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

The air in the cave was damp and cool, clinging to his skin like a lingering whisper of the mountain's breath. A faint glow from the fire pit cast shifting shadows along the rough stone walls, its embers pulsing like a dying heartbeat. Somewhere in the distance, the muffled echoes of training strikes and low murmurs of other cultivators bled into the quiet.

Aaryan rolled his shoulders, testing the strain in his muscles. The ache was still there, buried deep in the fibres of his body, but it was different now—sharper, more refined. Pain had forced adaptation.

His movements no longer carried the stiffness of recovery but the precision of something honed under pressure.

A month.

A month since he had crumpled on the battlefield, bones screaming, blood staining the mountain soil. A month of clawing his way back from the edge, through relentless training, through nights of exhaustion so deep his limbs had gone numb. And now, finally, he was back on his feet. Not the same as before—stronger.

His eyes flicked to the sachet resting in the corner of the cave. Unopened. The herbs inside had undoubtedly sped up his healing, lingering in his system even though he had never actively consumed them. Dharun's gift had done its job. Yet, that was not the real reason he had recovered so quickly.

His hand unconsciously curled into a fist. The pain had done more for him than any herb ever could.

As he exhaled, his thoughts drifted back to the battles he had fought since arriving at the sect.

Almost all of them had been over resources.

A bitter laugh threatened to escape him, but he swallowed it down. Was it even worth it?

Blood followed every time the sect handed out its so-called resources—he had seen it, lived it. The sachets they distributed barely contained enough to make tangible progress. If he was honest, a cultivator needed ten times the amount given out just to see real advancement. Then why?

He had over six sachets stashed away. Soma Root. Even the residual medicinal effect of Emberthorn Root he had consumed earlier. He had the means to accelerate his progress beyond what the sect provided. So why was this system designed to make them tear each other apart over scraps?

His mind churned through the possibilities. The sect knew. Of course, they knew. Then why—

Unless… it wasn't the resources that truly mattered.

His breath slowed.

The memory of his breakthrough flickered through his mind. It had happened after that brutal fight. After he had pushed himself beyond his limits, after his body had been forced to adapt. Not in cultivation, but in survival. And survival was no accident. The sect ensured it. The resources were never enough—only enough to incite desperation, to keep them fighting. It was never about growth, only about weeding out the weak.

His pulse thrummed in his ears.

The sect wasn't raising cultivators.

They were raising fighters.

His jaw tightened. A sharp image flashed—poisonous worms writhing in a jar, locked in a cycle of blood and hunger, devouring each other just to survive.

A shiver ran down his spine.

His survival instinct coiled tight, like a beast stirring in its cage. But this wasn't just survival, was it?

They were not training disciples. They were sharpening weapons.

For what? A war? A purge? A cause they would never be told about?

And worse still—they wouldn't even have a choice. They would never be asked, never told. Just sharpened and discarded when the blade dulled.

If he was right, then everything—the structure, the fights, the bloodshed—was deliberate. They were being refined through battle, through desperation. The sect wasn't interested in feeding them. It was interested in watching them fight for the right to eat.

Aaryan let out a slow breath, steadying himself. He had known before that the sect was harsh, unforgiving. But now, for the first time, he saw the shape of the cage they were trapped in.

And the bars? They were forged from blood.

The hall was alive with murmurs the moment Aaryan entered. Some whispers died instantly; others sharpened, urgent.

"He's alive?"

"Didn't think he'd show his face here again."

"Look at him—he's not even fully healed. Is he really that desperate?"

A few disciples exchanged uneasy glances before shifting away from his path, unwilling to meet his gaze. Others, particularly those who had taken part in the last fight, scoffed but made no move to approach him. A few bolder ones let their eyes linger on him, their expressions twisted between disdain and curiosity. But no one spoke directly to him. Not yet.

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Aaryan ignored them. His steps were steady, measured. Though his body still carried traces of lingering strain, his presence felt different—sharper, more deliberate. The weight of countless stares pressed down on him, but he acted as if they didn't exist. He neither hurried nor hesitated.

Each step he took was precise, purposeful, as if he was walking through an empty hall rather than a room brimming with hostility.

Dharun stood at the front, overseeing the distribution as usual. His eyes flickered toward Aaryan for the briefest moment before he returned to his task. No reaction. No acknowledgment beyond that fleeting glance. But Aaryan knew Dharun was aware of everything.

The line moved. One disciple after another stepped forward, received their share, and left.

Then it was Aaryan's turn.

He stepped forward, and as he reached the front, the murmurs dimmed slightly, though no one dared to step closer. The space around Dharun was always kept clear—only those collecting their resources were allowed near him.

Aaryan accepted his share without a word, but before he could step away, Dharun spoke—so quietly that no one else could hear.

"I gave you enough to last two months. Why are you here?"

Aaryan held his gaze, expression unreadable. His reply was just as quiet, devoid of emotion.

"I'm not here to fight."

Dharun studied him for a moment, his expression as impassive as ever. The silence stretched, unnoticed by the rest of the hall but heavy between them. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, Dharun let it go. He said nothing more.

Aaryan turned and walked away.

The hall, however, had not returned to normal. Though no one had dared to interrupt Aaryan's moment at the front, the undercurrents of conversation had never truly stopped.

"Fool! What's he planning?"

"Maybe he will give up his share just like last time."

"But that didn't save him. So why would it save him this time?"

"Or maybe he's just waiting. Watching."

Some sneered, unimpressed. Others exchanged uneasy glances.

"They won't touch him. Not yet. Not while Dharun is here."

The ones who had fought him before remained silent, their uncertainty hidden behind their narrowed gazes. Aaryan could feel their eyes burning into his back, weighing him down, but he did not falter. The unspoken challenge hung in the air, thick and stifling.

They wanted him gone, but not in front of Dharun. Not where consequences might follow.

So, no one moved.

Not yet.

Not while Dharun was watching.

And so, for now, the tension hung in the air—coiled, waiting.

Aaryan left the hall without looking back, but he knew.

The real test would begin the moment Dharun was gone.

The moment Dharun left, the atmosphere shifted.

The waiting tension snapped, unravelling into silent standoffs.

Fights broke out across the hall—sharp, ruthless, and immediate.

But no one touched Aaryan.

Not yet.

Varun was there, along with the others who had attacked him before. They watched him, tense, wary. Dharun's interference last time had shaken them. No one wanted to be the first to make a move, not while the risk of another unknown consequence lingered in their minds.

Aaryan barely spared them a glance. His focus was elsewhere.

His gaze swept across the hall—the chaos, the desperation, the cycle he had seen too many times before. The weak thrown to the wolves, the strong feeding off them, a system that demanded struggle without ever offering true rewards.

He already knew how this would end.

So this time, he changed the rules.

His voice cut through the hall, calm but carrying weight.

"Whoever just wants to keep their share safe should stand with me."

Silence crashed over the fights.

No one moved. Then, the whispers began.

"What did he just say?"

"Stand with him? Why would—"

They didn't need to trust him—only fear what would happen if they didn't.

Which was why the hesitation barely lasted a second.

The first disciple broke from the chaos, stepping toward Aaryan. Then another. Then more.

The shift happened like a floodgate breaking—sudden, unstoppable. They ran to him—not out of loyalty, but because fear had given them no better option.

Aaryan had expected it. That didn't mean he had to like it.

They weren't standing with him. They were standing behind him. And that was a dangerous thing.

Those who had never stood a chance in these fights moved instinctively, gravitating toward the one person who had done what they never could—refused to play by the sect's rules.

By the time the movement settled, nearly seventy percent of the disciples stood behind him.

And for the first time, the predators of the hall—the ones who had always fought for dominance—stood frozen.

Aaryan tilted his head, observing the ones left behind.

They weren't used to this.

The balance had always favoured them. They had never needed to fight for control because it had already been theirs. Now, they were the ones outnumbered.

One of them—the disciple who had once negotiated with Aaryan but later joined Varun—stepped forward, his voice tight.

"What the hell is this supposed to mean?"

Aaryan met his gaze, unfazed.

"Nothing." His tone was casual, almost amused. "We just want to keep what's ours. If you disagree, why don't you ask the people behind me?"

The weight of that statement settled over the hall.

The stronger disciples—the ones who had always stolen without resistance—glanced at each other.

For once, they were the ones hesitating.

Then Varun scoffed, stepping forward, eyes narrowing.

"So that's it?" He gestured toward the gathered disciples. "Hiding behind numbers? What happened to your arrogance? Or are you just borrowing Dharun's shadow?"

Then, his voice dipped lower, venomous.

"This changes nothing, you know. They'll run the moment you stop being useful. And when that happens? You'll be alone again. Just like last time."

Aaryan chuckled, shaking his head.

" Maybe." His smirk sharpened. " But it looks like I'm not the one who's worried about that right now."

Varun's expression flickered, just for a second.

He had been expecting a fight. He had been ready for one.

But this?

This wasn't something he knew how to deal with.

Aaryan turned without another word, leading his group away. The weaker disciples followed—hesitant at first, then with growing confidence.

For the first time, they left unchallenged.

For the first time, they had won without throwing a single punch.

And from a distance, unseen by any of them, Dharun watched.

First, he avoided the battlefield. Then, he chose it. The third time, he was trapped in it. But now… he's rewritten the rules altogether. No one forced his hand—because he never let them touch it in the first place.

Something unreadable flickered in Dharun's gaze.

This kind of thinking... it wasn't just unusual. It was dangerous.

Because those who refused to be shaped by the system... were the ones who learned how to break it.

And for a moment longer, Dharun watched.

Then, without a word, he turned and left.