A while ago…
Adam sat cross-legged inside a narrow cave, the dim light of dusk filtering through a crack in the stone above. The air was cold and damp, filled with the faint scent of moss and earth. Water dripped somewhere in the distance, steady and rhythmic, like the ticking of an unseen clock.
The Nine Chaotic Worlds—that was the title scrawled in old script across the leather-bound cover, weathered by time and nearly illegible. Yet the moment Adam's fingers had brushed the glyphs etched onto its surface, something had pulsed deep within him. A resonance. A calling.
He couldn't tear his eyes away.
The book wasn't just old—it was forbidden. Sealed beneath a sacrificial altar, guarded by layers of misdirection and cursed markings. But now it was his. And the truth within had begun to unravel.
---
"The Nine Chaotic Worlds," Adam murmured, rereading the passage. A technique lost to time. A madness few dared to contemplate.
It was unlike anything he had ever heard of.
Cultivators traditionally forged a single foundation within their dantian—a metaphysical core that served as the wellspring of their power. From this singular base, they advanced through the realms of cultivation, honing their bodies and minds in alignment with the laws of the world.
But this technique… it defied all logic.
According to the book, the Nine Chaotic Worlds technique proposed the creation of nine separate foundations within the body—each cultivated independently, each forming its own core. Nine cores. Nine worlds of energy coexisting inside a single mortal vessel.
It was insanity.
Adam's Insight ability flickered to life, his mind flooding with images: the interlocking flows of energy, the branching pathways of cultivation, and the chaotic dance of power trying to find balance within one frame.
No wonder no one had ever succeeded, he thought, breath catching.
The technique promised power far beyond the comprehension of ordinary cultivators—power not just to shatter mountains or command storms, but to challenge the very framework of existence. The ancients had dubbed it heretical, not simply because it was forbidden, but because it should not be possible.
---
As Adam turned the next page, his eyes narrowed. There, written in neat lines, were the recorded flaws—the reasons why every attempt had ended in failure:
1. The Human Body Could Not Contain Nine Cores.
Even one core placed immense strain on the body during cultivation. Forming nine would be akin to detonating nine suns inside one's soul. The body would rupture, the meridians collapse, and the heart shatter under pressure.
2. Discord Between Cores.
Each core would have its own nature, its own elemental essence. Without perfect harmony between them, their powers would clash like warring kingdoms inside the cultivator. Most attempts ended in internal implosion as energies tore each other apart.
3. Energy Demand Beyond Mortal Limits.
Creating even a single core demanded vast reserves of spiritual energy. Nine required not just abundance, but an unending torrent—far more than the environment could naturally provide. It would devour spirit stones, drain ley lines, and still hunger for more.
4. Advancement Became Exponentially Harder.
Even if one miraculously formed nine harmonious cores, pushing through to higher realms would be like dragging nine mountains uphill. Each realm of advancement demanded synchronized breakthroughs across all nine cores, or risk complete collapse.
Etc...
Adam read on. There were more notes—fragmented thoughts from whoever had studied this before him. Warnings about psychological strain, of minds fracturing under the weight of nine consciousnesses. Notes about body tempering techniques that had been attempted, cultivation arrays that failed. Diagrams of shattered figures, scattered souls, and crumbling realms.
He closed the book gently.
The weight of it settled on his lap—and in his chest.
---
Then why did they record it at all? Adam wondered, staring out at the fading sky. Why preserve something destined to fail?
And yet, a part of him already knew the answer.
Because this technique wasn't designed for the average cultivator. It wasn't meant for the present age, where energy was scarce and fear ruled innovation. It had been a dream—an impossible ambition from an era when humans reached for the stars, unafraid of breaking the heavens to rebuild them.
The Nine Chaotic Worlds wasn't a path.
It was a challenge.
A declaration.
Adam slowly exhaled, letting the Insight ability show him more. He saw glimpses—not of success, but of possibility. There were gaps in the failures. Subtle hints. Areas where the original practitioner had not finished the research. The records were incomplete, as if whoever had created the technique died before refining it fully.
Or... chose to seal it away before it was perfected.
Adam's fingers curled around the book.
He had already stepped into a world of danger. Betrayed by Lucian, framed, hunted. There was no path back to safety. No comfort to return to. If survival meant walking an impossible road, then so be it.
Perhaps the Nine Chaotic Worlds was madness. But it was his madness now.
---
That night, under the stars, Adam prepared.
Adam sat cross-legged in the silence of the cave, its damp walls pressing in like the lungs of the earth. Moonlight filtered faintly through a narrow crack above, casting a pale glow across the stone floor. Outside, the world slept beneath a blanket of stars. Inside, a different kind of awakening was beginning.
He inhaled slowly, letting the breath sink deep into his core.
Then he felt it.
Energy.
Subtle and slow at first, like the shift of wind before a storm. It was all around him—the lingering essence of the moon, the faint pulse of star-born power drifting from the sky. Though thin and scattered, it was pure. Untouched.
Adam didn't rush to draw it in.
He simply felt it.
Letting his body listen, not act. Letting the energy brush against his skin, ghost along his nerves, pool faintly at the edges of his presence. This was the first step, as described in the ancient book: attunement. The body had to recognize the energy—not as something foreign, but as something natural. A part of existence. A part of him.
Time passed unnoticed.
Gradually, the energy began to seep into him—not pulled by force, but invited by stillness. It moved like mist curling through cracks, drifting beneath his skin, into his bones, his blood, his breath. A strange warmth followed, chased by a chilling edge. It was neither pain nor pleasure—just different. Like waking up after a long sleep to a world that wasn't quite your own.
Adam's muscles twitched as a thin pulse of energy moved through his meridians. His body reacted—stiff at first, rejecting the intrusion. But he didn't resist. He let the energy flow, let his body feel the discomfort, the pressure, the strange weight of something new.
Bit by bit, the resistance faded.