Rebirth of the primordial sovereign

Makoto awoke in the quiet hours before dawn, the faint light of the moon casting a pale glow over his room. The air was cool, carrying the crisp scent of dew. He sat up slowly, his body still aching but marginally stronger than the day before. His gaze fell to his hands, thin and calloused—a stark reminder of the life this body had endured.

He placed a hand on his chest, feeling the faint warmth in his dantian where his qi had begun to stir. It wasn't much, just a flicker of energy, but it was progress—a sign that his path of cultivation had not been entirely severed.

Makoto stood and moved to the small window, looking out at the mountains in the distance. The horizon was tinged with the faintest hint of dawn, painting the sky in shades of purple and gold. The beauty of the scene contrasted sharply with the turmoil within him.

"One step at a time," he muttered to himself. His voice was steady, but the weight of his past and the uncertainty of his future pressed heavily on his mind.

Makoto was midway through his morning exercises when there was a soft knock at his door. He straightened, wiping sweat from his brow, and opened it to find Yuna standing there. She held a bundle of fresh herbs in her hands, her expression a mix of relief and worry.

"You're up early," she said, stepping inside and placing the herbs on the small wooden table. "But you shouldn't push yourself so hard. Your body is still recovering."

"I can't afford to rest," Makoto replied, his tone calm but firm. "Every moment counts if I'm to regain my strength."

Yuna sighed, folding her arms across her chest. "I understand your determination, but you're still human, Makoto. Overworking yourself won't help you heal faster."

For a moment, they stood in silence. Yuna's concern was genuine, and Makoto felt a twinge of guilt for dismissing it so easily. But he couldn't let her sympathy deter him.

"I appreciate your help, Yuna," he said softly. "But this is something I have to face on my own. I need to rebuild myself from the ground up."

Yuna looked at him for a long moment before nodding. "Just promise me you won't overdo it," she said. "And if you need anything, I'm here."

Her words lingered in the air even after she left, a quiet reminder that he wasn't entirely alone in this world.

The sect was bustling with activity when Makoto arrived at the training grounds. The morning air buzzed with the sounds of sparring disciples, clashing weapons, and shouted instructions from the sect elders.

Makoto kept to the edges of the crowd, his presence drawing curious glances from those who had heard rumors of his recovery. He ignored them, focusing instead on the task at hand.

His goal was simple: to test the limits of his body and begin rebuilding his strength. He found a quiet corner of the training grounds, away from the prying eyes of the other disciples, and began a series of basic stances and movements. Each motion was slow and deliberate, designed to stretch his weakened muscles and reawaken his body's memory of combat.

Makoto had barely begun when a voice called out from behind him.

"Makoto!"

He turned to see Jin approaching, a confident smirk on his face. Jin was a brash outer disciple known for his fiery temper and love of proving himself against others.

"I heard you've been crawling out of your hole," Jin said, his tone mocking. "How about a friendly spar? Or are you still too fragile to fight?"

A crowd began to gather, drawn by the prospect of a duel. Whispers spread like wildfire as the disciples speculated on whether Makoto would accept the challenge.

Makoto studied Jin for a moment, sensing his cultivation level. Second Stage of Qi Refining—not particularly strong, but still a level above Makoto's current state.

"I'll accept," Makoto said calmly, stepping into the sparring circle.

---

The crowd formed a ring around them as Jin and Makoto faced off. Jin's smirk widened as he assumed a battle stance, his qi flaring faintly.

"You should've stayed in bed," Jin taunted. "I won't go easy on you."

Makoto remained still, his hands at his sides. He didn't bother assuming a stance, his focus entirely on observing Jin's movements.

Jin struck first, lunging forward with a burst of speed. His fist, enveloped in a faint glow of qi, aimed straight for Makoto's chest.

Makoto sidestepped smoothly, his movements precise despite the limitations of his body. He deflected Jin's strike with a subtle shift of his arm, using his opponent's momentum against him.

Jin stumbled, surprised by the ease with which Makoto had evaded his attack. He quickly recovered, his expression darkening as he launched a flurry of punches and kicks.

To the onlookers, it seemed like a one-sided fight—Jin's relentless aggression clashing against Makoto's calm precision. But Makoto wasn't just dodging; he was analyzing. Each strike revealed a weakness in Jin's technique, a flaw that Makoto could exploit.

"Stop dodging and fight!" Jin growled, his frustration evident.

Makoto's lips curved into a faint smile. "Fighting isn't just about brute force. It's about understanding your opponent and using their strength against them."

With a single, fluid motion, Makoto stepped into Jin's guard. He struck with an open palm, sending a controlled surge of force into Jin's chest. The impact wasn't enough to cause serious harm, but it sent Jin stumbling backward, gasping for breath.

The crowd fell silent as Jin dropped to one knee, defeated.

Makoto stepped out of the sparring circle, his expression calm but unreadable. The disciples who had gathered whispered among themselves, their awe and confusion evident.

"Makoto..." Jin said, his voice strained as he struggled to his feet. "You... you've changed."

Makoto said nothing, his focus already shifting to the path ahead. The duel had been a minor victory, but it was only the first step in a long journey.

As he walked away, he caught sight of Riku watching from the shadows. Their eyes met briefly before Riku turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Back in his room, Makoto sat cross-legged on the floor, his mind replaying the events of the day. The sparring match had been a test—a reminder of both his potential and his limitations. His body was still fragile, his cultivation barely rekindled.

But it was progress.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the faint flicker of qi in his dantian. Slowly, painstakingly, he began circulating the energy through his damaged meridians. Each cycle was a battle against pain, but he welcomed it.

As the night deepened, Makoto's resolve burned brighter. The road ahead would be treacherous, but he had faced worse.

This was only the beginning. Makoto's rise had begun.