Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

Higher experts were known to manipulate space itself with a mere thought, able to sense distant realms and bend the tear instantly to align with a location of their choosing. To them, the act of teleportation had long since ceased to be a challenge; it was a refined art, mastered so completely that they could perform it at will. Lucas, however, was no such master, not yet. His current self stood far from the heights of those who had devoted lifetimes to the Dao of Space, but unlike them he carried something, a memory of knowledge that belonged to an age still to come. The texts he had studied spoke of theories and methods no one in this present era had ever dared to imagine, and while he did not yet possess the instinctive mastery of a higher expert, he had the daring to carve a path forward on his own. He had to be careful, for every step was uncharted, and a single mistake could mean the difference between success and obliteration.

When the tear finally steadied and he felt the anchor of his will take hold, Lucas fixed his chosen destination. He did not aim for something grand, not some distant peak or another city across the horizon, but instead settled on a short distance within his own chamber. Prudence demanded restraint; if he failed, at least he would fail within reach of familiar ground. His breath slowed, his mind sharpened, and with the final stroke of his intent the coordinates locked in place. The trembling vortex that had threatened to devour him moments earlier calmed into a pulsing tunnel of energy, a temporary passage through the layers of distorted space.

Without hesitation, Lucas drew his Qi inward and then released it in a controlled wave around his body, forming a protective barrier that clung tightly to his skin like a second layer of armor. He could feel the currents within the tear swirling hungrily around him, each one sharp enough to slice flesh and bone if he faltered. With the shield in place the pressure lessened, but it did not vanish. Every step forward was a contest of control, and the slightest lapse would mean disaster. He reminded himself that refinement was everything here: the smoother his barrier, the faster his passage, the less resistance he would face.

Steeling his resolve, Lucas stepped fully into the tunnel. For an instant it felt as though the world had been stripped away, replaced by endless distortion and a current that tugged at every corner of his being. He forced his body to flow with the momentum, refusing to fight against the pull, and after what felt like a heartbeat stretched into an eternity, the passage obeyed. In no more than two seconds the tunnel carried him forward, and he emerged abruptly on the far side of his chamber.

His feet struck the ground unevenly, the chamber floor sliding beneath him as he staggered forward. His balance wavered, and for a moment he nearly collapsed, but he forced his body upright. His stomach churned violently, a deep wave of nausea washing over him, and his head spun until the familiar walls around him blurred. It was only then that he understood the true toll of spatial teleportation. The body was not meant to endure such shifts, not without practice, and the dizziness was inevitable.

Yet as the dizziness lingered and his stomach twisted, he could not suppress the sharp thrill that cut through the discomfort. He had done it. Against every risk, with no teacher, no guiding hand, and no one to steady him, he had crossed space with his own comprehension and determination. He had achieved what few in this age would even dare to dream. It was true that two seconds was far too slow for a distance so short, and in time he would need to refine the technique until it became fluid and instantaneous, but that did not matter now. For the first time he had walked through the currents of distorted space and returned whole.

Yes, he had finally done it. He had finally achieved spatial teleportation. And though his body protested with nausea and his balance threatened to fail him, his heart surged with fierce joy, because no matter how slow it seemed, no matter how imperfect, he knew without doubt that he had just accomplished something incredible.

Now that he had succeeded, Lucas finally felt that he possessed something of real value, something he could present to the throne without being dismissed as a reckless dreamer. The art of space itself was in his grasp, however rough and unrefined it might yet be, and he believed with firm conviction that the king would recognize its worth. With this, perhaps, he might persuade His Majesty to grant him a chance, not merely as a dutiful subject, but as a cultivator and alchemist with a vision for the future. His thoughts inevitably turned to the matter that had weighed heavily on his conversation with Nyx.

The king had spoken with certainty on that matter, his voice final, his rejection sharp and cold. He wanted nothing to do with the Empress of Great Lechia, he considered her untrustworthy and her throne a nest of schemes. Yet Lucas could not shake the thought that the rejection was premature. The empress commanded resources and influence beyond what the kingdom could dismiss lightly, and more importantly, Lucas sensed in her a potential ally who could be guided rather than feared. If he could bring to the king a demonstration of space manipulation, a power capable of altering the balance of war and diplomacy alike, then perhaps he could urge him to reconsider. Perhaps this alone might open a narrow window for dialogue where once there had been only disdain.

But even as he entertained these hopes, another shadow loomed large before him, one that demanded immediate attention. The Rus emperor was expected to arrive by the following day. He was coming not for treaties alone, but for a union that would bind the kingdoms together in blood, and the hand he sought was that of Princess Nyx. The arrangements were nearly sealed. An alliance with Rus would strip Nyx of her freedom, binding her to a future she had no desire to accept.

Lucas remembered the look in her eyes when she had spoken to him, the quiet strength hidden beneath her usual poise, and the promise he had given her. He had promised that he would not stand idle, that he would find a way to help her no matter how impossible the odds seemed. That vow now burned within him as fiercely as the effort he had poured into mastering the tear. This achievement, this first step into the realm of spatial manipulation, might be the very thing that tipped the balance in his favor. If he could present it to the king as a weapon and a tool, proof of his ability to change the course of the kingdom's fate, then perhaps His Majesty would finally reconsider the path he had chosen.

Lucas knew what he hoped for, even if it was uncertain. He wanted the king to halt the pact with Rus, to see that binding Nyx in marriage was not a solution but a surrender, and to realize that there were other alliances worth pursuing, alliances that could be forged not through chains of obligation but through calculated strength. He wanted this power he had discovered to open the king's eyes and force him to consider a different road, one in which Nyx was not handed away to seal an accord with the emperor. More than anything, he wanted the king to stop the alliance with Rus and not give Nyx's hand in marriage, and he prayed that what he had achieved tonight would be enough to make that hope a reality.