After paying the coins he collected to the old woman, Ryne walked outside, his destination was the well near the chicken farm.

He touched his back, he could still feel the stinging pain.

Ryne winced as his fingers brushed over the bruised skin of his back. The old woman hadn’t held back, and the pain lingered, a reminder of his current weakness. He clenched his jaw, pushing through it as he walked deeper into the slums.

The streets were nearly deserted now, the market’s bustling energy replaced by the quiet of the night. Only a few shadowy figures lingered in the alleys, watching from a distance but making no move to approach. Ryne knew the slums well enough to understand that as long as he didn’t draw attention to himself, they would leave him alone.

Ryne stepped closer to the well, lowering the bucket into the water and pulling it back up with a practiced motion. The cool night air mixed with the faint, earthy scent of the well water as he lifted the bucket to his lips, drinking deeply. The cold liquid soothed his parched throat, refreshing him after the day’s trials.

He splashed some water over his face and neck, washing away the grime and sweat, before finally turning his attention to his back. Gritting his teeth, he dipped his hand into the bucket and splashed the water onto the bruises. The cold water stung at first but quickly numbed the pain, offering some relief.

Leaning against the side of the well, Ryne closed his eyes and let out a slow, controlled breath.

There was a reason why he chose well near the chicken farm, there exists prana the life force of every beings, it is said to be the positive and purest form of energy. If there is a positive energy then there is a negative one as well, it is called corrupted prana which is the exact opposite prana, a dark and twisted essence that thrived on negativity and despair. It is abudent in places like graveyard and farms where lots of lives are losing.

In this chicken farm atleast 10-20 chickens dies each day if I could just gather the corrupted prana and fuse it with prana I could create a fusion semi-core.

Ryne opened his eyes, his fingers tracing the edge of the well as he contemplated the power that lay dormant around him. The idea of merging two opposing forces—prana, the life-giving energy, and corrupted prana, the essence of decay—was dangerous, but it had the potential to give him an edge. He needed something stronger than the pure energy that flowed through the world. His current state of weakness would never be enough to break the chains that bound him to the slums and the old woman’s control.

Looking toward the chicken farm, Ryne’s thoughts darkened. Every day, the cycle of life and death churned here, unnoticed by most. The corruption lingered in the soil, in the feathers strewn about the ground, and in the blood that stained the dirt. If he could tap into it, draw out the essence of death and mix it with the prana he could forge something entirely new—something neither pure nor dark, but balanced.

A semi-core was not just a source of power; it was a foundation, a piece of magical essence that could amplify one’s abilities. Most practitioners stuck to one type of energy—either the pure or corrupted. Building a semi-core was the first step towards the endless power that he had hoped to obtain.

But it would be risky. He had no teacher for this, no guide to warn him of the dangers. If the balance tipped too far in one direction, he could lose control of the energy, allowing the corruption to overtake him entirely. But if he succeeded… if he mastered the fusion, he could wield an immense, unpredictable power.

In his previous life, he focused on the corrupted prana. It was way to late when he learnt about fusion semi-core. But this life was different, it was like the heavens themselves bestowed him the chance.

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He took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs, and prepared himself. Tonight, he wouldn’t just gather prana or corrupted prana. Tonight, he would start the process of building his semi-core.

Ryne crouched down by the well, placing his hands on the cool stones. He allowed his senses to extend outward, feeling the subtle currents of prana that lingered in the water. It was pure, flowing, vibrant—life itself in liquid form. He drew it in slowly, letting it seep into him like water through a dry sponge.

Then, his gaze shifted toward the chicken farm. The air felt different there, thicker, weighed down by the remnants of death. He had learned in his previous life how to manipulate it, how to bend it to his will, but this time he needed to be more careful. Instead of letting it consume him, he would bind it, contain it within the confines of his core.

"Focus," Ryne muttered to himself. "Find the balance."

He stayed in the meditation pose, even after trying for sometime he couldn't gather the corrupted prana. "I completely forgot I couldn't simply gather the corrupted prana, I need the heart of a corrupted beast."

He exhaled slowly, calming himself as the memories of his past life surfaced. A corrupted beast’s heart was more than just a piece of flesh—it was a conduit for negative energy, a nexus that could control and gather the corrupted prana he sought. Without it, the corrupted prana would remain elusive, slipping away like water through his fingers.

Ryne stood, his muscles aching from the strain of sitting too long in the cold night. He had come to the well with hope, but now he understood he needed to prepare more thoroughly. Finding a corrupted beast in this part of the slums wouldn’t be easy. They were rare, dangerous creatures that thrived in places tainted by deep despair and decay.

"Looks like the next step is hunting," Ryne muttered to himself. He knew of one place in the city outskirts, a forest where corrupted beasts were rumored to roam. It would be risky, but he didn’t have much of a choice. If he wanted to create the semi-core, he needed that heart.

He cast one last glance toward the chicken farm. The corrupted prana still lingered there, faint and tempting, but without the heart, it was beyond his grasp.

As he walked back through the dimly lit streets of the slums, his mind churned with possibilities. The outskirts of the city, where the dense, dark forests began, were rumored to harbor all manner of dangerous beasts.

He has hunted many corrupted beasts in his previous life in order to strengthen his cores strength, so he knew how difficult it would be in his current state.

"There is a way that I could hunt a corrupted beast" he muttered, "I need to relay on weapons."

Ryne’s steps quickened as he made his way back toward his shack, his mind racing with thoughts of the hunt. His body was weak, and without proper weapons or tools, he knew his chances were slim. Still, he couldn’t afford to delay. Every moment wasted was another day trapped under the old woman’s control.

He entered his shack and looked around at the meager possessions scattered about. There was nothing of value here—nothing that could serve him in the hunt. His gaze fell on an old, sturdy wooden stick leaning against the wall. It was far from ideal, but it was all he had.

Ryne picked it up, testing its weight in his hands. It felt solid enough, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough to take down a corrupted beast. Still, he could use it to defend himself, perhaps disorient a beast long enough to strike at its heart.

"I can’t rely on just brute strength," Ryne murmured to himself.

Ryne stood still, his breath steady as he gripped the wooden stick like a sword. His feet were planted firmly on the ground, his stance solid but fluid, like the mist itself. He had learned the Sky Breaking Swordsmanship in his previous life,

and although he had no real sword now, the essence of the Sky Breaking Swordsmanship lived within his every move. The technique is passed down in the Southern Sky sects outer disciples, where Ryne had once trained before his reincarnation. The sect was notorious for its rigorous training, particularly for its focus on balance, speed, and precision. It was a style that relied not on raw power, but on mastering the flow of energy and movement, blending into the world like mist in the wind.

He twirled the wooden stick with fluid grace, mimicking the techniques he had once mastered. The weight of the stick was far lighter than a sword, but Ryne made do, focusing on maintaining his posture and balance. The first form of the Sky Breaking Swordsmanship, Falling Star Strike, was meant to quickly subdue his opponent with a quick powerful strike In his weakened state, this form was the most valuable; it allowed him to strike quickly, avoiding direct confrontation.

"With this, I can at least buy myself time," he thought, as he shifted into the second form, Cloud Piercer.

This form was more direct, designed for breaking through an enemy’s defenses with sharp, controlled strikes aimed at vital points. His body moved as if by instinct, feet gliding across the floor of his shack as he executed the pattern, imagining the strikes landing true. It was far from perfect, especially without a sword, but it was all he had.

As the final movement ended, Ryne lowered the stick and exhaled slowly. His body ached, not just from the strain of practice, but from the beating he’d received earlier. Still, he felt more prepared, mentally if not physically. The hunt for the corrupted beast was risky, but necessary.

He had a plan now. The forest outskirts awaited him, filled with dangerous creatures, and though his weapon was nothing more than a wooden stick, he had something more valuable—his experience from a past life. The Southern Sky Sect’s techniques would be his edge.

Ryne placed the wooden stick against the wall and lay down on the floor, His muscles protested, but he knew that rest was essential. Tomorrow, he would venture into the forest, and the hunt for the corrupted beast would begin.

As he closed his eyes, his thoughts drifted back to his old sect. The Southern Sky Sect had always emphasized the importance of perseverance. "The sky may break, but you must never fall," his old master had said.

Ryne smirked slightly at the memory. He wouldn’t fall. Not this time.