It’s been two months of this daily ritual, and almost two months since he last saw his dad. Last time he saw him, Adam was still studying this energy. He’s come a long way since then. His understanding of the language improved fast—his experience with learning many tongues in his past life definitely helped. Now he could catch basic words and simple sentences here and there.

  As for the energy? He finally knows its name—Qi. Just like mana, it governs this world’s laws. But it's weird, the way it flows changes what it does, like tuning a spell differently depending on the rhythm. He spent a lot of time just watching people train while sitting in his mother’s arms. She had no idea, thought he was just a baby staring at colors and lights. But every time someone performed a technique or circulated energy, Adam paid attention. He memorized everything. Those moments were like puzzle pieces. Slowly, they started to click.

  His progress is insane. He reached almost 80% of what he needs to understand. Less than a month and he'll have the whole thing cracked, if things keep going this smoothly. He didn't even start cultivating yet, but still—his mind was clearer lately. Whether it’s from finally adjusting to the body or the nonstop mental work, maybe both. Not that it matters. He doesn’t have time to figure it out. Right now, what he needs is to wait until his vocal cords grow enough to actually speak. He’s already been acting smarter than a normal baby, and his parents noticed. That’ll help sell it when he finally talks. But until then, the night is here, and he’s too tired to fight it. He lets sleep pull him in.

  Far away, somewhere else entirely, a massive battle rages.

  Swords clashed on the ground while a dozen powerful cultivators stood above it all, throwing elemental techniques like it was nothing—ice spikes, wind slashes, fireballs. Too fast for the average person to even track. Below them, regular soldiers fought blind, only feeling the shockwaves of something far above their level.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Among them, Lake stood tall, a spear in hand, locked in a brutal one-on-one against a bald man with a bulky frame. The man grinned, voice full of mockery.

  “You’re Lake, aren’t you? Pathetic. You had so much promise. Now look at you, some soft family man. Maybe I should pay your woman a visit. Irina, right? Pretty little—”

  Lake's eyes narrowed. His grip on the spear tightened like a vice.

  “You better keep her name off that filthy tongue. Fragmented Earth!”

  A dozen jagged shards of rock rose from the ground, circling the burly man like hungry wolves. Then they launched. The man barely had time to throw his arms up. The dust exploded on impact.

  Silence.

  Then—footsteps. Fast.

  Lake stepped back, spear raised. The man burst through the dust cloud, bleeding but still grinning like a maniac.

  “Iron Skin!”

  A dull sheen crawled across his skin like living armor. He charged, fists like hammers. Lake blocked the first few hits, but they were heavier now, each strike shaking his arms. He was getting pushed back. One slip was all it took—the man broke through, landed a heavy punch to Lake’s chest. Lake flew back, tumbling across the dirt before planting his spear and catching himself.

  He groaned, clutching his chest. Breathing heavy. Pain blooming under his ribs.

  Still, he stood.

  Eyes locked forward, he raised his spear with one hand, steadied his breath, and spoke:

  “Spear Technique—Absolute Drill. Movement Technique—Blinding Dash.”

  It was risky—two techniques at once, especially at his level. But there was no choice.

  A flash of light.

  Then silence.

  Lake reappeared behind the burly man, now motionless. A chunk of the man’s side was just… gone. He dropped without another word.

  Lake stood for a moment longer… then his knees gave in too. The exhaustion caught up at last.