Cultivation starts with picking up attributes

The sun rose over the Feilun mountains with a muted light, as if the heavens themselves watched with restraint, unwilling to shine too brightly upon a land preparing for war.

The plateau that had once echoed with laughter and drills now breathed tension, the scent of metal and ink mixing with the scent of pine and stone. Disciples moved with purpose, their eyes shadowed by sleepless nights, their limbs hardened from relentless training.

At the heart of this storm of discipline stood Tian Shen.

He was no longer merely the commander of the Root Division; he had become the pulse of the entire sect. Every decision, every formation, every adjustment in strategy passed through his hands before reaching the elders and disciples alike. His spear, black lacquered with veins of gold, seemed like an extension of his will. Wherever he stood, the energy of the sect realigned as though drawn toward a magnet of unyielding resolve.

In the command hall, maps of the surrounding mountains, river paths, and border villages were spread across long stone tables. Runes and markings had been etched into slate, tracking the movements of the foreign army, their scouts, and rumored obelisks planted deep in corrupted forests.

Sect Master Feilun stood beside Tian Shen, speaking with calm authority, but even his composed demeanor betrayed worry. Elder Su, seated nearby, meticulously recorded every strategic adjustment with a brush dipped in ink that seemed to glow faintly with stabilized qi.

Feng Yin stood at the entrance, silent as always, but her eyes never left Tian Shen. She had been entrusted with scouting the perimeter, fortifying supply lines, and ensuring that training camps ran efficiently. Yet she knew her true task was simpler and far deeper—she was the axis of his strength, the unseen force that steadied him when rage or despair threatened to surge from his Core.

The meeting began.

"We cannot rely on the barriers alone," Elder Mu barked, his voice filled with impatience. "Their artifacts twist reality itself. Our wards, however refined, will falter once they learn the frequencies of our defenses."

"Then we must layer them," Tian Shen replied evenly. "Not merely with spells and talismans, but with formations designed to adapt. Elder Su, your pattern shifts—layered in three circuits—should be applied to the supply routes."

Elder Su inclined his head. "It shall be done."

"We will also drill the squads into smaller units," Tian Shen continued, tapping a carved diagram. "Their formations may be rigid, reliant on central coordination. If we disrupt their communication channels with sudden strikes, we can fracture their advance."

Sect Master Feilun nodded slowly. "Divide and counterattack. It is a dangerous tactic but necessary."

Feng Yin's eyes flickered with approval. Tian Shen's voice carried no doubt, only calculation. It steadied everyone who heard it.

The meeting extended deep into the afternoon. By the time the elders dismissed, the disciples awaiting training lines outside the hall had already begun their drills under the watchful eyes of senior instructors.

The training grounds were transformed.

The fields where once light exercises were practiced became arenas of brutal endurance tests, precision drills, and combat simulations that pushed every disciple to the edge of their limits.

Tian Shen moved through them like a silent force. He corrected posture with the softest touch, realigned breathing patterns with whispered cues, and challenged squads personally, never showing fatigue even after hours of relentless instruction.

Under his guidance, the Root Division became more than a fighting force. They became a living formation—an organism that could adjust, improvise, and recover faster than any enemy wave.

Feng Yin's training was equally demanding. She led squads through night drills where enemy qi waves were simulated with subtle illusions, forcing them to react without relying on sight. She taught them how to read their own breath and pulse, how to harness their inner reserves without overtaxing the Core, how to coordinate silently in battle with nothing but glances and pulse shifts.

And through it all, her connection with Tian Shen deepened—not through words, but through the flow of shared purpose.

...

At dusk, when the drills ceased and only the hum of exhaustion remained, Tian Shen would sit beneath the lantern tree where Feng Yin waited.

Neither spoke for long stretches.

Sometimes, a breeze would stir the blossoms overhead, scattering petals onto their shoulders.

Sometimes, a distant wolf's howl would echo across the valley, and they would exchange a glance without needing to speak.

On those nights, Tian Shen would allow his guard to drop, if only for a breath.

"You're always watching," he murmured one evening.

"I am always watching," Feng Yin replied softly. "It is not doubt—it is care."

He looked at her, eyes softened by the low glow of spirit lanterns.

"It is easier to fight beside you," he confessed quietly. "The Core still howls within me. Sometimes I fear it will consume the patience I've built."

Feng Yin's lips curved in the faintest smile. "Then do not fight it alone."

Their fingers brushed, a brief touch. Neither pulled away.

The bond between them—unspoken, undeniable—strengthened the morale of those who trained nearby. Disciples whispered about their connection, half guessing, half inspired. Even the elders, though careful not to comment openly, recognized that the two formed the spear's edge and its balance.

One night, while reviewing reports in the hall, a scout burst in, breathless and bloodied.

"They are moving," he gasped, falling to his knees.

"What do you see?" Tian Shen asked, his gaze steady.

"Obelisks have multiplied. Their camps stretch across three ridges now. Core cultivators lead each flank. Their artifacts hum with corrupted qi… they are drilling."

A hush fell over the hall.

Sect Master Feilun's eyes darkened. "So soon?"

Elder Su's hand clenched around his brush. "Their advance will be swift."

Tian Shen's jaw tightened, but his eyes did not waver. "Then our answer must be swifter."

He rose to his feet.

"Elders, sect members—prepare for the worst. Supply lines must be sealed but flexible. Formations must rotate daily. Every squad must have three fallback plans. We train not to endure—but to shatter their advance before it takes root."

His words struck like iron against stone.

"Commander," Feng Yin added quietly, "we will hold."

Her eyes locked with his.

He inclined his head once.

"Together."

...

The night deepened over the Feilun mountains, a vast sea of ink-blue silence that carried neither wind nor warmth. Only the occasional hiss of a spirit flame or the rustle of a sleeping disciple broke the stillness. But beneath that quiet surface, something far more powerful stirred—like a coiled serpent waiting for command.

Tian Shen stood alone at the edge of the plateau, his spear planted before him, its tip glowing faintly in rhythm with his breath. His eyes, pools of silver light, scanned the distant ridges where, even now, foreign fires flickered like restless stars. He could feel the creeping wave of invasion approaching—not a mere army, but a force bent on conquest, driven by fury and hardened by countless battles.

His Core stirred in response, a low growl rippling through his chest. The Utopian Core pulsed, sensing the coming storm, its hunger tempered by his will but never satisfied. The shadows that clung to it whispered promises of greater power if only he surrendered. For a fleeting moment, the rage surged through him like wildfire racing through dry brush—but he exhaled, letting it dissipate like smoke in the night air.

"Not yet," he murmured.

Behind him, soft footsteps approached. Feng Yin appeared silently, as if born from the darkness itself. She carried no weapon, only a small lantern whose flame danced like a calm heartbeat.

"You shouldn't be alone at this hour," she said softly.

"I should be," Tian Shen replied without turning. "If the storm comes before dawn, I want to greet it with a steady heart."

Feng Yin knelt beside him, her eyes studying his face in the dim light. "A steady heart doesn't mean stillness. It means courage to move."

He turned then, their gazes locking in the soft glow between them.

"I fear," he admitted quietly, "that this Core will tear me apart before the enemy ever touches us."

For the first time, his words carried more than pride—they carried truth.

Feng Yin's eyes softened, but her voice remained firm. "Then you must trust that you are not alone. I am here. The Root Division is here. The sect is here. We will anchor you when the Core's hunger screams."

Tian Shen's lips curved into a faint smile, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. "You always say that as if it's simple."

"It's not simple," she said, meeting him without flinching. "But it's real."

A long silence stretched between them. The lantern's flame flickered gently as if breathing with them. The wind stirred just enough to lift loose strands of their hair, but neither moved.

Finally, Tian Shen bowed his head slightly. "Then tomorrow, when the battle begins, I will carry your steadiness with me."

She nodded. "And I will stand where your spear points."

Their bond, forged through shared hardship and tempered in battle, needed no words beyond that. In the stillness, it bound them tighter than any vow.

Beyond them, the mountains watched, and in the distance, the foreign fires continued to gather strength.

Dawn would come soon.

And with it, the storm.