Chapter 20: The Cultivation Island
The bustling atmosphere of the airport surrounded Patrick and Lester as they made their way through the crowd, rolling their luggage behind them. The excitement in the air was palpable, and it mirrored the emotions stirring within them. After their journey to Manila and a few restful days at a motel, they now found themselves at the threshold of something new—something extraordinary. Today, they looked the part of cultivators.
Both had changed in some way since they first set out on their path. Patrick’s muscular frame was now more pronounced, his bright orange robe flowing around him with an air of confidence. Lester, on the other hand, wore a dark gray robe that had once belonged to his father. The robe had a black elastic belt at the waist, its hem stopping just above his knees. Loose gray pants tucked into sturdy black boots completed his look. Despite his initial hesitation, the comfort and freedom of movement offered by the robe had won him over. This, combined with Patrick’s enthusiastic encouragement, made him embrace the traditional attire of cultivators.
They received plenty of stares from civilians as they waited for their plane at the bustling Manila Airport. The terminal buzzed with activity—people rushing to their gates, families reuniting with tearful embraces, and the constant crackle of announcements over the intercom. Yet, amid the ordinary chaos, all eyes seemed to gravitate toward Patrick and Lester.
Lester felt the weight of their gazes, a mixture of curiosity, awe, and apprehension. Whispers followed their every move, and he caught fragments of conversations.
“Are they cultivators?”
“They look strong, but I’ve never seen them before…”
“Maybe they’re from one of the new sects?”
A few brave souls approached, their expressions a mixture of admiration and excitement. “Excuse me,” a young man asked hesitantly, “could I get a picture with you both?”
Another chimed in, “What’s your rank among cultivators? Are you affiliated with Cultivation Island?”
Patrick exchanged a glance with Lester, his grin fading into a polite but firm smile. “Sorry, not today,” he said, waving them away.
Lester nodded in agreement. “We’re just travelers for now,” he added. “No ranks, no affiliations.”
Their words were met with a few disappointed murmurs, but most people respected their privacy and stepped back, continuing to steal glances from a distance.
As they settled into a quiet corner of the terminal, Patrick leaned back against the chair, his arms crossed. “I didn’t think we’d get recognized this early,” he muttered, watching the crowd with wary eyes.
Lester shrugged, his tone calm but thoughtful. “It’s the world we live in now. Cultivators are the new celebrities—everyone wants to know who’s rising through the ranks. But we’re not there yet.”
Patrick smirked. “And even if we were, I’m not interested in fame. I’d rather be strong and unknown than famous and weak.”
Lester chuckled. “Same here. Let them wonder for now.”
They returned to their quiet observation, the noise of the airport fading into the background. Their time came to board the plane and in the matter of hours they were at their destination.
The Cultivation Island Airport was unlike any other they had seen. The towering glass ceilings allowed natural light to flood the expansive terminal, and everywhere they looked, people wore robes or battletech armor. Swords, axes, and other weapons were slung casually over the backs of travelers, yet no one raised an eyebrow. This was a place where strength ruled, and the usual norms of modern life didn’t apply.
Patrick nudged Lester, pointing excitedly toward a tall man in sleek blue armor. “Look! Is that the Spearman of Dawn?”
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Lester followed Patrick’s gaze, seeing the man with a massive spear strapped across his back, its spearhead carefully covered in leather. The man walked with confidence as his buzzcut had better waves than the beaches of Rio.
“Maybe,” Lester said, trying to temper his own excitement. “But remember, we’re cultivators now too. We should have some composure. Especially here, where the world’s strongest gather.”
Cultivation Island was more than a place—it was a symbol of Earth’s new reality. Ever since the crash that changed everything, it had become the epicenter of cultivation, where humans learned to harness World Qi and defend themselves against beasts and other threats. This airport, their first stop on the island, was their gateway to that world.
…
The battle with the binturong still lingered in Lester’s mind. His chest had healed, but the memory of how close he came to death haunted him. It had been a brutal reminder of how unprepared he was. Here, on the island, he hoped to change that. He couldn’t afford to be weak, not when the world around him was changing so quickly.
Patrick walked with a bounce in his step, his eyes sparkling as they passed through the airport. “We’re really doing this, huh?!”
Lester smiled at his friend’s enthusiasm, though inwardly he remained cautious. He had come a long way from the hesitant man he once was, but he knew better than to let excitement cloud his judgment. His gaze wandered to the people around them, noticing the variety of styles and shapes. Some wore simple robes like them, while others had opted for more advanced battletech armor.
There was a story behind every outfit. While robes were light and allowed for quick movement, battletech armor offered protection for cultivators who didn’t possess strong defensive techniques. The robes, however, had been made popular by the Water Prince, one of Earth’s most powerful cultivators, whose mastery of water-based techniques had inspired countless others. Battletech armor, meanwhile, was favored by close-combat fighters like the Spearman of Dawn, who needed the extra protection when facing stronger foes. The cost difference between the two was substantial, with armor commanding a steep price compared to robes.
Lester’s own robe carried its own significance. His father, a collector of artifacts and memorabilia from around the world, had given it to him. Though Lester hadn’t been keen on wearing it at first due to his memories, it had grown on him, especially now that he understood how much it meant in the world of cultivation.
…
As they made their way through the terminal, a few people glanced curiously at Lester, their eyes drawn to the small black gem embedded in his glabella. But in a place like this, where people walked around with cat ears, multiple eyes, or intricate tattoos that glowed with power, Lester was hardly unusual. Cultivation often led to strange and powerful transformations, and those with unique abilities wore them openly.
Lester and Patrick continued walking, their conversation light but tinged with the weight of what lay ahead.
“Once we sign up and get our identification badges, we’ll officially represent Earth as cultivators,” Lester mused aloud.
Patrick nodded eagerly. “And from what I’ve read, the Cultivation Island doesn’t bind you to them like those sects and schools popping up everywhere. They just ask you to take on missions to defend parts of the world in exchange for privileges. We’re saving lives and getting stronger—what’s not to love?”
Patrick had a point. Many factions had sprung up across the globe, offering training in exchange for loyalty. Some were backed by governments, while others were led by individual cultivators like the Boulder Brawler, who had started his own school. Cultivation Island, however, had taken a different approach, fostering a sense of unity and purpose without demanding complete allegiance.
Lester nodded, though he was still mindful of the dangers ahead. For all its promise, this world was ruthless, and even the strongest cultivators had fallen.
…
The airport was immaculate, with shining floors and towering windows that allowed the sunlight to bathe the entire space. As they passed stores selling robes, weapons, and food, Patrick couldn’t help but gawk like a tourist. “Look at this place! It smells great, too! Can you believe they built all of this in such a short time?”
Lester chuckled. “Yeah, they moved fast. It’s hard to believe how much they’ve accomplished.”
The glass doors ahead glowed in the morning sunlight, and as they stepped outside, the city revealed itself. It wasn’t large, but it was vibrant. Paths led from the airport toward the city’s heart, lined with cypress trees and patches of green grass. Cultivators of all kinds milled about, chatting, training, and living their lives. The lack of cars and the absence of normal civilians gave the place an otherworldly feel, as though it was cut off from the rest of society.
Patrols of cultivators in tight suits passed by, their uniforms adorned with a shooting star symbol above a globe. These were the island’s guards, responsible for maintaining order and security.
As Lester and Patrick took in the view, a shared sense of excitement coursed through them. This was it—the next step in their journey.
“Let’s go,” Lester said, his voice filled with determination.
With that, they set off toward the center of the city, their hearts racing as they walked into the unknown.