The sunrise over Jakarta was a jagged line of gold and grey, but for the Wijaya family, the morning light brought no warmth. Inside their opulent mansion, the air was thick with the scent of expensive coffee and cold panic.
Linda sat at the head of the mahogany dining table, her hand trembling so violently that the fine bone china rattled against its saucer. Across from her, Siska stared at her reflection in the dark surface of her phone. Her eyes were rimmed with red, a sign of a sleepless night she couldn't quite explain.
"How is this possible?" Linda shrieked, slamming a tablet onto the table. "Three of our major distribution contracts were canceled at midnight! The banks are calling in our short-term loans, and the stock price for Wijaya Textiles has dropped fifteen percent in pre-market trading!"
Siska finally looked up, her voice hollow. "It's not just the business, Mother. Kevin... his father called. Kevin is in the ICU. They say his leg is shattered in a way that defies medical logic. The doctors say the bone didn't just break; it turned to powder."
Linda's face contorted. "That bastard Arga! It's his fault! He did something to Kevin, and now he's probably hiding in some gutter, laughing at us. Siska, you must call the police. We need to put out an arrest warrant for assault and attempted murder!"
"On what grounds, Mother?" Siska asked, a spark of uncharacteristic frustration lighting her eyes. "There were twenty witnesses. Everyone saw Kevin try to attack Arga first. And the security guards? They won't even talk. They're terrified. One of them quit this morning and moved his entire family out of the city."
"I don't care!" Linda screamed. "We are the Wijayas! We have connections! We have—"
The massive oak doors of the dining room swung open. An assistant, pale and sweating, stumbled in. "Madam... the tax authorities are at the front gate. They have a warrant to seize all financial records dating back five years. And... the construction permit for our new shopping mall has been revoked by the Governor's office."
Linda fell back into her chair, her breath hitching. "The Governor? But we donated millions to his campaign! He wouldn't—"
"He did," the assistant whispered. "He said he received a direct order from the 'Peak of the Clouds.' He didn't even give a reason."
Siska's heart skipped a beat. The Peak of the Clouds. It was a name whispered in the highest circles of power—a fortress where the true masters of the country resided. A place her family had spent decades trying to gain an invitation to.
Why would they care about us? Siska wondered. Unless...
A sudden, terrifying memory of Arga's eyes flashed in her mind. They hadn't been the eyes of the man she had looked down on for three years. They had been the eyes of something ancient, something that viewed her entire world as a grain of sand.
Five miles away, at the Peak of the Clouds, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the chaos of the Wijaya mansion.
Arga stood on the balcony of his meditation suite, his shirt discarded. His skin, once pale and thin, was now the color of burnished bronze. The muscles across his chest and back were defined like cords of steel, vibrating with a low-frequency hum that only a fellow cultivator could hear.
"Master, I have brought what you requested," General Surya's voice was humble as he approached from the doorway. He carried a small, ornate box made of black sandalwood.
Yasmine followed behind him, her eyes fixed on Arga's back. She felt a strange heat rising to her cheeks. The man standing before them was no longer the beggar they had found in the rain. He radiated a magnetic, overwhelming authority.
Arga turned, his movements as fluid as flowing water. He took the box and opened it. Inside lay a gnarled, dark root that looked almost human in shape. It emitted a faint, earthy fragrance that seemed to sharpen the senses.
"Five-hundred-year-old Mountain Ginseng," Arga murmured, his eyes narrowing. "It has absorbed enough Earth Qi to be useful. It is barely a low-grade herb by my standards, but in this world, it is a treasure."
"It took three billion rupiahs and a favor from the Underground King of Hong Kong to secure it overnight," General Surya said, bowing his head. "I hope it meets your requirements."
Arga nodded. "It will do. General, stay here. Yasmine, guard the door. I am going to refine this essence to solidify my foundation. No matter what sounds you hear, do not enter."
"Understood, Master," Yasmine said, her hand moving to the hilt of her ceremonial dagger. She felt a strange sense of pride in being chosen as his guardian.
Arga retreated into the center of the room. He sat in the lotus position, placing the ginseng in front of him. He didn't eat it. Instead, he placed his palms over the herb, and a shimmering, blue-gold flame erupted from his hands.
The Nine Sun Refining Fire.
The ginseng didn't burn; it began to melt into a glowing, emerald liquid that floated in the air between Arga's palms. He inhaled deeply, drawing the vaporized essence through his nose.
BOOM.
A shockwave erupted from Arga's body, shattering the remaining reinforced glass windows and cracking the stone floor. Outside, Yasmine and the General were nearly knocked off their feet.
Inside Arga's body, a war was being waged. The potent energy of the five-hundred-year-old herb was like a wild stallion, galloping through his meridians. Arga's Sovereign Soul acted as the rider, pulling the reins with iron discipline.
Break! he commanded.
The first major bottleneck of the Mortal Foundation Realm shattered. His blood began to glow, his marrow turning a crystalline white. The impurities being forced out of his body now weren't just black liquid; they were grey mists of stagnant energy that evaporated as soon as they touched the air.
Hours passed. Arga's breathing slowed until it seemed to stop altogether. His heartbeat echoed in the room like a heavy drum.
Suddenly, Arga's eyes snapped open. The golden pupils were now burning with a fierce, steady light. He reached out a hand and made a grasping motion toward a heavy marble vase across the room.
The vase didn't move, but the air around it compressed. With a muffled crack, the solid marble was crushed into fine powder by an invisible hand.
"Telekinesis... the first stage of the Divine Sense," Arga whispered. His voice was no longer human; it carried a metallic, echoing quality.
He stood up, his body feeling as light as a feather yet as heavy as a mountain. He walked toward the balcony and looked down at the city. His vision could now see the flows of energy—the dark, stagnant pools of corruption and the rare, flickering lights of other "practitioners."
One such light caught his eye. It was moving toward the Peak of the Clouds at a high speed. It was a cold, jagged energy—familiar yet hostile.
"So," Arga said, a cold smile playing on his lips. "The ants have noticed a new lion in their territory."
He turned to the door, which flew open under the pressure of his will. General Surya and Yasmine were waiting, their faces filled with awe.
"General," Arga said, his presence so intense that even the veteran soldier had to lower his eyes. "Prepare your people. A visitor is coming. One who thinks he is a god in this city."
"A visitor, Master?" the General asked, his hand instinctively reaching for his phone.
"A cultivator," Arga replied, stepping toward the center of the foyer. "He calls himself the Shadow Crow. He is the one who poisoned your heart, General. And he has come to finish the job."
Yasmine's face turned pale. The Shadow Crow was a legend in the underworld—a man who could kill from a distance without leaving a mark.
Arga looked at the entrance, his gaze piercing through the walls. "Let him come. I need a whetstone to test my new foundation."
Writer's Note: This chapter marks the end of the "Introductory Phase." Arga has officially leveled up, and his first "Cultivator vs. Cultivator" battle is about to begin.