Destiny Reckoning[Book 1 Complete][A Xianxia Cultivation Progression Mythical Fantasy]

The Ember Spire towered ahead, a jagged spear of blackstone piercing the sky. Even in daylight, it looked scorched—its surface dull and ash-dark, as if fire had once tried to consume it and failed. Around it, the city churned slowly awake.

Stalls had sprung up along the outer walkways, cluttered with wares both strange and mundane. Their owners barked out half-hearted pitches to passing cultivators, most of whom ignored them with the indifference of seasoned buyers. Aaryan passed them by in silence, Vedik curled neatly on his shoulder in his silver bird form.

His eyes caught glints of strange metals, sealed pouches that hummed faintly with spiritual energy, coils of beast tendon, and bundles of what looked like obsidian grass. Each item promised potential—materials meant to build or break a cultivator's path.

A few stall-owners stared as Aaryan passed. Not with interest—more with recognition, maybe even caution.

He dismissed it at first.

The Ember Spire's base was wide, flanked by four circular plazas tiled with red and gray stone. Smaller structures formed a ring around the tower—shops, storage halls, smithies-for-hire—each guarded by a watchful presence or clan insignia. It felt less like a market and more like a temple district. Only the temple worshipped ore, flame, and metal.

Even this early, a line had formed beneath the main archway. Not of wagons or carts, but people. Cultivators, traders, smiths. Some clutched item boxes; others bore blueprints or slips of trade permits.

Aaryan bypassed the line—he had no business inside the Spire itself yet. He angled left, heading to the proper shops that ringed the outer base.

The first shop he entered was clean, neat, clearly clan-affiliated. He stepped in, raised the ragged note, and listed off the items.

The shopkeeper barely glanced at the paper before shaking his head. "We're out."

Aaryan blinked. "All of them?"

A stiff nod. "Yes."

He tried the next shop. Then the next.

Same pattern. Flat refusals. Closed expressions.

One man even said, "Try the commons," before deliberately turning his back.

Aaryan stood in the middle of a polished stone walkway, the Spire looming behind him, the list still in hand.

He frowned.

These shops should've welcomed a paying customer. What had changed?

Vedik ruffled his feathers uncomfortably.

Then it clicked.

Of course.

His feud with Viyom.

So, the news had already spread. And these merchants? They were the ones closest to the Spire—close to influence, to gossip, to the families who played politics with flame and coin.

He looked around again, slower this time.

They weren't ignoring him.

They were avoiding him.

Aaryan was still weighing his options—how to get the materials, whether bribing one of the outer merchants would work—when a voice laced with mockery sliced through the morning air.

"Well, well. I thought I smelled something foul near the Spire. Didn't expect it to be a beggar rat pretending to be a cultivator."

He didn't need to turn.

The tone, the arrogance, the silk-laced contempt—it could only be one person.

Viyom.

Sure enough, the young master of the Verma clan strutted into view in his red silk robe, the golden-stitched crest of his clan gleaming in the light. His hair was slicked back, a ceremonial dagger tucked into his belt more for show than function. He walked like he owned the stones beneath his feet.

"So, the little worm crawled out from the slums and made it to the Ember Spire," Viyom sneered, drawing attention as he moved. "Did you get lost, or are you hoping to sweep floors for scraps?"

Aaryan's eyes didn't flinch. "You're louder than I remember."

A flicker of irritation crossed Viyom's face. "Still mouthing off? I should've broken your limbs and your dignity in that arena."

Aaryan smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. That bet where you lost before the fight started. Fond memories."

That did it.

Viyom's composure cracked as his face twisted in rage. His guards—four of them, all armoured lightly but carrying sabres—stepped forward in sync, surrounding Aaryan in a loose circle. Passersby started slowing down, sensing something more entertaining than a merchant's bargain.

"You think you're clever?" Viyom hissed. "Breaking into my ring like some street rat cracking open a wine jar? You won't crawl out of this one."

"I'm standing, actually," Aaryan said mildly.

"Not for long."

Viyom took a single step forward—and the air changed.

A burst of icy blue Qi erupted from his body, sharp and biting. The temperature dropped, a sudden chill seeping into the stones. Frost webbed out in delicate patterns beneath his feet. The scent of winter filled the plaza.

Seventh stage of Qi Condensation.

Aaryan's gaze narrowed. That was almost Pryag's level—Evernight Sect's previous leader. A young master from one of top clans matching a sect leader in cultivation? The sheer difference in resources…

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

'If it's like this here, Aaryan thought, what kind of monsters are in the central provinces? Would kids my age already be at Core Formation?'

He pushed the thought aside. No time for wandering minds.

Because Viyom moved.

A flash of motion. Cold surged as a jagged arc of icy Qi barrelled toward him.

Aaryan didn't retreat.

His silver Qi flared to life—not in full, not yet. A tight layer wrapped around his fist, focusing strength and stability. With one fluid motion, he stepped into the attack and met it head-on.

Qi and fist collided.

Crack.

The frost-shard exploded like brittle glass, scattering in white sparks as the force behind it dissolved into the air.

Viyom's expression twisted. "Do you think I'm Lao?!" he roared, forming another strike with both palms, Qi condensing around him like a winter storm.

But his words died in his throat.

Aaryan was already moving. One step forward, his arm cutting through the air like forged steel. He didn't shout. He didn't posture. He struck clean and fast, his punch weaving through Viyom's defensive stance.

Boom.

The impact sounded like a muffled thunderclap.

Viyom skidded back—five, ten, nearly twenty steps before finally planting a foot to stop himself. His boots tore a shallow trench in the polished walkway. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, catching the light as he stared at Aaryan in disbelief.

Aaryan didn't react.

The crowd was silent.

Even the merchants who had pretended not to watch were now openly gawking.

From the second floor of a nearby restaurant, a youth in green leaned on the balcony rail, eyes sharp with interest as he sipped from a delicate porcelain cup. He said nothing, but the corner of his mouth curved upward.

Below, Viyom's guards shifted uneasily. None moved forward. Not out of discipline—but because they'd seen enough.

Aaryan stood still, his silver Qi retreating quietly under his skin. He exhaled once. Calm. Controlled.

That was twice now. No tricks. Just power. And proof.

Viyom opened his mouth. No words came.

Then the whispers reached him—scattered gasps, hushed awe, someone muttering "Did you see that punch?" while another added, "He didn't even use a weapon…"

Colour drained from his face, then surged back in a wave of hot humiliation. Rage twisted his features.

"You dogs!" he barked at his guards. "What are you standing there for? Capture him!"

The guards stiffened, glancing at each other in silent protest. No one moved for a moment.

Then, reluctantly, they grit their teeth and charged forward, blades half-drawn, Qi flaring in uneven bursts.

Aaryan's silver Qi answered immediately. His presence flared like a tightened string snapping free, pressure rolling off his body in waves. He shifted into a loose stance, ready to disable them without killing—but then—

Thunk.

A sound like glass being set gently on stone echoed through the street.

A wall of emerald-green rose between him and the approaching guards. Thick, translucent, and gleaming like polished jade, it shimmered with restrained power. The guards reeled back mid-charge, blinking in confusion as they nearly slammed into it.

Vedik stirred suddenly, feathers ruffling as his silver head tilted upward.

Aaryan followed his gaze.

There—on the balcony of the second-story restaurant—stood a youth, watching them with quiet interest.

The moment their eyes met, he vanished in a blur.

By the time Aaryan blinked, he was no longer above.

He was beside Aaryan, hands folded behind his back, smiling with effortless grace.

"I didn't believe the rumours," the youth said, voice crisp but calm. "But now I see them play out with my own eyes, I've no choice but to accept them."

He dipped his head slightly. "If it's alright, would brother honour me with a name?"

Aaryan regarded him quietly for a beat, then allowed the faintest smile. "I'm no one," he said simply. "Name's Vidyut."

Before the youth could say more, Viyom snarled, eyes bloodshot.

"What is the meaning of this, Shravan?!" he roared. "Are you truly siding with some no-name rat? Do you want your Megh Clan to make enemies of the Verma Clan over a stranger?!"

Shravan didn't flinch. Still smiling, he turned slightly toward Viyom and offered a bow that felt more like mockery than respect. "Brother Viyom is exaggerating. It was merely a duel between members of the younger generation, no?"

His tone cooled. "You lost clearly. And yet, you try to resort to numbers. Should I have stood idle while that happened?"

"You—!"

"I'm sure the Verma Clan doesn't wish to appear as bullies, yes?" Shravan asked, still smiling but now with steel hidden beneath the silk. "Let's not make this uglier than it needs to be."

Viyom's jaw worked furiously. He looked from Shravan to Aaryan to the watching crowd. The green wall still glimmered behind him, solid and unmoving.

Finally, with a bitter scoff, he pointed a shaking finger at Aaryan.

"This isn't over. You've made enemies you can't afford, 'Vidyut.' You'll regret it."

Aaryan didn't respond, not even a glance or smile.

Viyom turned and stormed off, his guards hesitating before scurrying after him. The crowd began to disperse slowly, though more than a few eyes lingered on Aaryan.

Shravan exhaled through his nose and looked at Aaryan again.

"Apologies for the theatrics. It's early, and already people are yelling."

"I've had worse," Aaryan said.

Shravan chuckled. "You've got a spine. That's rare around here. Most flinch the moment a clan crest is flashed."

He gave a polite gesture toward the restaurant behind them. "Care to join me for breakfast? Or a drink? It's better than haggling with stallkeepers."

"I would, but…" Aaryan reached into his sleeve and pulled out the ragged, ink-smudged scrap Soot had left him. "Let's just say my breakfast plans involve bark, sand, and debt."

Shravan took the cloth without hesitation. No disgust, no sneer. He held it up, reading the mess of handwriting with amused interest.

"These aren't things you usually see on a single list," he said dryly, then looked at Aaryan with mild curiosity. "Brother's walking the path of a crafter?"

Aaryan gave a faint smirk. "Something like that. Still figuring it out—but yeah."

Shravan snapped his fingers. A servant dressed in green-and-cream stepped forward immediately. Shravan passed the list. "See to this. Quickly."

The servant bowed and vanished without a word.

"Problem solved," Shravan said, gesturing for Aaryan to follow. "Now come. Let's talk a little. I'm curious about people who punch young masters through the pavement before breakfast."

Aaryan blinked.

He sensed no falsehood in Shravan's tone. But that didn't mean he let his guard down.

Then, silently, he followed.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Aaryan had never seen anything like it.

Shravan hadn't called out a single order. Hadn't raised a finger.

Yet plates began arriving one after another. Delicately arranged, steaming, fragrant. Sliced spirit beast meat glazed in golden broth. Thin strips of fire-root herb drizzled with melted spiritual butter. Crystallized lotus cores served with chilled nectar. Each dish looked like it had been made with care—and money.

Now this was influence.

Shravan caught Aaryan's glance and smiled faintly. "Brother Vidyut doesn't seem to be from around here."

Aaryan picked up a pair of chopsticks. "Just passing through."

Shravan chuckled. "So you say."

He let the silence hang for a few bites, then leaned forward slightly, folding his hands on the table.

"I'll be blunt," he said. "If you had lost to Viyom back there, I wouldn't have interfered. I would've just finished my tea and gone on with my day." He smiled without shame. "But you didn't lose. You crushed him. And now, I'd really like to be friends with Brother Vidyut."

Aaryan looked at him, meeting his eyes for a moment before giving a small nod. "That makes two of us," he said. The wariness in his chest loosened just a little. Shravan's image rose slightly in his heart.

Still cautious. But no longer just another young master.

Shravan exhaled in relief, then lifted a cup of tea. "You've caught more eyes than you realize. Some won't matter. But the Vermas?" He swirled the cup once. "Even if they're the weakest of the four major clans in Steel City… they're still more than strong enough to crush one person. Especially an outsider."

Aaryan didn't flinch.

He placed his cup down gently, blue eyes gleaming faintly.

"If they come for me," he said quietly, "then they better not miss."

The tone wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic.

But something in it ran like cold iron.

Shravan froze.

He hadn't felt any fluctuation in Qi. No spiritual pressure. But the moment Aaryan spoke, a chill slid down his back, sweat prickling across his skin. For the briefest instant, it felt like he was sitting across not a cultivator—but a blade.

And this blade hadn't even been unsheathed.

Shravan's fingers paused on his teacup—just for a beat—before he forced a smile. "Understood," he said. "Message received."

Aaryan gave him a calm look, then returned to his food.

Outside the window, the morning sun burned steadily, but inside the private room, the air had shifted—just slightly—as if the city had finally realized it wasn't the only predator awake.