CHAPTER 145: PRESSURE

Immediately Lucas finished bowing before the King, he was dismissed with a wave of the monarch’s hand, the audience abruptly over as though it had never even begun. He did not linger for another word or gesture, but turned and made his way out of the throne hall. His face remained composed as the guards watched him leave, but within, his mind was heavy with restless thoughts. He strode purposefully, as though the strength in his steps could banish the unease gnawing at him, but the moment he reached the quiet of his chamber, the mask of calm began to peel away.

Once the doors closed behind him and the silence of his quarters wrapped around him, Lucas let out a long breath. The weight of the day pressed in all at once, leaving him almost dizzy. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, rubbing his temples as though that could ease the tension building in his mind. There were too many paths before him, too many demands pulling at him from different directions, and though he had the rare advantage of knowledge from the future, that very knowledge only reminded him how fragile the present truly was.

He thought of the possibilities, of all the things he could attempt, each one requiring time and focus he scarcely had. His mind wandered first to the Empress of Great Lechia, the vixen sovereign who was as cunning as she was alluring. To impress her would not be enough; he would have to astound her, give her something so extraordinary she could not ignore his presence nor his offer of alliance. Yet, what could he create that would be powerful enough, strange enough, to convince her he was not just another ambitious young man in a world overflowing with schemers? This question lingered like a blade over his head, every answer forming and dissolving in his thoughts as quickly as mist in the wind.

The burden grew heavier when his mind turned to the larger threat looming over them all. War was not only possible but inevitable. Blackmare’s restless movements were stirring fear across the continent, and if their kingdom marched, others might join them, either as opportunistic allies or hungry scavengers circling for spoils. The court murmured of strategy and defenses, yet Lucas knew too well that they were not prepared for the storm gathering on the horizon. He had seen pieces of how history would unfold, and it was a bloody vision he could not dismiss.

Then there was the Core of Dominion, resting in his possession like a ticking secret. Saint Raph had entrusted it to him, expecting a thorough study and a report that would shed light on its mysteries. It was no small trinket to be examined at leisure; it was an artifact that could very well alter the fate of kingdoms and empires if harnessed correctly. Lucas knew the saint would not forgive negligence, and yet he could not devote the hours it deserved without letting other responsibilities fall to ruin.

And still, beyond these heavy matters of state and power, there was Nyx. He thought of her, of the innocence in her smile when she tugged at his arm, of the laughter they had shared that seemed so far removed from the suffocating gravity of politics. Lucas clenched his fists at the thought of her being taken away....He would not let that happen. He could not let her slip through his hands, not when he had already seen glimpses of what losing her might mean, her incredible Yin energy is not something he could afford to lose. To save her, he would need influence and leverage, and that meant securing the King’s favor and, ultimately, an alliance strong enough to shield her.

All of it swirled together, a storm in his mind. The Empress of Great Lechia, the threat of Blackmare, the Core of Dominion, Nyx’s fate, the uncertain road of his cultivation and the dangers it invited, all of it pressing against him at once until he felt as though his very chest was being crushed. His thoughts spun faster, colliding and unraveling with no resolution in sight. He lay back against the bed, his arms stretched at his sides, staring up at the ceiling. The weight of everything pressed down with a suffocating heaviness, dragging him deeper into the mattress until he could no longer resist the exhaustion creeping over him. His eyelids fell shut, his breath slowing as he surrendered, collapsing fully into the embrace of his bed, consumed by the enormity of it all.

Lucas finally swung his legs off the side of the bed and sat up, his mind heavy with thoughts that refused to let him rest. He pressed his palms against his face for a brief moment, exhaling slowly, before pushing himself to his feet. Lying down and allowing his worries to eat at him was never his way of handling things. Action was the only thing that gave him clarity, and so he crossed the room in a few determined strides, reaching for the small writing desk by the window. The moonlight trickled through the curtains, casting pale streaks across the wooden floor as if urging him forward.

He grabbed a sheet of parchment and set it flat on the desk, then dipped a quill into the inkwell, his fingers steady though his mind was racing with calculations and possibilities. He began to write quickly, his hand moving with purpose as line after line of hurried notes filled the page. The soft scratching of the quill was the only sound in the quiet chamber, a rhythm that matched the rapid beat of his thoughts. Formulas, diagrams, fragments of theory, he put them all down, not caring about neatness but about capturing every passing idea before it slipped away.

Lucas knew better than anyone that the potion he had already created thanks to his knowledge of the future, the one capable of awakening the cultivation of a crippled cultivator, was no small achievement. In fact, it was the kind of accomplishment that scholars and alchemists of this era would devote their entire lives chasing without ever reaching. Yet he also knew that resting on such a success would make him complacent. He had taken one bold step, but now expectations were rising like waves around him, pressing him to deliver more.

He leaned back in his chair for a moment, tapping the quill against the parchment as he thought. "A potion that restores what was lost... that already shook the continent, but if that is all I have to offer, then the empress of Lechia won’t accept the alliance," he muttered under his breath, his gaze darkening. "No... I need something greater, something undeniable, something that will silence every doubt."

His thoughts wandered to the vast and untapped knowledge and resources of this world, the deeper mysteries of alchemy and cultivation that few dared to touch. He had already proven that he could do what others thought impossible, and that was enough to make him a name. But it was not enough for him. He wanted to build a legacy, one that could not be ignored or overshadowed.

Leaning forward again, he began to write faster, his words turning into sketches of complex sigils and notations of rare herbs, his mind weaving possibilities of elixirs that could strengthen the meridians, extend life, or even alter the flow of qi within a cultivator’s body. Every thought carried with it a risk, but risk was what drove innovation. He could almost see the path forming before him, though it was faint and shrouded in uncertainty.

"Greater than restoring cultivation..." he whispered, staring at the half-filled sheet. "Something that changes the very foundation of it."

His hand tightened around the quill. He would not rest until he found the answer. He would not let his first success be his last. He needed to create something far beyond what the world had ever seen, and he knew the only way to achieve that was to push himself further, faster, and harder than anyone else dared.

"Teleportation." Lucas suddenly blurted the word out.

The word alone was enough to set his thoughts ablaze. The bending of space, the folding of distance, the mastery of stepping from one place to another in a blink. In his previous life, the futuristic city of steel towers and endless technology, it had been theorized, even simulated with advanced machinery. But here, in this world steeped in Qi, possibility was not shackled by circuits and algorithms. It was alive, raw, and waiting for someone daring enough to seize it.

The flow of Qi around him was vibrant, so much richer than anything he had experienced before. If energy this abundant could be shaped into refined patterns, woven into the fabric of reality itself, then the act of teleportation was no longer science fiction, it was a cultivator’s art waiting to be unlocked.

Lucas’s lips curled faintly into a smile. "If they could see me now," he muttered under his breath, thinking of the scientists and engineers of his past life, men and women who had spent decades chasing what could be done here with nothing more than willpower and mastery over Qi.

He flexed his fingers, almost feeling the surge of invisible threads between them, strands of energy that connected one point of existence to another. He imagined pulling at those threads, twisting them, folding them so that two distant points touched. His heart thudded at the thought, if he succeeded, no door would ever remain closed to him, no distance would ever separate him from those he cared about. And that was more than enough to forge an alliance with any Empire or Kingdom.

The thrill rose higher within him. The resources of this world were vast, the Qi pure, the cultivation techniques abundant. But most cultivators he had observed remained bound by tradition, advancing step by step, fearful of straying from the established path. Lucas was not like them. He had lived in a different age, an age where innovation was survival, where breaking boundaries was hard because of Qi scarcity. Here, he had both knowledge and power. And with those, he could chase the impossible.

His eyes gleamed faintly as he whispered to himself, "Teleportation... bending space and time. If I can anchor Qi to a point, form a mark, and bind myself to it... distance would mean nothing."