Aaryan stood motionless, the dim light of the cave reflecting in his eyes, though his gaze remained fixed inward. The scroll lay open beside him, its gentle silver script still glowing faintly. Most would've bowed in gratitude for the chance to cultivate such a technique—an Eclipse-grade, low-level art. According to Maya, the best technique that one can practice in this place would be an Azure grade high level.

But Aaryan hesitated.

His thoughts drifted to the incomplete Confluence Codex. In that strange vision, the man had claimed to be an expert of his era, despite never fully mastering it. When Aaryan first obtained the Codex in the tomb, he hadn't planned to practice it. But then—he was brought to the edge of death.

And in that misfortune, he had met the Codex's impossible condition: An empty slate. A body tempered by its unique method. A foundation wiped clean—as if it had never existed. Now, he was ready to be rewritten.

It lacked a grade, no clear rank to judge it by. And worse—it came with another condition. Once chosen, The Confluence Codex could not be switched. No fallback. No safety net. He would be chained to it, whether it led him to greatness or ruin.

By contrast, Maya's technique was Eclipse-grade low level—a level he didn't know existed until she told him. Taking it would make sense. It would keep him on par with the elite, perhaps even above them. Safe. Reliable. Powerful.

But par wasn't enough.

Aaryan didn't want to merely survive anymore. He was done crawling through life, scraping by. That path had already brought him to death's door—twice—in the short span of his nine years.

If he chose Maya's given scroll, he would become powerful—but so would others. There would always be someone above him. Stronger. Having better resources. More favoured. He'd spend his life trying to just survive, never to live it. That path led to a life lived on borrowed terms.

But The Confluence Codex… it was the unknown. Unproven. Terrifying. Even the man inside the tomb was tempted by it. And that was enough to tell Aaryan it wasn't just a gamble—it was a challenge.

If I must risk everything, Aaryan thought, then let it be for something no one else dared to claim.

He didn't want to become another cultivator fighting for scraps at the peak. He wanted to shape the peak itself. That meant stepping into the void, forging a path alone.

And as that thought settled in, the last traces of hesitation melted away. In its place bloomed a quiet, steady resolve.

He was done surviving.

He had chosen to live. On his terms.

Maya wasn't sure what to make of Aaryan's silence.

He stood there, unmoving. The silver glow from the scroll still shimmered faintly. She opened her mouth to speak, but before any words escaped, Aaryan raised his hand. The scroll gently floated from his palm, drifting back to its original position with practiced grace, joining the others like a page returning to its book.

"I already have a body tempering technique," he said calmly. "And a Qi cultivation method."

Maya stared at him, momentarily stunned. He already has both? That made no sense. Not here.

The techniques offered in this place weren't mere stepping stones—they were foundations of legacy. Eclipse-grade techniques weren't just rare, they were generational. Even the most fortunate disciples from major sects might never get to touch one, let alone cultivate it.

What could he possibly possess that made him turn these down?

Perhaps, she thought, he'd stumbled upon a hidden inheritance. That happened from time to time—some forgotten cave or relic tomb left behind by a wandering master. But even if that were true, even if the heavens had smiled on him, at most it might rival what was here. Maybe be a level higher in an absurdly lucky case.

But there was no arrogance in his tone. No pride. No boasting.

He spoke like someone who had already weighed the decision and chosen his path.

And that shook her more than any claim could have.

She furrowed her brow, still trying to understand. "Aaryan," she said carefully, "you don't need to rush this. Body tempering is the root of all cultivation. Use one of the high-grade tempering techniques here. Reach its peak, stabilize your foundation—then decide. There's no need to be hasty."

"I've already made my decision," he replied, voice low but steady. "I'll stick to what I have."

Maya sighed under her breath.

So that was that.

He was likely caught up in some mysterious or flashy technique—maybe one that sounded profound, or used obscure terms to appear deeper than it was. She'd seen it before. Cultivators, especially the younger ones, sometimes became enamoured with the exotic. It would wear off.

When he eventually realized it wasn't as profound as he believed, he'd come back. She'd scold him a bit, of course. But switching cultivation methods wasn't a huge deal, often cultivators switched their qi techniques for better ones.

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"Fine," she said, shaking her head with a faint smile of resignation. "If that's what you want."

If Maya had known that the technique Aaryan chose would permanently bind him—making it impossible to switch to another method later—she would've never agreed. Not even if Sampoorna himself tried to convince her. But she didn't know. So, she agreed after slight protest.

Aaryan, for his part, didn't care why she agreed. There was no chance he'd ever tell her about the Codex anyway.

Aaryan gave a nod. "I still have two choices left, right?"

She hesitated a moment, then nodded.

Without another word, Aaryan turned toward the scrolls once more. There were dozens—each radiating faint energy, each promising a different future. He walked among them with quiet intensity, pausing now and then, skimming the text, lingering when something caught his eye.

Time passed slowly.

Aaryan had known the techniques stored here would be powerful. But even so, the scale of it left him momentarily breathless.

Every scroll shimmered with its own presence, pulsing with restrained might. Even the lowest-ranked among them were Verdant-grade, high level—treasures that all sects of this region would wage war over. And at the peak stood Eclipse-grade techniques, their names alone enough to command reverence.

Yet what intrigued him most weren't just those marked by high grades, but a handful of scrolls without any classification at all. Ungraded. Some had cracked seals, others bore strange marks of age and damage. A few looked incomplete—similar to the Confluence Codex. Fragmented, yes, but filled with wild potential.

Then he saw it.

A scroll unlike the others. Not made of silk or paper, nor any woven thread. It looked as though it had been carved from an ancient beast's hide—or perhaps forged from cosmic metal leaf. Its surface was dark—blacker than night—but shimmered subtly with iridescent undertones, like wings catching moonlight in pitch black. It didn't rest among the others.

Drawn to it, Aaryan reached out and touched the seal. As the scroll unfurled, a pressure descended upon him, heavy and absolute. Not violent, not wild—but sovereign.

It was the presence of dominion.

As though a king had stepped into an empty throne room after a long exile.

The scroll pulsed in his hands, ancient characters blooming across its surface. Some were etched in crimson, others in shimmering gold. They shifted subtly as he read, rearranging like they were alive—like they were watching him in return.

Dominion Tyrant Physique.

The name alone sent a thrill down his spine.

Aaryan steadied himself, heart pounding. The aura emanating from the scroll was oppressive, nearly overwhelming. His knees ached under its gravity before he forced himself to calm, to centre his breath.

He felt that this wasn't just a technique—it was a living memory of conquest.

The scroll crackled faintly between his fingers. Its script didn't offer instructions like others. No rigid stances or step-by-step diagrams. It revealed. Bits and pieces. Images. Bones marked with ancient runes. Muscles forged beneath lightning storms. As if they were echoes of battles where one figure stood unshaken while armies fell.

Aaryan felt it instantly. This technique was made for him.

From the beginning, his body had always been strong. His instincts sharper than most. And after his body was remade, that strength had risen to a new level.

And this physique technique—it required no Qi to begin. It was primal.

He could begin right now.

His battle power would surge. His endurance, regeneration, explosive force—everything would take another leap.

A rare grin spread across his face.

It wasn't just the strength. It was the call—like it had waited, in this vault of fate, for him alone.

Still gripping the scroll tightly, Aaryan tucked it under his arm and turned back to the others, excitement lighting up his expression. He still had one more choice.

One more treasure to claim.

His heart raced with anticipation.

Aaryan moved from scroll to scroll, his fingers brushing ancient silk and leather, each one pulsing with a different kind of promise. He was tempted—how could he not be? There were dozens he would have seized in a heartbeat under different circumstances. Techniques like The Iron King, which fortified the body's defences to absurd levels, turning flesh to armour and bone to bastion. A perfect companion for a frontline warrior. But he paused, then reluctantly set it aside.

He had already chosen a physical path. Dominion Tyrant Physique would elevate his body beyond mortal limits. Stacking another physique-based art on top would be redundant. No, he needed balance. Harmony.

And so, he searched on.

A movement technique caught his eye next. Sleek, sharp, elegant. It offered illusions and footwork that could blur him between shadows, a style favoured by assassins and phantom warriors. It was tempting. The tactical synergy was undeniable. He reached for it, fully intending to claim it as his second choice—until something else pulled his gaze.

A scroll hovered alone, farthest from him. Suspended just above the stone floor, untouched, almost overlooked.

Curious, Aaryan stepped toward it. As his hand closed around the scroll, his breath caught.

It wasn't parchment.

It defied every material he knew. The texture shifted as he touched it—flowing between silk and starlight, liquid and light. It refused to hold a single form beneath his eyes. Symbols glowed faintly across its surface—not drawn, not etched—but embedded, like constellations set within translucent crystal.

When he unrolled it, the world hushed.

No rustle, no creak, not even a whisper. Just silence. Deep. Sacred. The kind that demanded reverence. It felt like standing in a cathedral of stars, where even the air held its breath.

And then the words came—not to his eyes, but to his chest. A low resonance, as if struck by something unseen. Each line rang through him, subtle yet undeniable, like a hammer shaping metal no one else could see.

The Soul Anvil.

Not a name declared, but one that unfolded in his mind like a memory not his own. A forging ground for the soul. A discipline that promised no glory, no instant power. Only this: All things divine must first be broken before they are made whole.

Aaryan stood frozen.

He had never heard of a soul-based technique before—not from Dharun, not from the sect's library, not even in the wildest stories.

But he didn't hesitate.

This was the one.

With both scrolls now in hand—the Dominion Tyrant Physique and the Soul Anvil—Aaryan turned, eyes alight, and walked back toward Maya.

He didn't speak. He didn't need to.

His choices had already spoken for him.

Maya reached out and took the scrolls from him, her gaze shifting from Aaryan to scrolls. She took one look—something flickered across her face. A sharp flash of emotion—gone almost as soon as it appeared.

Aaryan didn't notice.

In the far corner, hidden in the shadows, Sampoorna's eyes narrowed. For a moment, even his impassive expression faltered.

The two scrolls Aaryan had chosen… were core techniques of his parents' clan.

From dozens of techniques—some exotic, some ancient, some brutal, some refined—he had picked two that had once belonged to blood.

He had no way of knowing. No way of guessing.

But his blood… remembered.

Neither Maya nor Sampoorna said a word.

And Aaryan, still glancing between the scrolls in thought, had no idea what he'd just done.

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