Disciples stepped forward one by one, receiving identical satchels—standard rations, cultivation pills, and a slip of parchment indicating some sort of map , marked on which were some buildings.

It was orderly. Efficient. And temporary.

Here’s a small portion that smoothly integrates the announcement, Aaryan collecting his robe and ID token, and making his way toward the technique hall:

As the line of new disciples steadily moved forward, a sect attendant stepped onto a raised platform near the counter. Dressed in plain, deep-gray robes, his presence wasn’t commanding, but his voice carried through the hall with practiced authority.

"All newly admitted disciples, once you have collected your monthly resources, you may proceed to the various sect halls to claim your standard-issued items."

The murmurs in the hall hushed slightly as disciples turned their attention toward him.

"Your sect robes and identity tokens can be retrieved at the Hall of Induction," he continued. "These are mandatory for all disciples. Remember, the robes you wear and the token you hold signify your standing within the sect. Do not forget your place. Additionally, you are permitted a one-time selection of a foundational technique from the Hall of Echoing Arts."

That last part caused a ripple of excitement. While the sect was known for its cutthroat hierarchy, it still ensured its disciples weren’t left entirely directionless.

"The Trading Hall and the Hall of Artisans are also open for those who wish to familiarize themselves with sect transactions. Dismissed."

With that, the attendant stepped down, and the usual chatter resumed.

Aaryan took his satchel from the counter—its weight lighter than he expected. A month’s worth of rations, a few low-grade cultivation pills, and a single slip of parchment detailing his residence and sect standing. He didn’t linger. The next destination was clear.

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The Hall of Induction stood on the far side of the Outer Disciple quarters, a modest yet structured building made of dark, polished stone. Its high, arched entrance bore the Evernight Pavilion insignia—a crescent moon woven with spiralling runes. Unlike some of the grander sect halls, this place was functional rather than ornate.

Inside, rows of attendants distributed robes and identity tokens to the new disciples. The process was efficient; names were confirmed, robes handed out, and tokens engraved with each disciple’s details.

Aaryan approached the counter. The attendant, a middle-aged man with sunken eyes, barely spared him a glance before setting down a neatly folded robe and a small, metallic ID token.

"Outer Disciple robes and identification. Sign here."

Aaryan scanned the robes before picking them up.

They were made of midnight-blue fabric, simple yet durable, with a single silver trim running along the cuffs and hem—the mark of an Outer Disciple. Unlike the Experimental Disciples, whose robes were a dull gray with no markings, this at least had some presence.

The Inner Disciples, however, wore deep black robes, adorned with faint silver inscriptions that pulsed with Urrja, signifying their higher status. The difference was subtle, yet undeniable—a quiet reminder of one’s place.

His ID token was a flat, obsidian plate, no larger than a palm, engraved with his name and standing. It wasn’t just for identification—it also served as a key for accessing certain sect halls.

As he ran his fingers over the token, he wondered—would this someday mark him as more than just another Outer Disciple?

Sliding the token into his sleeve, Aaryan turned and made his way toward the next stop—the Hall of Echoing Arts.

After collecting his Outer Disciple robes and identity token from the Hall of Induction, Aaryan made his way toward the Hall of Echoing Arts—the place where disciples received their foundational techniques. The journey took him deeper into the Outer Disciple quarters, where towering stone structures loomed over carefully maintained training platforms.

The Hall itself stood apart from the others. Unlike the dark-stone buildings that made up most of Evernight Pavilion, this structure was ancient, its exterior carved from a weathered silver-gray stone that seemed to hum faintly with forgotten energy. Wide steps led up to a grand entrance, where two enormous obsidian doors, etched with curling patterns resembling swirling Urrja, stood half-open. Despite the heavy appearance, they barely made a sound as disciples passed through.

Aaryan crossed the threshold.

Inside, the Hall of Echoing Arts was eerily silent, save for the soft shuffling of robes and the faint scratching of quills from attendants stationed at the counters. The air carried a scent of aged parchment and ink. Lining the walls were rows upon rows of wooden shelves, each holding meticulously arranged palm-leaf scrolls, bound together by thin golden threads.

A sect attendant in deep gray robes stood near the entrance, his voice clear but indifferent.

"All new Outer Disciples, proceed to the first floor. The Purification Sutra will be issued to you. You may also choose one additional technique from the categories of Movement, Attack, or Utility. Once you have made your selection, report to the counter to receive your copy. Do not attempt to take techniques beyond your rank. Doing so will be… unwise."

The last words were spoken in an unreadable tone, neither a warning nor a threat, but something heavier.

Aaryan’s gaze flickered toward the spiral staircase at the far end of the hall. It led upward to higher floors, but an unseen pressure seemed to weigh against him the moment he so much as thought of climbing it. The second floor remained out of reach—for now.

With measured steps, he moved toward the first floor’s collection.

A separate shelf held the Purification Sutra, its palm-leaf scrolls marked with the symbol of a coiling serpent—an old representation of renewal and strength. Unlike the Experimental Disciples, who received only the first three levels, Outer Disciples were granted access to the full six levels.

Aaryan traced a finger along one of the scrolls, feeling the slight pulse of energy beneath the old fibers before selecting his copy.

One step closer.

Next came the additional technique selection.

Rows of wooden plaques categorized the options into three main sections:

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

* Movement Techniques – Swift, elusive footwork, allowing one to evade or outmaneuver opponents.

* Attack Techniques – Offensive strikes, each designed to be simple yet effective for Outer Disciples.

* Utility Techniques – Defensive or supportive skills that enhanced a cultivator’s adaptability in battle.

Aaryan moved along the shelves, considering his choice. Around him, disciples whispered among themselves.

"Phantom Step is the safest choice—everyone picks that. "I heard Iron Wave Palm is powerful, but hard to master. "If you don’t pick something useful now, you’ll regret it during challenges…"

Their voices faded as he ran his fingers along the aged wood of the plaques.

Aaryan wasn’t in a rush. Predictability was a weakness—every decision in this sect had to be deliberate.

Aaryan’s fingers hovered over the wooden plaques. Phantom Step was the safest choice—dozens of disciples had already taken it.

Safe. Reliable. Expected.

He almost reached for it. Almost.

Then, he shifted his hand. A path too well-tread was a path too predictable.

His fingers brushed over a different plaque.

This one.

Finally, he reached out and picked his technique.

At the counter, an attendant sat behind a long wooden desk, an ink brush in hand. As Aaryan placed the two scrolls before him, the man barely looked up.

"Name?"

"Aaryan."

The attendant dipped the brush into dark ink and inscribed something on a fresh palm leaf before placing both the original technique scrolls back onto the shelf. Then, with practiced ease, he reached for a thin, transparent jade slab beside him, pressing it against the copied leaves.

A soft glow. A ripple in the air.

In mere seconds, the process was complete. Aaryan now held his own copies, the ink still fresh on the leaves.

The attendant gave him a brief glance before waving a hand dismissively.

"Done. Next."

Aaryan took the scrolls, slipping them into his sleeve as he turned to leave.

No fanfare. No unnecessary words.

Just progress.

And that was enough.

The dim glow of a flickering oil lamp cast shifting shadows against the rough stone walls of Aaryan’s dwelling. The small chamber, bare aside from a simple bed and meditation area, felt even more silent than usual. Outside, the faint hum of cultivation filled the air as disciples honed their strength, but within these walls, there was only stillness. Aaryan sat cross-legged on the cold floor, two palm-leaf scrolls resting before him.

He reached out, fingers brushing against the first scroll—the Coiling Serpent Bind. The coarse texture of the leaf felt oddly fitting for a technique shunned by most. He carefully unrolled it, revealing elegant yet precise script detailing the method’s core principles.

Few pursued this technique beyond the early stages—it was considered difficult to master and overly dependent on an opponent’s aggression. Against overwhelming force, it lacked decisive power. But that was precisely why Aaryan had chosen it. He had no interest in direct confrontation. He didn’t need dominance—only control.

The serpent does not fight strength with strength. It coils, adapts, and constricts. Its fangs are secondary—its patience is its true weapon.”

Most disciples sought power that would elevate them immediately. Phantom Mirage Step would have been an easy choice—elusive, practical, and widely respected. But it was also predictable. Many disciples would train in it, and that meant many would train to counter it.

Coiling Serpent Bind, on the other hand, was unpredictable. It was a method that few valued, making it a weapon only a select few would understand. And weapons that were underestimated… were often the deadliest.

It is not a path of dominance, he thought, but of control.

He continued reading. The technique revolved around absorbing an opponent’s force, neutralizing their attack, and subtly redirecting it. Each movement was designed to coil around an enemy’s aggression like a constricting serpent. It did not seek to overpower but to guide—to force an opponent into a position of weakness without them even realizing it.

His fingers traced the intricate illustrations demonstrating various applications of the technique. The first step was learning how to read an opponent’s momentum. The second was refining his grip—not just physical grip, but the ability to latch onto an enemy’s rhythm and exploit it. The third… was making the technique instinctual.

Mastering this would take time—a luxury he couldn't afford to waste.

Aaryan sighed, rolling the scroll shut before placing it carefully to the side. He would begin practicing soon, but first, he had another foundation to lay.

Control was meaningless without endurance. A technique, no matter how refined, would crumble if the body lacked the strength to support it.

With measured movements, he reached for the second scroll—the Purification Sutra.

Unrolling it, he was met with a different kind of script—one that emphasized methodical body refinement. Unlike the Coiling Serpent Bind, which was a combat technique, the Purification Sutra focused entirely on fortifying the body.

"A body burdened with toxins is like a rusted blade. To cultivate strength, one must first be untainted."

This was the first step to true cultivation. Unlike higher-stage techniques that incorporated Urrja, this sutra relied purely on physical tempering—detoxifying impurities, strengthening the internal structure, and preparing the body for the Mahima stage. Herbs, medicinal baths, controlled fasting—these were the methods outlined within. It was less about power and more about preparation, ensuring the body could handle the immense strain of true cultivation when the time came.

Aaryan read through the details carefully. Unlike those born into wealth or noble bloodlines, he couldn’t afford to ignore these fundamentals. Many disciples rushed ahead, eager to wield techniques and unleash power, but their foundations would remain weak. And in this sect, the weak were doomed to fall.

With a slow inhale, he set both scrolls aside and closed his eyes, organizing his thoughts.

Coiling Serpent Bind would be his weapon. The Purification Sutra, his foundation.

One to outmaneuver opponents, the other to prepare his body for true cultivation.

Two paths. One goal.

Survival.

And then—ascension.

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The First Step – Internal Flow Regulation

Aaryan exhaled slowly, steadying his breath as he unrolled the first volume of the Purification Sutra. The inked script, sharp and deliberate, detailed the foundation of all bodily refinement—Internal Flow Regulation.

He adjusted his posture, straightening his back as he cleared his mind. The flickering oil lamp cast long shadows along the chamber walls, its soft light the only movement in the stillness around him. Outside, distant murmurs of disciples training echoed faintly, yet within these walls, there was only him and the ancient text before him.

"Before a body can be strengthened, it must first be stilled."

Aaryan traced the opening words with his fingers, absorbing their meaning. The technique was simple in concept yet demanding in execution—controlled breathing, perfect stillness, and precise internal awareness. Before a cultivator could purge impurities or temper their flesh, they had to understand the natural flow within their own body.

He let the words settle in his mind before closing his eyes. His breathing slowed as he followed the instructions, drawing air in through his nose, holding it just long enough to sense the faintest shifts within, then releasing it steadily.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold.

Time passed. He repeated the process over and over, seeking the elusive sensation the scroll described—a subtle awareness of his body's inner flow. Minutes turned to hours, yet nothing changed.

His back ached slightly from holding the posture, his knees pressing uncomfortably against the stone floor. A single drop of sweat rolled down his temple—not from exertion, but from the sheer stillness of his unmoving form.

Still his body remained silent. No warmth, no sensation of energy shifting, no sign that he was progressing.

Hours passed. His breath remained steady, his focus unbroken. But deep inside, an almost imperceptible question formed—Was he even doing it right? Before the thought could take root, Aaryan exhaled slowly, shaking it off.It was meant to be hard.

If something as fundamental as Internal Flow Regulation could be mastered in mere hours, then those who wielded true strength would be nothing special.

Aaryan slowly opened his eyes, his expression calm. He was not discouraged. The first step was always the most difficult, but that only meant he had taken it.

He adjusted his seated posture slightly and resumed his breathing.

He would try again. And again.

Until he felt it.