The air in Blackwood Village hung thick with the scent of damp earth and the quiet desperation of a dying spring. Nestled deep within a forgotten corner of the Azuremist Continent, a minor landmass in the vast Mortal Realm, Blackwood was a place where spiritual energy was as scarce as hope. Here, cultivation was less a path to immortality and more a grim struggle against the inevitable decay of flesh and spirit.
Emperor Defiance, then a mere sixteen-year-old, felt the weight of that desperation more acutely than most. His name, given by a wandering elder who'd once passed through the village, felt like a cruel joke. Defiance. What was there to defy when your fate was sealed the moment you were born without even a whisper of a spiritual root? He was a mortal through and through, destined for a short, arduous life of farming and eventual dust, unlike the few fortunate youths who, with their meager spiritual roots, could at least aspire to become a Low-grade Spirit Cultivator in a local sect.
His family, once minor cultivators, had fallen from grace generations ago. Now, they were indistinguishable from the other villagers, scraping by on the fringes of the dense Blackwood Forest. Defiance, lean and quiet, spent his days tending a small, rocky plot of land, his hands calloused, his eyes perpetually scanning the treeline. He wasn't seeking adventure; he was seeking survival.
One overcast morning, a familiar dull ache settled in his chest. It was the perpetual hunger, amplified by the meager rations. "Another week, perhaps, before the spring harvest," he murmured to himself, his voice rough. As he bent to pull weeds, his fingers brushed against something hard and smooth, half-buried beneath a gnarled tree root. It was a piece of pale jade, no bigger than his thumb, unassuming and dull, radiating no spiritual energy whatsoever.
He frowned. Jade was common enough, used for simple ornaments. But this one felt… different. It was cool to the touch, almost unnaturally so, and seemed to hum with a faint, inaudible resonance against his palm. He stuffed it into his worn leather pouch, a meager curiosity in his otherwise barren life.
Later that evening, after a dinner of watery gruel, Defiance retreated to his cramped corner of the family hut. By the flickering light of an oil lamp, he pulled out the jade. It was still dull, but as he held it, a strange phenomenon occurred. The air around him, thin and lifeless, seemed to subtly stir. A barely perceptible wisp of spiritual energy, akin to a morning mist, drifted towards the jade, only to vanish into its surface.
Defiance blinked. He tried again, focusing his will, though he knew nothing of proper cultivation techniques. To his astonishment, more wisps, infinitesimally small, converged on the jade. It wasn't fast, it wasn't strong, but it was something. For the first time in his life, a tremor of excitement, raw and primal, coursed through him. This jade, this ordinary, dull jade, was actually absorbing spirit energy from the air!
Days turned into weeks. Every night, in secret, Defiance would hold the jade. He discovered its secret: it didn't just absorb spirit energy; it seemed to purify it, compressing the wisps into a slightly denser, purer form within its core. It was still a paltry amount, but compared to the stagnant air of Blackwood Village, it was a miracle. He meticulously experimented, placing the jade near wilting saplings. To his awe, the saplings would green slightly, their leaves gaining a faint sheen. This was a Heaven and Earth Treasure, albeit a low-grade one, likely a fragment of something far grander. He named it the "Spirit-Gathering Jade," and vowed to keep its existence a secret.
His newfound secret, however, came with a hidden cost. The more he absorbed, the more he became aware of his own body's limitations. His meridians, narrow and blocked, could barely retain the minute amounts of purified spirit energy. He needed a cultivation method, a way to truly absorb and utilize this precious energy.
One sweltering afternoon, while gathering herbs deeper in the Blackwood Forest, Defiance stumbled upon a hidden cave entrance, concealed by thorny vines. A faint, almost imperceptible spiritual pressure emanated from within. Driven by a desperate need, and armed with his characteristic caution, he crept inside. The cave was small, leading to a single, dusty chamber. In the center lay a skeleton, millennia old, clad in tattered robes. Beside it, gleaming faintly in the dim light, was a single, ancient Jade Slip.
His heart pounded. Such an item, even if damaged, was priceless in the Mortal Realm. With trembling hands, he picked it up. A faint spiritual imprint washed over him. It was a cultivation technique, a fragmented part of something called the "Thousand Refinements Scripture" – a Low-grade Spirit Cultivation Art that promised to slowly but surely purify one's meridians. The technique was rudimentary, but it was precisely what he needed.
Over the next Great Era (a hundred thousand years in mortal terms), hidden from prying eyes, Defiance cultivated. He used the Spirit-Gathering Jade to slowly accumulate pure spirit energy, enduring the excruciating pain as the Thousand Refinements Scripture gradually, painstakingly, widened his constricted meridians. He learned to control his spiritual energy, forming the foundation of his cultivation. He was slow, far slower than any common genius, but his progress, born of sheer tenacity and the jade's subtle aid, was rock-solid. He learned to observe, to deduce, to calculate every risk. For him, every increment of strength was a victory against his cursed fate.
He also discovered something else from the old skeleton's belongings: a few pieces of Basic Spirit Talismans and a rudimentary Talisman-making Manual. He spent years poring over it, practicing drawing Spirit Runes on rough parchment, wasting countless materials. But slowly, painstakingly, he began to grasp the intricate art of Talisman-making. His first successful Fireball Talisman was weak, barely enough to singe a tree, but it was a testament to his burgeoning skill.
The world outside Blackwood Village was a dangerous place, filled with sects clashing over spirit vein minerals and spiritual herb gardens. But Defiance, with his quiet strength and growing arsenal of Talismans, was ready to step out of the shadows. His path would not be one of flashy genius, but of a quiet, unyielding defiance against all odds. His journey, from a "cripple" in a forgotten village to a potential legend in the vast, chaotic cosmos, had just begun. And the whispers of the Primordial Godly Decree, though still distant, had begun to echo in his destiny.