Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

Lucas didn't let the thoughts distract him, he did not stop at a single attempt. The thrill of having accomplished spatial teleportation for the first time ignited a restless hunger within him, and he continued to practice again and again, refining the flow of his Qi, sharpening the precision of his control, and forcing his body to adapt to the dizziness that followed each attempt. Every crossing made him more confident, and soon what had taken him two seconds across the chamber was reduced to a single heartbeat. Before long he could traverse the span of his room in half a second, and although the effort left his legs trembling, the satisfaction of progress drove him onward.

When he finally stepped outside into the cool night air, the palace was silent. He moved quietly through its shadowed halls until he reached the royal training ground, a broad expanse set aside for princes and elite guards to temper their strength. At this hour there were no sparring shouts, no clash of weapons, no crowd of curious eyes. The emptiness suited him well, for he had no desire to draw attention to what he was attempting. Here, in solitude, he could push his limits without restraint.

The field stretched for sixty full metres, long and straight. Lucas walked to one end, steadying his breath as he measured the distance with his eyes. It was not a vast distance by any means, but enough to test the strain of holding a tear for longer than a chamber's span. He extended his hand, channelled his Qi, and wove the familiar sequence of stabilisation and anchoring. The tear shuddered into existence before him, dark edges rippling as his control tightened. Without hesitation he stepped forward, wrapping himself in the protective layer of Qi, and let the distorted current drag him through the tunnel.

He emerged at the far end of the field after four long seconds, stumbling slightly as he landed. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, not from exhaustion but from the unsettling realisation that his effort had bought him little. With his cultivation-enhanced speed he could have sprinted the same sixty metres in no more than five seconds, perhaps even faster if pressed. To spend so much Qi and focus, only to arrive scarcely ahead of what his body could accomplish, was not impressive at all. The flaw was clear: his mastery was still raw, the tear still sluggish, and the process still weighed down by unnecessary resistance. He had to train harder and refine the technique until it surpassed not only his steps but every other method of movement he possessed.

As he repeated the process, his thoughts turned to the deeper nature of what he was attempting. It dawned on him that what he had achieved so far was not true teleportation, not in the sense described in the most advanced theories of spatial manipulation. What he was doing now was simply crossing through a tunnel, manually stepping into the tear and letting it carry him forward. Real teleportation, however, was far more absolute. In its perfected form, the cultivator did not enter a tear; the tear itself responded to the cultivator's will, swallowing him entirely in a single breath and spitting him out at the chosen point, all without the sluggish delay of conscious motion. That was the difference between a novice forcing the path to remain open and a master bending space itself. Lucas knew he was still far from that stage, but the very thought of it filled him with anticipation. He was progressing step by step, and if he pressed himself harder, he would eventually touch the heights that seemed unreachable now.

The night slipped past him as he continued his training. The stars dimmed with the slow approach of dawn, and the first hints of morning light began to creep over the horizon. By then Lucas had driven himself to the edge of his limits, forcing the technique to respond with greater sharpness each time. At last, he stood at one end of the training ground once more, steadied his breath despite the ache in his body, and opened the tear with as much clarity as he could muster. He willed it to obey, forced his barrier to flow seamlessly with the pull, and in an instant the distortion carried him across the sixty metres. He emerged at the other end in the space of a single second, faster than he had ever managed before, and for a fleeting moment triumph surged in his chest.

The feeling did not last. His knees nearly buckled beneath him, his vision swam, and his stomach twisted violently. The dizziness he had felt before was nothing compared to this, for he had pushed both his Qi reserves and his body past their limits. His limbs felt heavy, his breath ragged, and his skin damp with sweat. The toll of the night's practice had finally caught up with him, leaving him weak and reeling even as dawn broke over the silent field.

Lucas dragged his weary body back across the palace corridors until he reached the quiet of his chamber once more. His limbs heavy from the long night of training, yet his mind refused to rest. He lowered himself onto the edge of his bed and allowed his breathing to steady, though the dizziness lingered, reminding him of how far he had pushed his limits. Beyond the window the first true rays of morning touched the palace roofs, and with them came the thought he had been holding back all night: the Rus emperor would arrive before the day ended. The entire court was preparing for the visit, and though few knew the true stakes, Lucas did.

He shook his head, a faint, humorless smile tugging at his lips. The Rus emperor was in for a disappointment, that much was certain, because Lucas would not allow events to proceed as smoothly as the man hoped. He could only pray that the king would see reason, that his demonstration of progress, his proof of new strength, would sway him away from that unwanted marriage. He had promised Nyx, and he would not betray that promise.

For now, however, he needed to refocus. His body was still trembling with fatigue, but he sat down cross-legged on the chamber floor and forced his mind into the calm rhythm of cultivation. The familiar currents of Qi trickled through him, washing against the pathways that had grown sluggish from neglect. It had been too long since he gave his cultivation the devotion it deserved, and he felt it immediately. His progress had stagnated, not because his potential had faltered, but because his attention had been divided. Alchemy had consumed him for weeks, and more recently, every waking thought had been bent toward spatial teleportation. In pursuing mastery of both, he had allowed his own foundation to grow still. That was a dangerous mistake, one he could not afford.

As he cultivated, his thoughts drifted to the other burden waiting for him, the one he had not yet dared to confront fully. Saint Raph's instructions echoed in his memory, the solemn voice urging him to study and master the Core of Dominion. The very words made his brows furrow as he recalled the weight of that mysterious artifact, the sense that it was not merely an object but a force that tested the mind as much as the body. He reached up and rubbed at his temples, the pressure behind his eyes intensifying with each recollection.