Chapter 15 – The Boy Who Could Not Cultivate
The next morning, I woke before the old man.
The tavern was silent.
Outside, the sky still carried the faint blue of dawn.
Without thinking, I picked up a broom leaning against the wall and began sweeping the floor.
Dust drifted through the lantern light.
The rhythmic sound of straw brushing against wood echoed through the empty tavern.
A week ago…
I would’ve gone back to bed.
Today…
I simply kept sweeping.
⸻
“You’ve changed.”
The old man’s voice came from behind me.
I turned.
He stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
“When did you wake up?”
“I don’t know.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He walked over and looked at the spotless floor.
“Hm.”
“Not bad.”
That was the highest praise he had ever given me.
⸻
Breakfast passed quietly.
Neither of us mentioned yesterday’s recruitment.
Neither of us needed to.
Some disappointments didn’t require words.
After finishing the last bite, I finally asked the question that had haunted me all night.
“…Master Borin.”
“Hm?”
“What exactly is spiritual affinity?”
He placed his bowl aside.
“For most people…”
“It is the key that opens the first gate.”
“And if someone doesn’t have it?”
“The gate remains closed.”
“So…”
“I can never cultivate?”
The old man looked at me for a long time.
Then…
He shook his head.
“I didn’t say that.”
⸻
He disappeared upstairs and returned carrying three objects.
A candle.
A stone.
A small wooden stick.
He placed them on the table.
“What do you see?”
“A candle.”
“A stone.”
“A stick.”
He nodded.
“Set the stone on fire.”
I frowned.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a stone.”
He pointed toward the candle.
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“Now light the stick.”
I lit it easily.
“It burns.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s wood.”
The old man smiled.
“Exactly.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“The heavens give different materials different purposes.”
“Some are born like firewood.”
“They ignite with the smallest spark.”
“Those are geniuses.”
“They cultivate easily.”
He tapped the stone.
“Others…”
“Are like this.”
“They don’t catch fire.”
“No matter how hard you try.”
I lowered my eyes.
“So I’m a stone.”
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
“You misunderstood.”
He picked up the stone and struck it against another rock.
Clink.
A shower of tiny sparks flew through the air.
I stared.
“Stone doesn’t burn.”
He smiled.
“But it creates fire.”
⸻
I remained silent.
He continued.
“The heavens are unfair.”
“They always have been.”
“Some children are born with extraordinary talent.”
“Others spend their entire lives chasing something they’ll never reach.”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“But talent…”
“…is only the beginning.”
He slowly closed his fist.
“There have been countless geniuses.”
“Very few legends.”
⸻
The words settled deep inside me.
I thought of my life on Earth.
Every time someone was better than me…
I stopped trying.
I blamed talent.
I blamed fate.
Perhaps…
I had never truly tested my own limits.
⸻
The old man suddenly stood.
“Come.”
He led me outside the city walls.
Beyond the farms…
Past the river…
To a small hill covered in smooth stones.
Dozens of people were already there.
Young men.
Young women.
Old veterans.
Children barely taller than their swords.
Some practiced martial forms.
Others meditated beneath trees.
Nobody wore luxurious robes.
Nobody looked important.
“They aren’t cultivators.”
I whispered.
“No.”
The old man replied.
“They are martial practitioners.”
“They strengthen their bodies instead of relying on spiritual energy.”
I watched an old man, nearly seventy years old, perform slow punches with perfect precision.
A little girl practiced the same movement beside him.
Neither looked powerful.
Yet…
Both looked determined.
⸻
A broad-shouldered instructor noticed us.
“Master Borin.”
He bowed respectfully.
The old man nodded.
“This boy wants to learn.”
The instructor looked me up and down.
“No spiritual affinity?”
I nodded quietly.
He smiled.
“Good.”
I blinked.
“…Good?”
“The talented complain when cultivation becomes difficult.”
He picked up a large bucket filled with sand and handed it to me.
“The untalented…”
“…already know life is difficult.”
I almost dropped the bucket.
It was unbelievably heavy.
“Carry it.”
“Where?”
He pointed toward the top of the hill.
“And back.”
“That’s it?”
He laughed.
“You’ll regret asking.”
⸻
By the third trip…
My legs were trembling.
By the fifth…
My shoulders burned.
By the seventh…
I collapsed onto the grass.
The instructor walked over.
“Finished?”
“I…”
“…can’t…”
He crouched beside me.
“When your body says it cannot…”
“It usually means it has reached forty percent.”
I stared at him.
“Forty?”
He nodded.
“The rest…”
He tapped my forehead.
“…is here.”
⸻
As the sun began to set, training finally ended.
Everyone bowed to the instructor before leaving.
Nobody complained.
Nobody boasted.
They simply went home.
Covered in sweat.
Satisfied.
The old man and I walked back toward the city.
Halfway there, I suddenly asked,
“Master…”
“Why didn’t you teach me this sooner?”
He chuckled.
“Because a lazy man doesn’t need better techniques.”
“He needs better habits.”
I couldn’t argue.
⸻
That night…
As I cleaned my wooden practice sword before sleeping…
I noticed something strange.
The Black Devil remained exactly where I had left it.
Resting quietly in the corner.
For the past several days…
I hadn’t touched it once.
Yet…
It seemed to be watching.
Waiting.
Patient.
Almost as if it approved of my decision.
Not to seek shortcuts.
But to earn every step.
Far away…
In the deepest chamber beneath the Imperial Palace…
A single ancient mural suddenly cracked.
A tiny fragment of stone fell to the floor.
An old priest standing before it slowly opened his eyes.
“The Wheel of Fate…”
he whispered.
“…has shifted.”
No one heard him.
Not the Emperor.
Not the priests.
Not the gods.
Only the darkness hidden within the ancient mural…
Answered with silent laughter.
End of Chapter 15