CHAPTER 41: BODY CULTIVATION

SLASH!

The air trembled as another goblin’s head was split from its shoulders, the arc of the floating blade a flawless curve of silver light.

Blood spurted skyward in a gory fountain, showering the cracked stone floor with deep crimson.

Goblin shrieks echoed through the ruined tunnels of the dungeon, panicked and disorganized.

They came in waves—ten at a time, twenty, then thirty. But every one of them met the same fate.

SHHHHK!

A second sword zipped through the darkness, slicing through a goblin’s chest. It split open like a popped water balloon, organs splattering the floor.

SQUELCH!

A third goblin was impaled through the back by a hovering blade, lifted into the air still screaming before the sword jerked violently, ripping upward, cleaving it in half.

Blood was everywhere.

It soaked the stone.

It dripped from Elius’s cheeks, streamed down his arms, dyed his torn uniform into a cloak of death.

His hair clung to his face in thick, wet locks, matted with goblin flesh and filth.

He stood motionless as the blood fell on him like rain, chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths.

[Status Update: Body Cultivation Level – Stage 3 (Initial Tier)]

He felt it. Deep within his bones.

The tingling warmth—the golden heat of absorbed vitality flowing into his meridians, his marrow, his spirit root.

The System window glitched once, then reformed:

[Status Update: Body Cultivation Level – Stage 3 (Middle Tier)]

Another breath.

He turned, stepping over the corpse of a twitching goblin.

He kicked it into the air like a sack of meat and—

BOOOOM!

His flying sword tore through it mid-air, turning it into crimson mist.

[Status Update: Body Cultivation Level – Stage 3 (High Tier)]

He knelt into the steaming blood. Let it pool around him.

He opened his pores.

He meditated.

Each time he bathed, the cultivation technique pulled less from the blood.

It was becoming slower.

The same goblin blood—once rich, now fading.

Each drop infused his muscles less.

Each breath took longer to convert into progress.

He needed more.

More blood.

More slaughter.

"Come," he whispered, eyes glowing faintly.

The goblins answered.

They screeched. They howled. They came by the dozens, from every dark corridor, teeth bared, claws raised.

Green flesh glistened under dungeon light, and their crude weapons—bone clubs, rusted daggers, cracked shields—clanged together in mindless frenzy.

SHRRRRIP!

His sword surged forward again, cleaving five goblins in one move.

Blood fountained into the air.

[Status Update: Body Cultivation Level – Stage 3 (Peak Tier)]

He could feel it—the wall. The barrier between tiers.

It thickened like iron.

He had to crush it.

He let the blood flow into his mouth, nose, ears. He didn’t care. He absorbed everything.

His skin burned with transformation. His muscles clenched and spasmed. His teeth cracked and then reformed stronger. His heart thundered like a war drum.

[Status Update: Body Cultivation Level – Stage 4 (Initial Tier)]

And still—it slowed.

"Even more," he muttered.

More. More. More.

He dived into another swarm.

His floating swords spun, weaving like serpents of steel through the green sea of enemies.

Fwoosh! Fwoosh! SCHRAK! SLICKKK!

Goblin torsos exploded.

Legs fell to the side twitching.

Heads bounced across the stones like thrown pebbles.

Blood pooled again—and again, he soaked.

The same blood. The same species.

The returns diminished.

Now, to progress—

He needed to bathe in hundreds just to push a single tiny sliver of his body cultivation upward.

Still, he fought.

Still, he bathed.

Still, he breathed the blood into his system.

The System windows flickered again.

[Status Update: Body Cultivation Level – Stage 5 (Initial Tier)]

At a distance, his party watched.

Ron, the velociraptor hybrid, blinked. "He’s doing it again... Not even using his swords now?"

Lina, translucent and floating beside a broken wall, tilted her head. "He’s absorbing the goblins’ blood. He... he’s like feeding on their vitality."

Shiro, quiet as a shadow behind them, narrowed his eyes. "So... grotesque."

Klee clutched her little staff and bit her lip. "Elius... he’s... different now."

Then—it happened.

Elius stopped.

No swords.

Just his hands.

He walked toward a lone goblin—the last of the pack, trembling, eyes wide.

Elius raised his fists.

He punched.

CRACK!

The goblin staggered, its nose caved in, blood spurting like a faucet.

Elius struck again.

WHUMP!

The goblin collapsed—but not dead.

He pulled back and slammed his fist once more into its ribs.

CRRRAAAKKK!!!

Two ribs broke. The goblin howled.

But it wasn’t enough.

Elius’s face tightened.

His movements slowed.

He wasn’t used to using his body—only his swords.

His knuckles bled. His fists bruised.

Ron gasped. "Is he—struggling?"

Elius leapt back, panting.

Another goblin charged.

He dodged left, right, but the third swipe struck him across the back.

He growled.

"Not yet. Not yet."

He stepped away from the goblins and raised his hand.

His swords floated back into orbit around him.

"I’ll use my body... when it’s ready," he muttered.

He looked down at his shaking fists.

His arms ached.

His bones strained.

But he smiled.

Because deep inside—

He could feel it.

Growing.

Changing.

Tempering.

He lunged back into the fight with his swords once more leading the charge.

The slaughter continued.

The blood flowed.

His skin grew harder.

His limbs—more resilient.

Stage 5... Peak Tier.

Stage 6 (Initial Tier).

The window blinked again.

Ron stared. "He’s... getting stronger by the second."

Shiro folded his arms. "He’s making himself a weapon."

Klee’s eyes welled with tears. "Is he in pain?"

Lina just floated silently.

Elius didn’t speak.

He kept going.

Swords swirling.

Blood rising.

The dungeon floor now ankle-deep in goblin gore.

He soaked again.

Felt the familiar fire.

Slower now.

Sluggish.

Takes dozens more for just a hint of growth.

But still—he pressed on.

Fists clenched.

Breath steady.

He struck again—using his knuckles once more, testing.

CRACK!

A goblin jaw shattered.

He grunted in pain—but the goblin dropped.

He nodded.

"Closer."

He let more blood in.

Stage 7 (Initial Tier).

More fights.

More pain.

More fists.

Each impact hardened his bones.

Each bruise reformed tougher.

Each drop of blood was his sacrifice.

The world became a haze of green corpses and crimson puddles.

At last—

[Status Update: Body Cultivation Level – Stage 8 (Initial Tier)]

Elius exhaled.

His arms pulsed.

His fists felt light.

Powerful.

He stared at them, flexing his fingers.

His body was no longer soft.

No longer weak.

"Now, now," he whispered.

"Maybe, I wouldn’t need swords anymore."

The dungeon trembled with silence—momentary, fragile.

Gore-soaked and panting, Elius stood amidst the corpse-strewn battlefield, his chest heaving beneath torn fabric. His hands were crimson up to the elbow. His silver eyes pulsed faintly with Qi.

He turned to the others slowly.

Ron, Lina, Shiro, and Klee—all stared at him with uncertain awe. The stench of blood clung to everything.

"Come with me," Elius said.

The words were simple. But something in his voice pulled at them. A kind of calm conviction—a promise that behind that command was purpose, direction, maybe even strength they hadn’t yet earned.

Lina hovered closer, translucent and ethereal. "Where... where are we going?"

"To the next swarm," Elius said, wiping blood off his fists. "You all need to grow too."

Klee’s face paled slightly, but she nodded.

Ron shrugged. "Fair enough."

Even Shiro gave a quiet bow of acknowledgment, his clone mimicking the movement precisely behind him.

They marched deeper.

Darkness swallowed them, the torchlight from Ron’s belt barely keeping back the shadows. The dungeon walls grew tighter, narrower, more twisted—as if the dungeon itself was resisting their progress. Faint snarls echoed ahead.

And then they came—another goblin group.

But this time, it wasn’t like before.

Elius didn’t charge ahead. He didn’t vanish into a blur of swords and gore.

He stayed with them.

He stood in the center, five silver swords orbiting his body in a slow, predatory pattern.

And when the goblins shrieked and charged—

He stepped forward.

FWOOOOSH!

The first flying sword darted like a spear, impaling a goblin straight through the mouth and out the back of its skull. Its eyes popped. Its body spasmed.

SLASH!

The second sword swept low, carving through two goblins’ knees. They collapsed, screaming—and were silenced as the third sword plunged downward from above, splitting their skulls like fruit.

Elius moved like a conductor, his arms guiding the blades with invisible threads of will.

A goblin got close—

He spun on his heel and punched.

BOOOOOOM!

The goblin’s chest caved in. The creature flew back five meters and slammed into a wall, exploding in a mess of bone and lung.

Ron flinched. "He really doesn’t need swords anymore..."

Another group came from the left.

Elius jumped.

He punched a goblin mid-air, turning its head backward on its neck.

Then landed in a roll, let a flying sword fly over his shoulder and bisect the next one in two.

His body cultivation circulated like a roaring furnace inside him.

Blood splashed across his legs. He let it seep into his skin. Into his bones. Into the marrow.

Circulate.

Absorb.

Reinforce.

He could feel it now. The energy from the goblins was weak—diminishing returns—but not useless. He had to focus the technique harder. With every tier, the requirements grew more absurd. Now, it wasn’t enough to simply be drenched.

Now—he had to refine every drop he took in.

He would punch—CRACK!—and absorb.

Slice—SHHRAK!—and absorb.

Elbows, knees, shoulders—all now hardened tools of war.

He fought beside Ron and Lina now, not ahead of them. Let them see. Let them grow.

Lina phased through an attack, reappeared behind a goblin, and clawed into its back with ghostly fingers.

Ron bit down with raptor jaws, crushing a goblin’s head like a melon.

Shiro and his clone moved like wraiths, their blades flashing in near-perfect synchrony, not a word exchanged, not a breath wasted.

And still, Elius killed.

He ducked, spun, punched through a goblin’s stomach.

His sword danced, severing arms, legs, necks.

More.

More.

The flood of blood came slower.

The cultivation technique slowed, sluggish like molasses.

And then—

[Status Update: Body Cultivation Level – Stage 9 (Middle Tier)]

Elius stumbled slightly.

He leaned against the wall, panting.

His fists trembled—not with weakness, but exhaustion.

He had killed too many.

The others saw it.

"You okay?" Lina asked.

"I’m fine," Elius said, voice low. "Just resting. Keep training."

And they did.

He watched as his team—his party—battled goblins without him.

He watched Ron tear through enemies with chicken-scaled legs, Lina phase through stone to ambush from behind, Shiro and his clone create perfect pincer strikes, and Klee—quiet, underestimated Klee—cast bursts of supportive magic and blinding flares of light.

Eventually, the last goblin fell.

They gathered around him, bloodied but victorious.

They sat in a circle in the middle of a silent battlefield, goblin corpses littered around them like discarded armor.

Klee was the first to break the silence. "That... was a lot."

"Yeah," Ron grinned, stretching. "But I can feel it. I leveled up. My senses sharpened. My kick’s faster. Stronger."

Lina floated down beside him. "What are you anyway, Ron? I’ve never seen transformation powers like yours."

Ron chuckled. "You wanna know, huh?"

They nodded.

He leaned back, resting his arms behind his head. "Well... you ever heard of the genetic lottery? Let’s just say I rolled snake eyes."

He gestured at his green, scaled feet. "Born half human, half lab experiment. My dad was normal. My mom was... not. Some underground mutation specialist. Government said she was doing ’progressive evolution trials.’ She said she was ’making better humans.’"

He smirked bitterly. "Apparently, I was her favorite. Gave me velociraptor DNA spliced with something avian. Result? Super speed, enhanced reaction time, muscle fibers that can explode into action. And, of course—chicken legs."

Klee giggled, but it quickly turned into an apologetic smile.

Ron didn’t seem to mind.

"I used to hide them. Wore long pants, heavy boots. Got bullied like hell. Then one day, I kicked a school wall and cracked the foundation. They stopped laughing."

He grinned.

"That’s when I decided—if I can’t look normal, I’ll just be stronger than everyone else."

Lina floated closer. "I think they’re cool."

"Thanks, ghost girl."

Shiro raised a hand.

All eyes turned to him.

He gestured to his clone.

Then, slowly, his clone nodded and spoke for the first time in a deep, practiced voice.

"My name is Shiro. I was born in the Eastern Republic, where silence was survival."

They blinked.

The clone kept talking.

"In my country, the Ninjakage Guild recruits orphans. I was one. Trained in silence. No names. No words. Just missions. Just blades. We were taught to move as one, to think as one. The clone you see is not a power—it is a scar. A fragment of my mind, split from trauma, given form by my esper awakening."

They were silent.

Shiro’s clone continued.

"I do not speak because I was not allowed to speak. Only this echo can tell my story."

Klee teared up. "That’s... that’s so sad."

Ron frowned. "How’d you get out?"

Shiro reached into his pouch and pulled out a broken emblem—half a shuriken, split down th

e middle.

"I killed my master using underhanded tactics," the clone said.

They fell silent again.

Even the dungeon seemed to hush.

Eventually, the clone faded back into stillness, and Shiro lowered his head.

Lina sighed. "You’re all broken, huh?"

Klee nodded. "In one way or another..."

Then all eyes turned to Elius.

He hadn’t spoken.

He stared into the darkness.

Ron broke the silence. "What about you, man?"

Shiro’s clone pointed. "Your turn."

Klee smiled gently. "Elius... What’s your story?"