpowering urge surged through me: run.

'I can't face this. I can't.'

"I… I'm sorry," I croaked. The words barely came out.

His hand slipped from my shoulder as I lurched away.

"Wait!" he shouted, confused. "What… Where are you—?"

I didn't hear the rest. I turned and bolted.

At that moment, I was no better than a frightened mutt fleeing with its tail between its legs.

I knew it. Some distant part of me screamed to stop, to turn around and help like I should.

But that voice was drowned out by a roar of guilt and shame and sheer panic.

Behind me, I heard the chief yelling something. Others took up the cry, pleading shouts for me to come back. I couldn't make out the words over the pounding of blood in my ears.

I just ran.

'Coward. Coward!' My mind snarled at me.

Once I was hidden by the trees, I dared to glance back.

Tiny figures stood in the mud, watching me go. I caught just a glimpse of the village chief falling to his knees, his hands in his hair.

He had believed in me, and I had betrayed that belief.

'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

But I wasn't brave enough to say it to his face. I wasn't brave enough to do anything except run.

A whimper built in my throat and I choked it down, forcing myself to keep moving. I continued running through the woods, not even sure where I was headed, just away from the place.

Away from the devastation.

Away from the people whose hopes I've betrayed.

My large paws and bulk were making too much noise. Part of me irrationally feared someone else might see or follow. I wanted to disappear entirely.

So I shrank.

With a half-coherent thought, the skill responded instantly—if anything, it responded more smoothly than ever.

The forest around me seemed to swell in size as everything, from trees to rocks, grew larger from my perspective.

I stumbled, nearly toppling over as my center of gravity shifted. But within a heartbeat, it was done.

Where a large fawn-furred pug had been, now only a little black pug remained, coat dark as midnight.

The cold and wet felt even more miserable in this form, but I didn't care. It was a small price if it made me harder to find, or harder to recognize, at least.

I ran until my lungs burned and my paws ached. Ran until the sounds of the village were long gone. Ran until even my fear and panic couldn't sustain me anymore.