The afternoon sun beat down on Pyradine City with oppressive heat, yet within the Origins Dungeon Hall, the atmosphere remained consistently cool, imbued with the scent of humid stone and a subtle physical sensation.
Nothing ever seemed to change.
The heavy thud of a body hitting the floorboards. The rhythmic hiss of steam escaping the immersion thrones. The desperate sound of a man cursing his own ancestors.
Behind the counter, Yuan Bi rested his head in his palm, watching the three regulars with the bored detachment of a man watching paint dry. Min Luan was strapped into a seat for the third time today; Wu Feng looked as though he had forgotten the very color of sunlight.
"Still broke, still playing," Yuan Bi muttered, his voice barely audible over the low hum of the machinery.
Lu Bong, standing nearby and nursing a bruised ego from his latest run, stiffened. "I can hear you, Shopkeeper."
"Good," Yuan Bi replied without blinking. "At least your hearing hasn't withered away along with your combat sense."
Lu Bong went silent, his face reddening. From the depths of a throne, Min Luan's muffled voice erupted in a panicked shriek: "AGH—NOT AGAIN! HIS ARM! WHY DID IT BEND THAT WAY?!"
Then came the sudden, heavy silence of a forced logout.
Yuan Bi didn't bother looking at the monitors. "Sixth death."
Wu Feng, leaning against the wall, corrected him: "Seventh. He tripped over a bucket in the kitchen during the last run. It was pathetic."
Yuan Bi paused, then offered a slow, mocking nod. "Ah. Well. At least he's finding novel ways to fail. I suppose that's a form of progress."
The front door creaked open.
The casual atmosphere—thick with insults and sweat—didn't just vanish; it froze.
A woman stepped into the dim light. She wore violet robes stitched with jade thread—the kind of silk that cost more than the monthly rent for the entire street. Her posture wasn't just upright; it was a silent warning. She carried herself with the terrifying discipline of someone who had never been told
"No."
Wu Feng straightened his back instantly, his hand dropping from the wall. "...Senior Sister Qing Yue."
Lu Bong followed suit, his irritation replaced by a sudden, rigid formality.
"Senior."
Even Min Luan, pulling the heavy helm off his sweaty head, scrambled to his feet. "S-Senior!"
Qing Yue. The name carried massive weight within the Pyradine Academy. Known as the "Ice Peak," she was a genius of the younger generation, rumored to be one solid push away from transcending the First-Rate Fighter realm.
She didn't acknowledge them. Her eyes swept the room, lingering on the stained floorboards and the strange, mechanical thrones before settling on the projection screen. On the display, a pixelated corpse was currently dragging itself toward a screaming player.
"So," she said, her voice like cracking glass. "This is the den of lunatics the Academy is whispering about."
She watched a zombie tear a chunk of flesh from a player's shoulder on the screen.
"People say you can find enlightenment here," she murmured, more to herself than to the room. "...Ridiculous."
Her face remained a mask of glacial calm, but internally, her thoughts were a chaotic knot of frustration. I have been stuck at Peak First-Rate for so long, even in seclusion for months there's no progression. If there were even a grain of truth to the rumors about this place, she had to know.
She stepped toward the counter. "You're the owner?"
Yuan Bi didn't stand. He didn't even straighten his slouch. He simply met her gaze with half-lidded eyes. "That's what the sign says."
Qing Yue's eyes narrowed. Most shopkeepers in this city would have been bowing until their foreheads hit the floor. This man treated her like a minor inconvenience. She looked at the blackboard. Seven spirit crystals.
"Expensive," she noted.
Min Luan, unable to help himself, blurted out, "Senior, it's worth it! The pain is... well, it's horrific, but it's worth it!"
"If you survive," Wu Feng added quietly.
"And if you don't let the stench of rot get to your head," Lu Bong chimed in.
Yuan Bi glanced at the trio. "When did I hire a marketing team? I thought I was running a shop, not a guild."
Min Luan grinned sheepishly. "Experience, Boss."
"Failure," Wu Feng corrected.
"Expensive failure," Yuan Bi added, sliding his gaze back to Qing Yue.
She didn't join the banter. Without a word, she reached into her sleeve and placed seven spirit crystals on the wood. They clicked against the counter—clean, decisive, and final.
Yuan Bi stood up slowly, the first sign of effort he'd shown all day.
"For the beginners, I have two rules," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "First: everything in there is real. Your brain won't know the difference, so your heart won't either. Second: you will die. Don't fight the feeling. Just learn from it."
Qing Yue met his gaze. "I've faced real blades, Shopkeeper. I think I can handle a dream."
Yuan Bi smirked. It was not a kind look. "You say that now."
She sat. The helm lowered.
The world didn't just change; it collapsed and rebuilt itself.
The air shifted from the dry heat of Pyradine to a damp, sickening chill that tasted of copper and old mold. Qing Yue opened her eyes and immediately felt the weight of the atmosphere pressing against her skin.
She tried to circulate her Qi.
Nothing. The familiar warmth in her veins was gone, replaced by a cold, heavy void.
"...Qi suppression," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. It wasn't fear, but the sheer impossibility of the sensation. To be stripped of her power was a nightmare she'd never had to live. She looked at her hands. They felt weak. Mortal.
A zombie dragged itself out of the gloom, its jaw hanging by a single tendon. Qing Yue didn't scream. She didn't even move. She watched it. Slow. Heavy. No technique. Only hunger.
The creature lunged.
She stepped aside—a movement carved into her bones by a decade of training. Minimal. Cold. She used the zombie's own momentum against it, driving a palm strike into the base of its skull.
THUD
The zombie staggered, but it didn't fall. Qing Yue's brow furrowed. Without Qi, my striking power has plummeted.
She adjusted instantly. No more blunt force. She waited for the next lunge, then drove two fingers into the creature's eye socket, twisting with a sickening crunch.
The zombie collapsed.
Suddenly, a jolt of warm, pure energy flooded her limbs. It wasn't Qi—it was something more primal. It sank into her muscles, knitting them together, making the fibers denser and harder.
Her eyes widened. This wasn't just cultivation; it was a direct refinement of the physical vessel. She looked deeper into the dark corridor. If she could kill a hundred of these things... a thousand... the bottleneck that had held her back for months wouldn't just break. It would be crushed.
She didn't wait for the next one to find her. She stepped into the darkness.
The regulars were glued to the screen.
"She's already cleared the first room," Min Luan whispered, half-impressed, half-jealous. "She didn't even break a sweat."
"She started better than you did, Min Luan," Yuan Bi said from the shadows behind the counter. "Don't compare a housecat to a tiger."
"...That's uncalled for."
Wu Feng watched the way she moved—the efficiency, the total lack of panic. "She's not playing a game. She's hunting."
Yuan Bi leaned back, closing his eyes. He didn't need to watch the screen. He could feel the shop's energy shifting. Curiosity was the hook. Growth was the bait. But it was the obsession—the desperate, bone-deep need to be better than yesterday—that would build his empire.
"The tiger has found the meat," Yuan Bi murmured.
He knew she'd be back tomorrow. They always came back.