Chapter 1: A New Beginning
The spacious training hall echoed with the clatter of combat. Neon lights illuminated the vast expanse, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Students from the prestigious First High School filled the room, each honing their skills and seeking to climb the ranks. Only three hundred students were permitted entrance each year once they’ve gone through extensive testing leading to a strong sense of competition among the students.
Among them, Constance stood tall, his reputation preceding him. He was a formidable freshman, in the top 20 of the combat ranking for his year. Known for his icy demeanor and unparalleled skills, he exuded an aura of power that demanded respect as he strode through the hall.
At the same end of the training hall, Tristan, a timid and introverted freshman, struggled to find his footing as he tripped and bumped into the passing Constance. Tristan occupied the lowest spot on the combat ranking system, a constant reminder of his inadequacy. His dreams of becoming a respected warrior seemed to fade with each passing day.
Constance had noticed Tristan's plight. Perhaps it was the sharp contrast between their ranks that intrigued him, or maybe it was an unspoken desire to prove his superiority. Whatever the reason, a cruel spark danced in his eyes as he approached the fallen Tristan.
As Constance closed the distance, a hushed silence fell upon the room. The students recognized the impending clash, their curiosity piqued. With each step, Constance's presence grew more suffocating, casting an intimidating shadow over the diminutive Tristan.
Tristan, his heart pounding in his chest, nervously gripped the handle of his training sword. His palms grew clammy as Constance stopped a few paces away from him, his gaze piercing through his defenses.
"Tristan," he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension, "I've been waiting for the opportunity to witness Mr.300th in action. Now I wonder how you made it in at all."
A murmur spread among the students, their attention now solely focused on the spectacle unfolding before them. They knew Constance's reputation for being ruthless, but none had seen his coldness directed at someone so clearly outmatched.
Tristan's eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out. His heart sank as he realized the unforgiving eyes of his peers were fixed upon him, waiting for him to crumble beneath Constance's might.
Without warning, Constance lunged forward, his movements swift and precise. He parried Tristan's feeble attempt at defense effortlessly, his strikes landing with controlled accuracy. Blow after blow rained down upon Tristan, each one echoing his growing desperation.
As the fight wore on, Tristan's body became bruised and battered. His spirit wavered, but a flicker of defiance sparked within him. Summoning his remaining strength, he mustered the courage to stand tall.
Constance, almost amused by his futile resistance, prepared for a final strike. But before he could deliver the decisive blow, a voice rang out, resonating through the training hall.
"Enough."
The figure of the combat instructor, a seasoned warrior with a stern expression, appeared at the edge of the training ground. His presence commanded immediate attention, causing both Constance and Tristan to freeze.
"We all know who the victor here is," the instructor continued, his voice firm yet tinged with disappointment. "Any more would be senseless brutality. Go home Constance your dismissed."
Constance, his once fiery eyes now cast downward, slowly retracted his weapon. The weight of his actions settled upon him as he realized the cruelty of his behavior but, swiftly dismissed it rationalizing it as saving Tristan the trouble of trying to survive the cutthroat First Academy despite being so weak.
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The combat instructor turned his attention to Tristan, extending a hand to help him up. " And you, strength is not defined solely by rank, Tristan. It's about determination, resilience, and the will to improve. So buck up the semester has only just begun."
As the training hall gradually resumed its normal rhythm, Constance and Tristan exchanged a fleeting glance. At that moment, a silent idea formed, a shared understanding that unless Tristan got stronger rapidly this would not be the only incident.
Constance, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions, slowly packed up his training gear. Though a pang of guilt tugged at his conscience, he pushed it aside, rationalizing his behavior as a misguided act of mercy. Saving Tristan from the cutthroat nature of the First Academy, he convinced himself, was a twisted form of kindness.
As he made his way through the bustling halls of the school, students parted like a sea, giving him a wide berth. Whispers followed in his wake, the rumors of his cold-hearted bullying echoing through the corridors. Constance paid them no mind, his gaze fixed straight ahead, his thoughts consumed by the intricate workings of the Ten Numbered High schools.
Within the modern-day world, students were not merely cultivators honing their combat skills. They were strategic weapons for the government, due to every one of them being lucky enough to have the one out of ten-thousand chance of possessing a personal dimension within themselves. These dimensions varied in size, ranging from a single building to a vast planet, each unique to the cultivator.
Through their personal dimensions, cultivators could tap into the skills and abilities of the top individuals that lived within their private realms. It was a symbiotic relationship, where cultivators would invest time and effort to encourage progress and development in their dimensions, hoping to reap the benefits in return.
Constance possessed exceptional talents, a genius among cultivators. As a result, he was capable of possessing ten abilities from the individuals within his dimension. It was a rare gift that granted him a wide array of skills and knowledge. In contrast, failures like Tristan were limited to only three abilities, while the average cultivator could possess five.
The weight of this knowledge settled heavily upon Constance's shoulders, a constant reminder of his own prowess and the vast potential he possessed. But it also served as a reminder of the limitations imposed upon others, like Tristan. A deep-rooted frustration gnawed at him, fueling his determination to excel further and rise above the world around him.
Upon arriving home, Constance stepped into a wealthy and luxurious mansion, a testament to his family's affluence. However, the emptiness of the house matched the void in his heart. His parents, consumed by their own ambitions, were absent once again, leaving behind a short note detailing their prolonged absence.
A wave of desolation washed over Constance, his depression deepening as he felt the weight of isolation. He retreated to his room, a sanctuary amidst the opulence, to immerse himself in the work on his personal dimension.
Within the confines of his chamber, Constance poured himself into the task. Manipulating the energy that flowed through his body, he accessed the boundless expanse of his personal dimension. The realm extended before him, a massive city sprawled out before him.
With every thought and action, Constance shaped his dimension, adding elements that would foster growth and advancement according to his desires. He meticulously orchestrated the environment, ensuring that the people and things within would progress rapidly to mastery of the skills he employed like the blade he used earlier while beating Triston.
As Constance delved into the depths of his personal dimension, a sprawling cityscape materialized before him. Towering buildings, bustling streets, and the hum of energy filled the air. It was a testament to his meticulous design and unwavering determination to create an environment conducive to growth and progress.
Amidst the vast expanse of his personal dimension, Constance's attention was drawn to the most advanced dojo in the city. Its grandeur surpassed any other training ground within his realm. The dojo stood as a beacon of aspiration, where the most skilled individuals honed their combat abilities.
Driven by his insatiable hunger for power, Constance reached into the real world, grasping a finely crafted blade. He brought the gleaming weapon into his personal dimension, the transition seamless as it seamlessly integrated into the dojo's arsenal.
Placing the blade amidst a display of other formidable weapons, Constance's intentions were clear. It was a symbol of challenge and inspiration, a call to arms for the inhabitants of his dimension to strive for greater heights. The presence of the weapon would serve as a catalyst, driving them to train harder and surpass their current limitations.
Observing from the sidelines, Constance's eyes glinted with a mixture of determination and anticipation. He knew that the progress made within his personal dimension would ultimately reflect upon him, allowing him to tap into the enhanced skills and abilities of those who dwelled within.
As he watched the residents of the dojo gather around the newly placed blade, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and determination. Their collective spirit surged, fueled by the tangible symbol of improvement before them. They sensed the challenge and understood the unspoken expectation placed upon their shoulders.
With each swing of the blade, with every drop of sweat shed in training, the inhabitants of Constance's personal dimension would push their limits, seeking to master their chosen combat disciplines. The sounds of clashes and the echoes of determination reverberated throughout the dojo, resonating with Constance's own ambitions.
At that moment, amidst the heart of his personal dimension, Constance realized that his pursuit of strength extended beyond his own desires. It was a cycle of growth and inspiration, where he uplifted others to push the boundaries of their potential, all in pursuit of his own self-improvement.
As the inhabitants of the dojo immersed themselves in training, Constance felt a flicker of purpose ignite within him. The weight of his abilities, the power bestowed upon him, now had a greater meaning. It was not just a privilege to be exploited but a responsibility to guide and motivate others toward their own greatness. If only he could show them how useless those weaklings like Triston were.