As we left the room, we walked down a long, dimly lit hall in ordered rows, the steady rhythm of footsteps against stone. I, being the last, had naturally fallen to the rear of the line.

  Time passed without meaning as the corridor stretched on. The only light guiding our way were scattered lanterns hung lazily along the ceiling, flickering against the stone walls.

  Eventually, a soft glow began to appear at the far end of the tunnel. A pinprick of light that grew slowly with every step. But when we finally crossed its threshold, it wasn’t the warmth of the sun that greeted us.

  It was the cold breath of the moon.

  The sky above was vast and cloudless. The moon hung high, casting its glow across the land. No fanfare awaited us here. No celebration. Just the night.

  In front of us stood a building—no, a fortress—so vast in scale that it seemed to consume the landscape itself. Its sheer size was overwhelming, stretching outward with layered wings and climbing skyward with tiered rooftops. The structure was built of pristine white stone, each wall smooth and unmarred. It rose from a wide, sloped foundation of interlocking gray stones, towering above us with the silent dominance of something not merely built—but ordained.

  From the highest tier, banners fluttered faintly in the night breeze, bearing no symbols—likely that of the Unbound Division.

  The man holding the white banner turned to face us, his voice clear and firm, yet not unkind.

  “You have been brought here because you were not chosen,” he said, lifting the banner slightly as if to remind us of what it symbolized. “But that does not mean you are unworthy. This is the Hall of Unbound Aspirants, the place where paths are forged by merit, not destiny. You will not be led by the will of others here. You will rise or fall by your own hands.”

  He paused, letting the words settle, then gestured toward the towering doors behind him.

  “Come. I’ll give you a tour. Learn the layout well—this place won’t teach you, won’t protect you, and certainly won’t care for you. It will give you work, and if you’re lucky, a way to survive.”

  The heavy doors slowly creaked open, revealing the grand interior. As we stepped inside, we were swallowed by the vastness of it. The hall was as magnificent within as it was imposing from the outside.

  Despite the late hour, the place bustled with motion. Figures moved in quick, purposeful strides down the polished corridors. Others sat in clusters, resting in chairs and along benches that lined the walls, speaking in low tones, their expressions weary but calm—like workers taking a breath between work.

  The floor beneath us was a lustrous dark wood. The planks were wide and long, laid with such precision they felt like a single surface stretching throughout the building. Above, the ceiling rose high, held by thick wooden beams and columns. Hanging from above were countless red lanterns—glowing softly, bathing the room in a warm, ember-like light that danced gently along the floors and walls.

  "This main chamber," the banner-bearer continued as he walked ahead of us, "is where most of your tasks will be received and reported. Whether you’re here for a month or a lifetime, your steps will always return to this place."

  The man leading us came to a stop near the center of the hall, turning to gesture toward the heart of the chamber.

  “There,” he said, pointing to a large rectangular structure situated squarely in the middle of the room. It was a table surrounded by figures scribbling onto scrolls, sorting through files, and conversing with others who came and went with purpose in their steps and weariness in their eyes.

  Inside the rectangular workspace, attendants moved mechanically, exchanging words swiftly before diving back into documents and ledgers. But what truly drew the eye was what stood behind them.

  Towering over the table and stretching nearly the full width of the room was an enormous board—wooden, lacquered, and covered in row after row of papers. Each sheet bore a title, location, task description, and a colored seal at the corner.

  The man lowered his hand and turned back to us.

  “This is where you’ll come to earn your place,” he said flatly. “This board is your lifeline.”

  He stepped closer to it, running a hand across the edge of the board as he passed. “Each of these papers is a mission available to Unbound cultivators. They range in difficulty, from simple deliveries and beast tracking to spiritual exorcisms, border conflicts, and artifact recovery. Every task, no matter how small or grand, earns you something in return—merit points.”

  He paused and glanced back at us to make sure we were listening.

  “The harder the mission, the greater the merit. Succeed, and your merit is recorded. Fail, and… well, if you make it back, you’ll just have to try again.”

  He tapped the table.

  “When you complete a mission, return here. Present your results, your proof. The attendants behind this desk will validate your claim and update your record.”

  Then, he gave us all a long, calculating look.

  “Your merit is your worth here. Do you want cultivation resources? Techniques? Pills? Equipment? Shelter? You’ll earn them with merit. You want respect, acknowledgment, status among those who walk the path of power? You’ll fight for it here.”

  The man gave us a moment to take in the board before stepping away, his voice carrying once more through the grand hall.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “This building is large—very large. What you see here is only a fraction of it.”

  He began walking again, leading us along the outer edge of the hall toward one of the many branching corridors.

  “The Hall of Unbound Aspirants offers a wide range of services, all designed to help you in some way. Some of them are free. Most are not.”

  He turned back briefly, raising one hand with fingers lifted as he counted each feature aloud.

  "There is a library, free for anyone to use. Inside, you'll find records on almost every topic, though it only contains general knowledge; you won't find specific cultivation methods or martial techniques here. Instead, expect to see records on beast classifications, herb classifications, cultivation ranks, sect philosophies, and more—general knowledge that's valuable during your free time. It won’t grant you power, but it will equip you with wisdom essential for surviving in this unforgiving realm."

  He raised a second finger.

  “There’s a cafeteria. You’ll need food to train, and food costs merit. Simple as that.”

  Another finger.

  “There are alchemy rooms—for those of you who wish to study the pill-making arts. Renting one requires merit. Same with blacksmithing for forging equipment, and talisman crafting for seals and spiritual wardings. All of it takes time, knowledge… and merit.”

  He gestured broadly to the hall.

  “Some of you will take on missions. Others will hone trades. You’re free to do either—or both. If you can craft something valuable, if you find something rare during a mission, if you harvest herbs, forge tools, or refine materials—you can sell them. Exchange. Trade. Every contribution earns merit.”

  “Merit is currency here. It is food. Shelter. Medicine. Access. Rank. Recognition. Your progress, your survival, your advancement. Nothing else.”

  After finishing his explanation, the man turned on his heel and began marching toward the grand doors once again, this time leading us out of the hall rather than deeper into it. No one questioned him. We followed in silence, the muffled sounds of the bustling interior fading behind us as the cold night air met our skin once more.

  He took a sharp turn to the left and continued walking without a word. The stone path curved slightly downward, guiding us away from the towering grandeur. Minutes passed in silence. The further we walked, the more distant the warmth and light of the main complex became. The lanterns grew sparser, the buildings fewer, until eventually there was nothing but open space and hard-packed dirt.

  Then, we saw it.

  Rows of shacks—small, crooked things barely held together by aging wood and rusted nails. Their roofs sagged under their own weight, some patched with uneven scraps of cloth or straw. Paint peeled off the planks where there was any paint at all.

  Forgotten structures for forgotten people.

  The man stopped at the edge of the dirt path, standing with his hands behind his back as he addressed us once more.

  “This is your shelter,” he said plainly, with no hint of apology or shame in his voice. “Until you earn enough merit to be relocated, this is where you’ll sleep.”

  The man took a step forward, his boots pressing into the dry dirt, and gestured toward the rows of shacks with a casual flick of his hand.

  "Inside each shelter, you'll find only the essentials," he said bluntly. "A basic martial arts technique—not remarkable, but enough to set you on the cultivation path. A few low-ranked medicinal pills to stave off hunger, just enough to keep you going until you earn merit for proper meals. And a set of standard-issue clothes—black, because they hide stains and dirt you'll inevitably get. All Unbound wear them."

  He looked out over the sea of shacks, then back at us with an almost bored expression.

  “There are thousands of you,” he continued, “and we had no choice but to construct thousands of shac—ahem, shelters—on short notice. So be thankful you have a roof over your head.”

  He turned his back on us, already walking away, hands clasped behind him as if he’d finished reciting the same speech he gave a hundred times before.

  “I wish you all good luck,” he added dryly over his shoulder. “You’ll need it.”

  And then he left.

  None of us rushed toward our so-called new homes.

  Why would we?

  There was no excitement in the air, no eager anticipation. We all knew what waited for us—identical shacks, hastily built and utterly unwelcoming. So we moved in slow silence, marching in order of rank, step by step, as if we were prisoners filing into our cells.

  One by one, we entered, each person peeling off from the line and disappearing into their new home.

  When my turn came, I found myself walking past row after row until I reached the very end.

  No neighbors behind me. My shack was the last in the row.

  I pushed the door open, if you could even call the splintered board leaning on hinges a door, and stepped inside.

  It smelled of dust, straw, and old wood. The floor creaked beneath my feet with every step, and moonlight seeped in through the cracks between the boards. It was cold and empty.

  I looked at what was going to be my bed—a rough stack of hay, gathered into a vague mattress shape. It looked more like a place to keep a stable horse than a human being. No blanket. No pillow. Just straw.

  Sitting atop it was a small, cloth-bound book. The title was etched in faded ink:

  “The Everyday Form: Basics of Stance, Step, and Strike”

  This must be the basic martial technique he mentioned—designed for beginners, for those with nothing else to fall back on.

  Beside it lay a worn pouch. Inside were a few small brown pills, probably bitter in taste, meant to stave off hunger than to nourish. Barely enough to last a few days.

  And neatly folded next to them—a black shirt and matching black pants. Simple and plain coarse fabric. Nothing impressive but functional.

  Then, the shoes—exactly as practical as the rest.

  Flat-soled, cloth-bound slip-ons with no laces. Black, stiff at the edges, with thick stitched bottoms for walking long distances or running on stone. Not much better than slippers, but better than being barefoot.

  Ha~

  I let out a long, heavy sigh. The kind that came from exhaustion not just of the body, but of the soul.

  Without much care, I set the items down beside the bed—if it could even be called that.

  Then I let myself fall back into the hay.

  The straw crinkled beneath me, rough and uneven, but I didn’t care. My eyes drifted upward to the ceiling, to the small, jagged crack that split across the upper corner of the wall, just wide enough for a sliver of moonlight to sneak through.

  I wanted to sleep. I needed to sleep.

  But there was something I needed to do first.

  Something far more important than rest.

  Now that I was finally alone, free from distractions, it was time to discover what that Fate-Defying Ledger was all about.