Capítulo 33: Touching the Dao
Silas walked beneath the stars, their cold light casting faint shadows over the rugged terrain. The cool earth pressed against his bare feet with each step, grounding him as the tension in his body simmered beneath the surface. He stopped, gripping his bo staff tightly. There was no particular reason, just an undeniable urge to move.
The first swing of the staff cut through the air in a clean arc, a horizontal sweep that hummed faintly. Silas followed it with an upward strike, his hands guiding the staff with controlled precision. His feet shifted naturally, finding balance as he transitioned into a series of sharp jabs, the tip of the staff darting forward as though aiming at an unseen opponent.
Each motion led into the next, his movements fluid and instinctive. The staff whirled as he spun it above his head, a defensive flourish that transitioned into a downward strike, the end slamming into the ground with a muted thud. He turned, sweeping low as though to trip an imagined adversary.
Midway through the sweep, Silas felt the faint heat of his cultivation technique spark to life, unbidden. The energy, sharp and biting, flowed through his limbs as though it had always been part of his practice. He didn't stop moving.
Channeling the energy from his amulet, he wove it into his strikes without thinking. The next thrust carried the force of the energy, the staff vibrating faintly as it struck the air. A sweeping arc followed, enhanced by the cultivation technique as it coursed through him, leaving a sharp sensation in his shoulders.
The rhythmic hum of the staff slicing through the air melded with the pulsing heat of his cultivation. Silas pivoted, the staff spinning in his hands, its flexible wood bending slightly as he angled a strike toward the earth. Each movement fed into the next, the energy and motion seamlessly intertwined.
He jabbed sharply, his feet sliding into a new stance as the staff snapped back into a defensive arc. The heat in his muscles grew more intense, but it wasn't overwhelming. Instead, it fueled him, driving the staff in a blur of precise attacks. Dust kicked up around him as the end of the staff connected with the ground in another powerful motion.
Silas shifted his grip slightly, the weapon spinning in a fluid figure-eight pattern as he stepped forward and back, testing angles and strikes. He swept low again, this time feeling the staff almost pull with the momentum, its motion becoming easier to guide.
There was no thought behind it, no conscious effort. Each swing, jab, and spin felt natural, his movements flowing in time with the faint pulse of energy from his amulet.
He moved faster, the rhythm of the staff accelerating as it spun, struck, and deflected. Each motion blended into the next without pause, his body adjusting instinctively. The night around him seemed still, the stars overhead steady and unmoving as the hum of the staff filled the space.
The first beast attracted by the noise Silas made crept from the shadows, low and deliberate. Its growl rumbled softly, a primal sound that cut through the quiet of the night. Silas caught the gleam of its eyes—sharp, hungry, unblinking. It was canine-like, lean and wiry, its fur patchy and uneven, its posture tense as it prepared to strike.
Silas didn't stop moving. His bo staff spun in his hands, the arcs of its motion smooth and deliberate. The pain from his cultivation technique flared, sharp and biting, coursing through his muscles and bones. It should have been unbearable, but Silas wasn't focused on the pain. He wasn't focused on anything. The staff in his hands guided his body as though it moved of its own accord.
The creature lunged, its body coiled and deadly, but Silas responded without hesitation. His staff swept upward in a clean, fluid arc, catching the beast mid-air. The momentum carried the creature away, its leap redirected into the ground with a sickening crack of breaking bone. Silas stepped forward as the lifeless body fell, his grip on the staff shifting automatically.
He kept moving. The staff spun, his motions flowing without pause or interruption. A faint rustle of leaves warned him of the next predator before it appeared—a feline-like creature, sleek and fast, its claws glinting in the moonlight as it darted toward him with unnatural speed.
The staff moved again, its arc matching the creature's charge. Silas's body followed the rhythm, the strike not stopping the beast but guiding it upward, the momentum snapping its neck in an instant. The creature tumbled to the ground, lifeless, but Silas's movements didn't falter. His steps turned, the staff spinning in time with his breath, each strike and sweep connecting to the next in an unbroken flow.
The pain in his body was no longer a distinct sensation. It wasn't gone—it was woven into his movements, part of the rhythm that carried him forward. The cultivation technique burned, each surge of energy digging into his muscles, but it didn't interrupt the rhythm.
Another predator stepped into the clearing, heavier and more deliberate. Its growl was low and guttural, its sharp claws clicking against the ground as it circled him. Silas mirrored its movements, his feet light on the earth, his staff spinning slowly as though waiting for the perfect moment.
When the beast lunged, Silas stepped into its attack, the staff twisting with the momentum of the strike. The creature's claw slammed into the wood, but the force was redirected, its body thrown off balance. Silas followed through, his movements fluid as the staff arced downward. The blow connected with the beast's spine, and the snap of bone was final.
He stepped back, his breath steady, his hands already spinning the staff once more. There was no thought to what came next—only the motion of the staff, the rhythm of the night. The clearing was quiet again, but Silas didn't stop. Each strike flowed into the next, the arcs of his staff growing sharper, more precise.
The stars above cast faint light over the clearing, their cold indifference unnoticed. Silas was alone in this moment—not in the clearing, not under the sky, but in the rhythm of his movements. The staff moved as if it were alive, bending and flexing with each strike, the force of his attacks turning into momentum that fed the next.
Time passed, though Silas didn't notice. Pain surged and faded, but it wasn't distinct anymore—it was part of the rhythm, part of the flow. The beasts came, and they fell, their strikes meeting a force that guided them away, redirected their power, and turned it back upon them. Silas moved through it all, his staff the only connection he had to the world, the rhythm of its arcs carrying him forward into the unending night.
Some distance away, a giant tortoise crouched low in the rocky terrain, its jagged shell blending seamlessly into the crags and shadows. Blood. The sharp, metallic tang hung in the air, cutting through the stillness of the night. Its nostrils flared, inhaling deeply as it analyzed the scent. It wasn't just the promise of food—it was more. That unmistakable electric pulse. That energy. The same thing it had consumed before, growing stronger with each kill, with each natural treasure devoured.
The tortoise shifted its bulk, the size of a very small car, its jagged shell catching faint glints of starlight. Its thick, muscular legs dug into the earth, propelling it forward with deliberate, lumbering steps. A newly awakened king beast, it had found dominance not through age or experience but through consumption—of creatures steeped in the same energy it now smelled on the air, and of treasures that had granted it newfound strength. This human bore the same scent, potent and tantalizing, a meal like no other.
It pressed onward, each step silent but calculated, its primal instincts sharpened by its transformation. The clearing opened before it, and its dark, glinting eyes locked onto the lone figure standing amidst the carnage. The human moved in rhythmic arcs, a weapon spinning in his hands. The hum of the staff slicing through the air seemed distant, almost unimportant to the tortoise. All it could focus on was the overpowering smell of energy rolling off him, a concentrated, mouthwatering source of power.
This was not prey. This was something much more. The tortoise had eaten beasts that smelled of energy before, their power surging into its body as it grew stronger. But this was different. This human radiated it, potent and alive, promising strength that could take the tortoise to the next stage of its evolution.
The tortoise moved closer, its shell scraping against the ground with a low hiss, its massive legs pressing into the dirt. It hesitated for a moment, tilting its head as it watched the human continue to swing his staff, his motions unhurried, deliberate, almost hypnotic. The tortoise rumbled low in its throat, the sound reverberating through its bulk. It was not a sound of hesitation. It was hunger.
It coiled its legs, gathering power, and with surprising speed for a creature its size, surged forward.
The earth trembled as the tortoise lunged, its massive body moving with an explosive speed that belied its size. One clawed foreleg came down with devastating force, striking the ground where the human had stood just moments before. The impact shattered the earth, sending dirt and stones flying in every direction.
But the human had already moved. With a flick of his staff, he propelled himself upward, the momentum carrying him high above the creature's strike. The air hummed as his weapon spun beneath him, his body twisting mid-leap as he landed lightly several feet away.
The tortoise turned sharply, its beak snapping shut with a loud crack as it lashed out again. But the human was already in motion, his staff spinning in a tight arc as he shifted smoothly out of reach. The tortoise hissed, clawing at the ground as it pressed forward, each step gouging deep furrows into the clearing.
It lunged once more, jaws snapping, its bulk bearing down like a boulder in motion. The human sidestepped with fluid precision, his staff coming up to strike at its exposed leg. The crack of impact echoed through the night, but the tortoise barely slowed, its thick muscles absorbing the blow as it twisted to face him again.
The clearing vibrated with the force of the confrontation, the rhythm of the human's staff clashing against the unyielding power of the tortoise. The stars above bore silent witness as the two figures circled each other, the air between them charged with tension.
The tortoise advanced, its heavy legs carving gouges into the dirt with each step. Another claw swept toward Silas, this time a wide, arcing strike aimed to crush him. Silas spun his staff, bringing it around to intercept the attack. The wood bent slightly as it connected, the sheer force of the blow slamming him sideways and sending him tumbling to the ground.
Silas gritted his teeth as the massive claw slammed into his staff, the shock of the impact ripping up his arms and through his shoulders. His feet dragged across the uneven ground, scattering dirt as he struggled to keep himself upright. Every muscle burned, his body pushed to its limit. The tortoise hissed, its jagged claws raking the earth, each step carrying its immense bulk forward with a terrible inevitability. Its beak snapped with a sharp crack, a lethal weapon poised to crush him.
Silas swung his staff upward in a desperate arc. The wood met the claw with a sharp crack, but the force of the strike sent him staggering back, his heels digging trenches in the dirt. The tortoise barely paused, surging toward him again. Silas's mind raced as he tightened his grip on the staff. He was meeting every attack head-on, trying to stop it with sheer force—and it wasn't working.
The tortoise swiped again, and Silas swung hard, the staff arcing with every ounce of power he could muster. The impact blasted him backward, his feet skidding as he barely avoided falling. His breath came in sharp bursts, frustration mounting with each exchange. Every clash sapped his strength, his cultivation burning hotter with the strain.
He couldn't keep this up.
Another claw came down, a crushing blow aimed at his torso. Silas raised his staff to block, but the angle was off. The claw hit, but instead of stopping, it slid down the length of the wood. The beast stumbled forward, its momentum unchecked by the glancing strike.
Silas blinked, his body still moving as he repositioned, but his mind caught on the moment. The force hadn't stopped. It had flowed, redirected away from him.
The next strike came fast, the tortoise's claw slashing through the air. Silas angled the staff deliberately this time. The impact rippled through the wood, bending it slightly, but the blow slid past him, leaving the beast momentarily off-balance. Silas's body twisted with the motion, his movements becoming smoother, less labored.
The tortoise lunged, its beak snapping toward his chest. Silas spun the staff sharply, letting it glide along the jaws and turn the attack aside. He stepped into the motion, his body pivoting as he followed through with a counterstrike aimed at the beast's foreleg. The staff connected with a satisfying crack, and the tortoise roared, its injured limb buckling slightly.
The heat of his cultivation pulsed through him, intensifying with every clash. The pain was constant, the technique pushing his body to its limits and beyond, but Silas barely noticed now. His focus had narrowed, his body and weapon moving together as though guided by instinct.
Another claw slashed toward him, but Silas adjusted his grip, angling the staff to deflect the blow. The energy of the attack rippled through the wood and into his arms, but instead of bracing against it, Silas turned with the motion. The redirected force sent the tortoise stumbling again, its massive frame working against it.
Silas began to move differently now. His strikes weren't wild swings or desperate blocks—they were part of the rhythm, flowing seamlessly from one to the next. The staff flexed and bent under the tortoise's attacks, guiding each strike harmlessly away.
The tortoise roared in frustration, its claws carving deep gouges into the ground as it lunged. Silas met the attack head-on, his staff rising to catch the blow. The force traveled through the wood, but Silas didn't fight it. He let the energy guide his body, twisting with the momentum as he turned the attack aside. His counterstrike came immediately, the staff whipping around to strike the beast's injured leg again.
The tortoise faltered, its movements becoming slower, heavier. Silas pressed forward, each strike precise, each motion deliberate. The wood of the staff felt alive in his hands, bending and flexing as it absorbed and redirected the beast's power.
Finally, the tortoise lunged one last time, its massive claw descending with the full weight of its fury. Silas stepped forward, meeting the attack without hesitation. The staff rose sharply, catching the strike at just the right angle. The wood vibrated with the force, bending as Silas turned his body. The claw slid past, its momentum carrying the beast off-balance.
Without pause, Silas shifted his grip, channeling the redirected energy into a final, devastating blow. His spirit energy surged, flowing into the staff as it came down in a sharp, decisive arc. The wood struck the tortoise's head with a resounding crack, the force shattering its skull. The beast collapsed, its massive body trembling before it stilled completely.
Silas stood over the fallen predator, his breathing steady despite the exhaustion in his limbs. The energy from his cultivation continued to flow through him, its heat a constant reminder of the progress his body had just endured. The staff in his hands felt different now—not a weapon, but an extension of himself, a tool to guide and shape the chaos of the battle.
The clearing was silent again, save for the faint rustle of the wind. Silas exhaled slowly, his body and mind aligning as he took in the stillness. The tortoise lay defeated.
Silas released his cultivation technique with a sharp exhale, his muscles trembling as the energy dissipated. He staggered, his body catching up to the brutal toll the battle had taken. The pain in his shoulders and arms roared back to the forefront, no longer dulled by the relentless rhythm of the fight. His grip on the staff loosened, and he leaned against it for support, the faint warmth of the wood a reminder of the energy that had surged through it moments ago.
He looked around, his gaze sweeping over the carnage—the massive tortoise lying motionless, its skull cracked, and the scattered bodies of other beasts he hadn't even noticed while lost in the moment. Silas's brow furrowed as realization crept in.
"Did I… do this?" he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with disbelief. Memories of the fight flickered back in fragments—the flow of his movements, the precision of his strikes, the way his staff had seemed to guide the battle rather than simply react. There was something there, something he couldn't quite put into words. He had touched upon... something.
A sharp chime broke through his thoughts, the system's familiar tone cutting into the quiet.
System Notification: Host has comprehended an aspect of the Dao. Merits awarded: 100,000.
Silas blinked, staring at the notification as it continued.
Rewards multiplied for host ranking in the top 1% globally for comprehending doa first. Rewards multiplied by… calculating… five times. Host is rewarded: 500,000 merits.
"What?" Silas muttered, his eyes widening. "The Dao? Was that... what that was?"
He felt the weight of the words settle over him, heavy with meaning he couldn't fully grasp. The Dao. The concept lingered in his mind, tantalizingly out of reach, like a puzzle missing just one piece. Whatever it was, the system seemed to think it was significant—and it had rewarded him handsomely for it.
Taking a steadying breath, Silas straightened and called up his status.
Name: Silas Creed
Race: Human
Cultivation Technique: Diamond Body Refinement Technique
Cultivation Type: Body Cultivation
Cultivation Rank: Foundation Stage
Muscles: Full Completion
Bones: None
Organs: None
Cultivation Technique Rank: Spiritual Rank
Cultivation Limit: Core Formation
Greater Dao: Staff (Half-Step)
Lesser Dao: Flow (Grasping the Way), Momentum (Grasping the Way)
Techniques: None
Merits: 829,000
Credited Merits (Debt): 1,000,000
Time till Host Can Enter Next Mini-Pagoda: 62 Days
The numbers stopped him cold. The last time he'd checked, his merits were barely 171,000. Now? 829,000. He frowned, tilting his head slightly as though glaring at the system. "How the hell did I earn all those merits?"
The system's reply came instantly, and it was as sarcastic as ever:
"Oh, you want a detailed breakdown? Step 1: Be talented. Step 2: Don't bother paying attention to your progress. Step 3: Ask me pointless questions. Request denied."
Silas blinked, then let out a dry laugh. Did the system just... compliment me while rudely telling me no? The thought amused him as much as it annoyed him. It was hard to tell sometimes whether the system was mocking him or genuinely impressed.
"Thanks for nothing," he muttered, dismissing the screen with a flick of his hand. Constantly checking his progress had never been his style, and the system's attitude didn't make it any more appealing.
Still, he couldn't ignore the changes. Two stages in muscle refinement—now at Full Completion. His body felt denser, stronger, like a coiled spring ready to unleash. He flexed experimentally, feeling the raw power in his limbs. He was close to breaking into the next stage—bone refinement. The shift felt inevitable, like a door waiting to be pushed open.
His gaze fell to the massive tortoise lying lifeless nearby, its once-imposing form now just another kill. Silas knelt beside it and got to work, his knife slicing into the creature's tough, scaled flesh. The process was painstaking, the tortoise's hide proving resistant even to his blade. Still, he worked methodically, carving away the meat and storing it in his ring. By the time he finished, his hands were slick with blood, and the clearing reeked of iron and sweat.
The smaller beasts he had killed earlier were a simpler task. Silas absorbed their remains directly into his amulet, refilling it after the intense cultivation session that had drained it completely. By the time he was done, the amulet was nearly full again, brimming with spiritual energy.
He turned his attention back to the staff in his hands. The Dao of the Staff (Half-Step). The concept lingered in his mind, a subtle thread of understanding he hadn't fully grasped yet. It wasn't just about striking or defending—it was about movement, flow, and control.
Momentum and Flow. These concepts felt clearer now. Momentum wasn't just about force; it was about guiding energy, letting it carry itself. Flow was the rhythm—the way each motion seamlessly transitioned into the next, creating a cycle of unbroken movement.
Silas exhaled, rolling his shoulders. It hadn't even been thirty days since the awakening, but already he felt... different. He thought about the beasts he'd fought, the humans he'd killed. He couldn't help but wonder: if someone told him a month ago he'd be here, would he even recognize himself? Would he, in the future?
The thought lingered as he shifted his focus. His body screamed for rest, but his newfound strength demanded attention. Each step felt heavier, more deliberate. He needed to understand his limits before diving into the caves with Amelia.
Hunting seemed like the best way to adjust. Not because he was full of energy—far from it—but because he needed to adapt to his new power.
The forest was still, the early morning air crisp and cool as he moved through the shadows. His bare feet pressed into the damp earth, each step soft but purposeful. Tracking prey felt like second nature now.
The hunt itself was methodical. Silas worked with precision, testing his strength with each kill, his staff a blur of motion as he struck down beasts with ease. His heightened senses and refined technique made the task almost too simple.
By the time the sun crept above the horizon, he'd replenished the energy in his amulet and felt more at ease with his new capabilities. Climbing into the hollow of a large tree, he settled into a defensive position, his staff resting across his lap.
Exhaustion finally crept in, his body heavy with fatigue allowing him a couple hours of rest before he met Amelia.
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