Chapter 2: Hidden Cave Abode

  Inside a quiet cave, the rock wall on one side rippled as a little boy stumbled through it with an outstretched hand. Damon glanced around with shining eyes. The cavern he had entered was higher than even the village Chief’s house, and wide enough that a dog could run around freely without feeling cramped. A round crystalline stone was embedded in the center of the ceiling, emitting a clear, white luminous glow. Although he had never seen such a mysterious object before, something further within the cave caught his immediate attention.

  At the end of this hall-like space, there was a small pool of opalescent, yet translucent, liquid glowing with an ethereal luster. Sitting next to this pool was a worn-out skeleton, draped in strange clothing. It was too old to determine the quality or design of the cloak, but he had never seen this type of material before.

  His toes curled within his shoes as Damon glanced left and right. After making sure nothing was moving, he finally began approaching the skeleton, albeit slowly. When he arrived beside the pool, he could smell a faintly sweet aroma drifting from the glowing liquid. He reached out to touch the hood of the cloak covering the skeleton. When his fingers brushed against the fabric, the skeleton disintegrated into dust, leaving behind three items on the ground. An archaic, leather-bound tome, the mysterious yet plain cloak, and a simple, unadorned pouch.

  Alarmed by the skeleton’s sudden collapse, Damon leapt back and tripped over his own feet. He stumbled and rolled around in the empty cave, causing the heavy carpet of dust on the floor to drift up in a dense shroud. Coughing, he quickly stood up and dusted off his clothes, now coated in grime.

  Although he inherently knew that there could not possibly be anyone else here, he glanced around at his surroundings to ensure nobody witnessed his silly antics. Rubbing his nose as his ears turned hot, he glared at the location where the skeleton had been seated.

  “Stupid skeleton, why did it have to fall when I touched it? If it were that old, why couldn't it have fallen earlier?” Damon cursed out loud. He approached the pool again and saw the three items covered in dust on the ground.

  “Why did the skeleton fall apart, but these things look completely fine?” Damon picked up the pouch first and hefted it in his hand. He tossed it in the air, and it fell back into his palm the same as any normal object. However, the weight was almost nonexistent. He poked the pouch for a while longer before stopping. The pouch was smooth like silk, yet warm like a furry coat. He then grasped the top of the pouch and tried to pull it open, but it did not budge, no matter how hard he pulled.

  “What the heck? Why won’t this thing open? Did it become sealed shut because so much time has passed, just like how it is very hard to open a jar of preserved fruit after leaving it for the whole winter?” Damon was unsure if the pouch followed the same principle.

  Damon placed the pouch back down and then picked up the cloak. The fabric was smooth and cool to touch, belying its current appearance as a worn-out gray cloak. It had no visible markings, both inside and out. He draped it over himself and discovered that it was slightly too big for him to wear, but it might fit in a few more years. Although it had weathered the passing of time, it had a faint smoky scent.

  “This cloak is quite nice to touch, and is very comfortable even if it looks so shoddy on the outside. If I run around wearing this in the village, I’ll look like one of those mountain hermits that sometimes come to trade for resources.” Damon smiled slightly and chuckled as he briefly envisioned a future of himself as a mountain hermit.

  Shaking the thought away, Damon gazed down at the final item on the ground. The book looked quite weathered and was bound by what looked to be leather. The pages were yellowed, and there was a distinctive musty smell to it. He gently picked it up, afraid it might also fall apart like the skeleton, and carefully dusted off the cover. Underneath the layer of grit, strange and mysterious characters were revealed, glistening with a soft light.

  “Mother taught me how to read and write, but I’ve never seen letters that look like this before… Is it the language of a different land? Father did mention that far away, people who speak differently from us exist…” Damon scrunched up his brows and tried to make sense of the strange glyphs inscribed into the cover. Having made no headway, he decided to just open up the first page and see if he could understand anything there. A blinding light erupted the moment he opened it, causing him to yell out and hurriedly cover his eyes with his arms.

  The burning pain that afflicted Damon’s eyes slowly disappeared, and he finally lowered his arms to look around. The cave was now gone, and he was within a pitch black space. He couldn’t even be sure if he was standing, as he didn’t feel anything under his feet. He tried to walk forward, but it did not lead him anywhere. He was breathing, yet he could not feel the air traveling through his throat. It was silent, and he could not smell anything either.

  Just as he was starting to feel a bit anxious, Damon saw a figure gradually materialize before him. The blurry figure became more distinctive and soon resembled any random grandpa you could find in the village, just wearing very expensive-looking robes with a grandiose design.

  “Greetings, young friend.” The booming voice of a wise old man reverberated.

  “H… Hello…?” replied Damon, tilting his head as he looked at the smiling senior.

  “I am sure you are very confused and have many questions. We are currently inside a mental dimension of my creation. I did not expect it to be this long before my remains were found, but alas, I no longer have the capacity to be frustrated. I left behind this strand of memory so that I can pass along my inheritance to a suitable cultivator. Lamentably, I do not have the option to be picky anymore, so you will have to do.”

  The voice from earlier rang out again, but the old man’s mouth did not move. Damon did not understand where it was coming from and looked around. He called out toward the black space. “Who are you? Where are you speaking from? Mental dimension? Inheritance? Cultivator? I don’t understand anything that you are saying.”

  “Young friend, you need not look further. It is I, the old man in front of you, who is speaking. I am currently using my power to speak directly to your mind, as you would not understand the language of my tongue otherwise. Don’t worry, you will understand once you start your cultivation. The book you opened is an art I developed during the final chapter of my life. Before I could hand it down, I met my demise.”

  “Demise? I know that word. Does that mean… You’re a ghost?” Damon asked with wide eyes, his pupils quivering. However, this immediately brought his thoughts to his parents. “Can you find other ghosts? Did my mother and father turn into ghosts, too?”

  The old man momentarily stopped speaking as his right eyelid twitched involuntarily. He ignored Damon’s words and continued with his soliloquy. “I was a prominent mind cultivator romping around the continent without any opposition. A mind cultivator is someone who learns to control the power of the mind.”

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  Here, the old man paused and waved his hand. This caused the surrounding scenery to change into a barren wasteland.

  “We control solid objects with a formless force called mental power. Like so.”

  The old man pointed at a small mountain in the distance, upon which it started quaking violently before being slowly lifted into the air. A moment later, the old man pointed downward, causing the airborne mountain to crash down heavily with a resounding boom. The shockwaves from the collision reached Damon in an instant, ruffling his hair and clothes.

  “We can also use this power to affect the minds of others through illusions.”

  The old man then clapped his hands, causing the barren wasteland to melt, revealing a new scene. It was now an elegant hall, containing tables filled with lavish dishes and pretty ladies serving refreshments. To the side, a large ensemble was playing a pleasant tune. One of the ladies even approached Damon before placing a piece of fruit into his mouth. He chewed slowly, the juices exploding and coating his tongue in sweetness.

  The grandpa clapped again, and the surroundings became pitch black again. Damon rolled his tongue in his mouth, the taste of the fruit having disappeared as though it were a dream.

  “There are no limitations to the might of the mind, except for the vastness of your imagination. To summarize, you can think of us as people with the ability to alter reality with our thoughts.”

  With furrowed brows, Damon tried to make sense of everything he had seen and felt.

  What just happened? Was that real? I felt the wind, and tasted the fruit… But that’s not the important thing. Can he find my mother and father or not?

  “I grew complacent with my strength and standing, travelling far past the boundaries of the charted territories. As misfortune would have it, I encountered an ill-fated adversary during my journey and ended up battling for life and death.”

  The old man clicked his fingers this time, causing the scenery to change once more. This time, they were located above an endless mountain range, filled with tall snowy peaks. Two figures were floating in the sky in the distance. It was the same old man standing beside him, facing off against a large man wielding a long spear. This man seemed to be ‘walking’ toward the grandpa, rather than flying.

  The scene changed rapidly, the two moving so quickly their silhouettes were just a fleeting blur. It displayed an intense and grand battle. Swarms of swords surged through the air, encircling the man. The man broke through the onslaught with a single swing of his spear’s blade. He leaped toward the grandpa, slashing down his spear, creating shockwaves that pushed back the flying weapons.

  The grandpa’s hands made strange shapes before pointing at the man. The man abruptly bounced around in the air, as though he were a puppet being controlled by a puppeteer. The swarm of weapons encompassed the man while he was pulled back and forth. Once again, they were forced back by the man’s swings. This time, the man was obviously injured.

  Such engagements went on for a while before a final clash between the man and the grandpa ensued. The grandpa gathered his hands above his head, upon which a transparent sword-shaped distortion formed in his grasp. The two men rushed at each other and clashed directly. The large man fell from the skies, down into the mountains below, while the grandpa hunched over while clutching his chest.

  During the battle, Damon had felt the wind blowing from the residual shockwaves again. At the last collision, he even felt his chest tighten as he watched the grandpa curl up. This feeling… Am I feeling what the Grandpa felt in these scenes?

  “Although I was able to win the battle and vanquish my foe, I was regrettably left with severe injuries to my consciousness. I quickly fled the scene in fear that a passing cultivator would notice the signs of battle, and in my haste, I was unable to recover any of my artifacts used during the combat, nor was I able to retreat to the safety of my clan.”

  “Sorry, Mr Ghost, could you please explain what’s going on? I still can’t understand…” Damon asked politely.

  “Hush, boy! Do not distract me! I spent many millennia forming the perfect deliverance, but you are testing my patience! Just wait a bit longer. The presentation is almost over.”

  A dry rumble resounded through the space. It sounded as though the old man had cleared his throat, but Damon wasn’t sure because the grandpa’s throat and mouth remained motionless.

  “During my earlier travels, I had come across this misty mountain, and my investigation revealed the Mind Essence spring located within. At the time, I wasn’t bothered to collect it, but it saved me during my time of need. The Mindsoul Dew, produced by the spring, aids in the recovery of injury to the consciousness.”

  This time, the scene changed to the same hidden cave Damon had discovered. A bloody and haggard old man sat next to the glowing pool of opalescent liquid, drinking it in large gulps.

  “Using this Dew, I was able to stabilize my soul and thwart the immediate danger of death. Although unable to access my former powers, I found a means that could allow me to return to the peak of my cultivation. It was to re-cultivate the mind path using a new method.”

  The strange words and countless scenes rushing past had caused Damon’s thoughts to cloud and the world to spin. However, his mind cleared as the grandpa in the scene drank mouthful after mouthful of the white liquid. Able to think straight now, he put his focus on remembering the one word he deemed the most important. Cultivation.

  “Mr Ghost, what is cultivation?”

  A whooshing sound rang out, similar to the sound of a sigh. The old man had been staring upward and gesticulating as he explained his life story. He finally looked at Damon again.

  “Cultivation is a process of accumulating power. The sort of strength that differentiates you from a bug that can be squashed by others.”

  Damon tilted his head as he thought about those words. He focused on one word. Power? Can I become strong with this cultivation?

  The old man rubbed his temples before raising his chin again. He continued his performance.

  “Thanks to my extensive accomplishments in cultivation, I was able to invent a brand new art that far surpassed the original manual I cultivated. It had all the benefits, with the only drawback being a slower, yet sturdier foundation. Using simulated injuries as a stepping stone, it strengthens and boosts power. Woefully, by the time I had finished producing this art, my lifeforce had come to an end. I had to resign myself to passing this art as an inheritance. It is the culmination of my life’s struggles and ambitions.”

  Damon was still lost in thought. If I can get this cultivation thing from this grandpa… I can take revenge for my parents. The one who killed them is dead… But the rest of the bandits are still out there. His small hands clenched into fists, and his eyes flared with a harsh light.

  “Child, I am well aware that you did not understand most of what I have spoken, but I needed to say it for my own peace of mind. I have left behind a tome containing the cultivation art, alongside a storage pouch carrying the rest of my belongings. Although there’s not much left, I am sure it will still be useful for your initial foray into the cultivation world. I will also imprint a temporary mental rune on your consciousness to help you start your journey. I hope you can utilize the art I designed to ascend higher than I have ever been. Although I do not insist that you call me Master, I beseech you to at least remember the following names. This cultivation art is called the Mindspire Tempering Sutra, and… the creator is… SILAS ALDEWYN!”

  The voice grew increasingly louder as it got to the last sentence, and the final two words filled with pride echoed continuously in Damon’s mind. He felt a searing heat on his forehead as his surroundings grew brighter and brighter until his entire vision was filled with white light again. The name Silas Aldewyn would forever be branded in a corner of his mind.