Novel Full Chapter 449: The Foundation of a Path
Chapter 449: The Foundation of a Path
Even so, the three weeks were not unproductive.
Quite the opposite. While studying, Kyrian continued refining pills.
Batch after batch. Rank 5. Always Rank 5.
His refinement speed had increased once again.
His control over fire was becoming increasingly precise. Increasingly efficient.
Some recipes, which had once required his full attention, could now be refined almost automatically while his mind focused on other problems.
He also produced dozens of formation plates.
Defensive formations, capable of blocking spiritual attacks from Spiritual Awakening cultivators.
Isolation formations, which completely concealed the presence of anyone inside them.
Concealment formations, which created convincing illusions, deceiving even spiritual senses.
Everything sold quickly.
The Caravan of Heaven possessed a constant flow of cultivators. And cultivators always needed resources.
Pills. Formations. Weapons. Treasures.
Money continued flowing in, steady streams of spirit stones filling his spatial ring.
And almost all of it continued flowing out. New techniques. New books. New recipes. New knowledge.
Throughout those weeks, the city also changed.
The streets were fuller. More crowded. Noisier.
The Celestial Descent Festival was approaching. And everyone knew it.
Merchants advertised promotions, with colorful signs and deafening shouts, competing for the attention of passersby.
Artisans displayed their finest products in showcases illuminated by formations that created impressive lighting effects.
Alchemists prepared special batches for the occasion, using rarer, more expensive, and more potent ingredients.
Formation masters crafted exclusive artifacts that would only be sold during the festival, unique pieces that would never be reproduced.
Even the restaurants seemed busier, with lines forming in front of their doors and more exotic aromas drifting through the air.
The conversations were always the same.
The festival. The Heir of Heaven. The Sky Family. The caravan’s descent. The grand auctions. The competitions.
The entire city seemed to breathe anticipation.
Kyrian heard countless such conversations while walking to sell his goods and while purchasing new materials.
But he rarely paid attention. His focus remained elsewhere.
On that particular morning.
After completing exactly three weeks of study, since renting the small courtyard, since beginning this search.
Kyrian finally closed another book.
The sound was dull, the leather cover striking the wooden table, a final, definitive sound.
His eyes were tired, with dark circles beneath them and tiny red veins appearing at the corners.
His mind as well.
He ran a hand through his hair, a distracted gesture, as though trying to organize his thoughts.
Then he looked around. The room was a mess.
Books stacked in unstable towers, some on the verge of collapse, others already fallen to the floor.
Scrolls scattered across the table, the floor, and even the bed he barely used.
Notes occupying nearly every available space, on scraps of paper, on jade tablets, on any surface capable of holding ink.
It looked more like a destroyed library than a residence.
"Perhaps I should organize this." Kyrian muttered, his voice low and tired.
Rising from the chair, his knees cracked lightly.
He began sorting the books. First by subject. Then by usefulness. Then by level of importance.
It was simple work. Mechanical. But it helped calm his mind.
One book after another. One pile after another.
While reorganizing one of the boxes he had purchased recently, a dark wooden box without markings that he barely remembered acquiring...
Something caught his attention. An extremely thin book.
So thin it almost looked like a pamphlet, with fewer than fifty pages, with a spine that barely had any thickness.
Its cover was worn, the leather dried by time, with fine cracks running across its surface, the edges frayed and weathered.
Without any important symbol. Without a sect seal. Without any indication of value or rarity.
In fact...
It looked so ordinary that Kyrian did not even remember buying it.
It had probably come with some larger batch, a bonus or discount he had not even noticed.
Or perhaps it had been lost among other books, hidden in a pile, forgotten until now.
He picked up the small volume. Light. Old.
Yellowed by time, the pages had a pale brown hue, as though they had been exposed to light for decades.
On the cover, there were only a few words.
"The Foundation of a Path."
Kyrian raised an eyebrow. The title was interesting. Though simple. Direct and straightforward.
He sat down once more, the chair creaking beneath his weight.
He opened the book, the pages rustling softly, the sound of old paper against old paper.
Expecting to find some common theory, some basic explanation, perhaps something written by an unknown cultivator who had never achieved anything.
But he quickly realized he was wrong. The content was different. Very different.
It did not speak about Qi circulation. It did not speak about meridians. It did not speak about techniques. It did not speak about combat.
It spoke of only one thing.
Paths. The very concept of a path.
The pages were short. The explanations were simple. Yet there was an unexpected depth in every line.
"There are those who follow the paths of others."
"There are those who perfect paths that already exist."
"There are those who inherit ancient paths."
"But rarely is there someone capable of creating a path."
...
Kyrian continued reading.
His expression slowly began to change, his brow relaxing, his eyes opening slightly wider.
The words seemed simple. But there was something within them. Something difficult to explain.
As though someone were describing exactly the problem he was facing.
...
The following pages continued.
"No true path is born from imitation."
"No true path is born from copying."
"No true path is born from envy."
"All are born from understanding."
...
Kyrian remained motionless. Reading. Page after page. Line after line.
Understanding of what? Of how Qi flows? Of how the body functions? Of how the meridians connect?
Or...
"Understanding of oneself?"
...
Then he reached the final section of the small book.
The final passage.
Perhaps only a few lines, written in dark ink upon the aged paper, with firm and confident handwriting.
But those few lines caused his gaze to stop completely.
His body became still. His breathing slowed, almost stopping.
The world seemed silent, the distant sounds of the city, the wind, the crackling of candles, everything disappeared.
Only those words existed, written in dark ink upon the aged paper.
"Every true path is born from that which makes someone unique."
Kyrian reread it.
Once. Twice. Three times. Four times.
Then he continued.
"If you wish to create a path of your own..."
"...stop looking at others."
"Look at yourself."
The room remained silent.
The words seemed to echo within his mind.
’Look at yourself.’
’Look at yourself.’
’Look at yourself.’
"What makes you unique? Not your studies. Not the techniques you have learned. Not the paths you have followed."
"But you."
"Your essence."
"Your nature."
...
Kyrian remained seated. Motionless.
His fingers still holding the small book, feeling the rough texture of the worn leather, the light weight of the yellowed pages.
While something slowly began to emerge within his thoughts.
An idea. Small. Distant.
But present. The idea had appeared, yet at the same time seemed incredibly far away.
Like a flame in the darkness, faint but real.
And, for the first time in weeks... The frustration vanished. Replaced by something different.
Curiosity. Because perhaps...
Perhaps he had been searching in the wrong place all along. Perhaps the answer was not in the techniques. Perhaps the answer was not in the books.
Perhaps the answer... Was within himself.
Kyrian closed the book, the dry sound of leather against leather echoing through the silence.
And, for the first time in three weeks... He smiled.
He decided to set all the books aside and walked toward the courtyard’s bathroom. The only place where he could see himself.