Instead, I was pulled out of sleep by noise—rough, human noise.
Thud.
“Hhgn—dammit.”
“Shift your weight! Your weight!”
Groaning, I sat up from my pile of scratchy straw, rubbing the crust from my eyes. My back ached. My neck was stiff. And whatever peace the night had offered was already gone.
The sun had barely risen, but it was clear the world outside my shack was already alive and moving.
Still half-asleep, I pushed open the rickety door—and stopped in my tracks.
Outside, the dirt paths between the rows of crooked shelters had turned into a sparring ground. Dozens of Unbound were up and moving—some shadowboxing, others paired off and trading clumsy blows. People staggered through weird stances, swung their arms in exaggerated arcs, twisted at the waist, and dropped into unstable squats with painful grunts.
“Aaagh—my legs.”
“You’re not breathing right. Focus, idiot!”
“Again! From the top!”
It was a mess.
I squinted at the madness, completely lost. Were they… training?
I wandered over to the nearest shack, where a guy not much older than me was planting his feet into the dirt and swinging his fist forward with wide, deliberate effort. His breath was ragged, sweat already dripping off his chin.
“Hey,” I called out, still groggy. “What’s everyone doing?”
He paused mid-swing and turned to look at me like I had just grown a second head.
“…Seriously?” he said, panting.
I blinked at him. “Yeah?”
He stared for a moment, then huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “We’re training, genius.”
“Training?”
He rolled his eyes and threw another lazy punch toward the air.
“You did read the book they left us, right?” he asked.
“The martial technique?”
"Yeah," he said, his voice dry. "You know it’s not just for decoration, right? It’s a basic martial technique. For people like us, who don’t have anything else, it might not be powerful or glamorous—but it’s something. And right now, we’re all trying to one-up each other, pushing to learn whatever techniques we can and start taking on missions to earn merits... since we don’t have a sect holding our hand through it."
He gave me a quick once-over, as if measuring how far behind I already was.
“You haven’t even opened it, have you?”
I scratched the back of my neck. “…Not yet.”
“Thought so.” He shook his head and went back to swinging, muttering something I didn’t catch under his breath.
Around us, fists slammed into palms. Bodies groaned. Dust rose in little clouds where people fell, rolled, and climbed back to their feet. The sound of grit and desperation filled the air.
They were all already advancing forward.
Looking around at them—sweating, stumbling, grunting their way through sloppy movements—I couldn’t help but feel a strange respect rising in me.
They might not have had talent. They might not have had backing, or strength, or flashy soul weapons. But damn it, they were trying.
I guess it’s true what people say: surround yourself with people who push you forward. Because watching them, even just for a few minutes, stirred something in me. Their effort—unpolished as it was—felt honest. And that honesty made me want to move.
So I turned around, stepped back inside my shack, and got to work.
I changed into the black clothes we had been given—simple pants and shirt, stiff but breathable. Slipped on the soft-soled shoes. Then, I sat on the edge of the straw bed and pulled the small pouch open, plucking out one of the brown pills. Bitter, dry, a little chalky—but it filled the hunger in my stomach enough to keep me standing.
Then I picked up the manual.
The Everyday Form: Basics of Stance, Step, and Strike.
I stared at the title for a moment.
It didn’t inspire awe. It sounded like a training booklet handed to foot soldiers—basic posture, movement drills, and strike control. Just enough to keep you alive. Just enough to make you useful.
Just enough to be disposable.
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But this was what I had. And right now, that was enough.
Maybe this was how all progress began—without elegance or talent. Just tired hands, open eyes, and a little willingness to move forward when everyone expects you to stay where you are.
So I sat cross-legged in my room and opened to the first page.
Chapter One: The Foundation Beneath Your Feet
Before you move, you must first stand. Before you strike, you must know where you stand. The body obeys the will, but the will must have something firm to rest upon. This is your stance.
The first and most fundamental lesson in martial arts—regardless of your soul weapon, constitution, background, or cultivation level—is how you stand.
Too many aspirants rush to learn techniques without understanding the foundation beneath their movements. A powerful strike with poor footing is no better than swinging a loose branch in the wind. You will fall before your opponent does. So first, you must plant your roots.
- Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart.
- Knees slightly bent—not enough to squat, just enough to feel grounded.
- Distribute your weight evenly between both legs.
- Tuck your pelvis forward slightly. Straighten your spine.
- Shoulders relaxed. Arms at your sides, elbows slightly bent.
Practice simply standing like this. Breathe. Focus on how your weight settles into the earth. You should feel like a tree—not rigid, but stable. Able to bend, but not break.
This is a stance not of power, but of balance. It is the mother of every step you will take.
The everyday form is not a display of strength. It is not meant to impress. It is meant to prepare. For those without talent, this is the path of discipline.
Repeat the stance every day until your legs give out. Only when you can hold it for an entire day without collapsing may you turn the page and continue the lesson.
When I finished reading the first page, I couldn’t help but feel a little… underwhelmed.
Hold a stance? All day? That was it?
I had done exactly that—stood in place for days on end—swinging my broken sword again and again at the Golden Gate. At first, it had been grueling, but by the thousandth repetition, my legs had stopped complaining. By the ten-thousandth, it had become second nature.
I glanced outside.
Many were already wobbling, their stances failing after only a few minutes. A few collapsed completely, groaning and gasping for air like they had just run up a mountain. Others skipped the stance entirely, jumping ahead and sparring as if the foundation didn’t matter. I couldn’t blame them. It was tempting to chase excitement.
But I wasn’t here to skip steps. I was here to build.
So I stood up, placed the book gently on the straw bed, and stepped outside. My feet found the earth. My body settled into the Root Position, following every instruction in the manual to the letter.
And just as I did, a soft chime echoed in my ears. A familiar sound.
A pale shimmer appeared before me, forming into glowing script:
[Quest Acquired]
Title: Rooted in Resolve (Part 1)
Objective: Master the foundational stance described in The Everyday Form: Basics of Stance, Step, and Strike.
Progress: Chapter 1 – Root Position (0%)
Requirements: Hold the stance continuously until deemed complete by the system.
Time Limit: None
Failure Condition: None
Reward: +1 to Foundational Constitution Stat
I stared at the message, puzzled.
Quest? As in… a mission?
The words lingered in the air for a few moments longer before fading, but even after they vanished, I kept blinking at the space they had occupied.
I hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that the system would give out tasks, much less reward me for completing them. The more I uncovered about this so-called Fate-Defying System, the more it baffled me—and impressed me.
Not only did it record my defiance, not only did it offer me a hidden shop of techniques and tools… but it also guided me and rewarded me for pushing forward?
That single point of reward to the Foundational Constitution. I had no idea what that even meant. I didn’t know what that actually represented, or what of the other foundational terms the system tracked. But something in me knew—if the number went up, so did my strength.
Even if the term was something the system had invented, it had to mean something. I have to investigate this later.
Maybe the library mentioned during the orientation could help. It was said to be free to access—maybe there were records explaining “Foundational Constitution” and other basic cultivation concepts. Or maybe none of this existed outside the system at all.
Either way, I would eventually find out.
But right now?
I was more motivated than ever to begin.
So I focused, lowered my stance just as the book instructed—feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, spine straight, arms relaxed at my sides.
At first, I thought I was doing something wrong. My feet began to tremble. My thighs started to burn. My lower back ached as I tried to keep it tucked and aligned. A sharp pain crawled up the side of my hip, and my balance kept shifting, like the ground beneath me was playing tricks.
I gritted my teeth.
Five minutes—and already I was sweating.
What happened to the man who once stood at the Golden Gate for hours on end, swinging his sword without rest?
Then I remembered—he was still here, but that resilience of his body was gone.
This was my second life. A new start. And along with it came a weaker frame, an untrained body, and no foundation to stand on. The strength I once built through obsession, pain, and time had been erased. My spirit may have remembered—but my flesh didn’t.
I was no longer the stubborn fool who had planted himself before the Gate for nearly a hundred years. I was in my early twenties now. Still young by the world’s standards, but fragile. My muscles hadn’t been tempered, my tendons weren’t hardened—just bones and breath holding me together.
I stumbled out of the stance, catching myself with a heavy step to the side and letting out a slow breath as I wiped the sweat from my brow. The whole thing was humbling—and a little disheartening.
And honestly, it was exactly what I needed. This was reality. This was cultivation—not the lightning-quick leaps from the fables, not sudden enlightenment under waterfalls or dramatic breakthroughs. Just the slow, grinding, mind-numbing pain.
I returned to the stance, reset my posture, closed my eyes, and drew in a deep breath.
If I’m going to defy the heavens… then it starts here—by learning to stand tall. One breath at a time. One stance at a time. One day at a time.
[Progress: Chapter 1 – Root Position (1%)]