The morning sun was just beginning to climb over New Moon City, casting golden rays across the rooftops, when Ren Zian found himself standing once again in the small training courtyard behind his house.
Zhantian stood opposite him, arms crossed, face stern.
"Today," his father began, "your real training starts."
Zian cracked his neck, still feeling the lingering ache from the previous day's certification tests. He gave a casual grin. "I'm ready."
Zhantian's expression didn't change.
"No, you're not."
Before Zian could respond, his father continued.
"Absorbing Astral Energy to break through without tempering your body and spirit leads to a weak foundation. Weak foundations collapse under pressure."
He stepped closer, his voice lowering.
"You have talent, Zian. Incredible talent. But if you don't temper it properly, it'll rot inside you. Fighters aren't just made by cultivation methods. They're forged in battle, through pain, through setbacks."
Zian's grin faded. He listened intently.
"Each realm," Zhantian said, "is a watershed. Crossing realms isn't about numbers going up. It's about complete transformation. Foundation, Core, Ascendant, Grandmaster, Saint. Each step is like ascending a different world."
He pointed at the ground.
"Foundation level cultivators can shatter stone. Core cultivators can shatter boulders the size of cars. Ascendant cultivators can crush mountains."
Zian's mouth felt dry.
"And you're here," Zhantian said, tapping his son's chest lightly. "Barely in the early middle of Foundation Stage."
He turned away, walking toward a weapons rack leaning against the courtyard wall. From it, he selected a plain wooden staff.
"For now," he said, "you are nothing."
Zian stiffened, pride stinging.
"But you can become something," Zhantian said, tossing the staff to him.
Zian caught it awkwardly.
"How do we start?" he asked.
Zhantian smiled for the first time that morning—a dangerous, challenging smile.
"Simple. You fight me."
Zian blinked.
"But—"
"No suppressing my cultivation. No handicaps. You survive, you learn."
He didn't even give Zian a moment to protest.
Zhantian moved.
It was like a thunderclap. One moment he was standing still; the next he was in front of Zian, staff swinging downward.
Zian barely raised his own staff to block.
Crack!
The impact traveled down Zian's arms like an electric shock. He stumbled backward, feet digging trenches into the packed dirt.
Zhantian didn't stop. He pressed forward, jabbing with precision, sweeping with force. Every blow was a hammer strike, and Zian quickly realized he couldn't meet them head-on.
He dodged, weaved, countered desperately.
Yet every dodge drained him.
Every parry rattled his bones.
Every step backward sapped his strength.
In just minutes, sweat poured from his body, soaking his clothes.
"Faster!" Zhantian barked.
Zian gritted his teeth, funneling Astral Energy into his limbs. His muscles responded, giving him a burst of speed. He counterattacked, swinging low at his father's legs.
Zhantian lifted one foot effortlessly, avoiding the strike, and with a flick of his staff, disarmed Zian completely.
The younger man tumbled backward, landing hard.
Zhantian stood over him, expression impassive.
"Get up."
Zian groaned but obeyed. Every muscle screamed in protest, but something deeper. Pride, stubbornness, forced him to rise.
"If you think talent alone will save you," Zhantian said coldly, "then you're already dead."
The next round was worse.
Zhantian unleashed a storm of strikes, fast enough that Zian could barely track them. His body screamed in protest as he blocked blow after blow, arms bruising under the onslaught.
A sharp jab caught him in the ribs, sending him sprawling again.
He gasped for breath, vision swimming.
"This," Zhantian said, pacing around him, "is the gap between Foundation and Core. You have talent. You have potential."
He knelt beside Zian, voice low.
"But talent without discipline is nothing but a joke."
Zian forced himself upright, legs trembling.
He could feel his Regal Dragon vein firing up the energy within his body, as if offended by the beating he was receiving.
He instinctively activated the faint shimmer of his Regal Domain, spreading a thin layer of suppressive aura across the courtyard.
Zhantian felt it immediately.
"Good," he said.
He intensified his own aura in response, a crushing wave of pressure that made the air itself feel heavy. Zian nearly buckled but held firm, his feet digging into the dirt like anchors.
He dashed forward with a roar, striking high, low, then spinning into a side blow.
Zhantian parried smoothly, deflecting each strike with minimal effort.
But Zian saw it, the tiniest hesitation in his father's movements, the slight respect paid to his strength.
It wasn't much.
But it was real.
He drove himself harder, each attack sharper, faster, fueled by sheer will.
Still, Zhantian countered effortlessly, demonstrating the absolute suppression a higher realm cultivator had over a lower one.
The next clash was vicious. Zian's staff clashed against his father's again and again, sparks flying, the air vibrating with impact force.
Sweat dripped into Zian's eyes, blurring his vision. His arms trembled with exhaustion, but he refused to back down.
Zhantian countered a high strike with a heavy thrust to Zian's gut, sending him flying back several meters. Zian groaned as he hit the ground, coughing violently.
"You think just pushing forward is enough?" Zhantian shouted. "You have to think! Anticipate! Adapt!"
Zian wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, teeth gritted.
"Bastard!" Zian yelled. His anger began to flare, his vein bringing out a sense of arrogance and pride from deep in his bones.
A majestic aura was released, and golden shimmering scales began to grow on Zian's body. He felt his strength increase monumentally.
Taking on a dragon-human like appearance, he readied himself.
He surged forward again, this time weaving side to side, feinting high before sweeping low.
Zhantian blocked, but Zian immediately twisted his body, flipping the staff upward toward his father's chin.
For the first time, Zhantian had to step back.
It was a minor victory, but it lit a fire inside Zian.
He pressed harder, attacks flowing more smoothly, not just brute force but calculated strikes, using his Domain to pressure Zhantian's reactions.
Minutes passed like hours.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Zhantian called a halt.
Both men stood panting in the center of the courtyard.
"You're not ready," Zhantian said bluntly. "But you're not hopeless either."
Zian wiped the sweat from his brow, grinning despite the pain.
The scales on his body started to fade and he reverted back to his normal form.
"I'll get stronger."
Zhantian nodded approvingly.
"Good. We start again at dawn tomorrow. And every day after that. Until you can at least force me to step back."
"Although you took a beating and have a lot to learn, you're also to be complemented. Despite your cultivation only being at the Middle Stage of Astral Foundation, your foundation has already solidified, and your combat power is already approaching the limits of the Astral foundation realm. It's truly shocking."
Zian felt a burning resolve ignite inside him.
He had seen the mountain that stood before him. The gap between realms, between mere survival and true dominance.
And he would climb it.
One broken bone, one battered muscle, one exhausted breath at a time.
For the first time, he truly understood.
Talent alone meant nothing.
Strength had to be earned.
And he would earn it.
As the setting sun dipped low behind the city walls, casting long shadows across the courtyard, Ren Zian raised his battered hands and clenched them into fists.
He swore silently to himself.
I will not be weak. I will not be prey. I will be the dragon that soars above all.
Tomorrow would be harder.
And he wouldn't have it any other way.