In the 7-Step Realm, moving from one stage to the next is not merely an increase in strength—it is an Evolution. To evolve is to shed one's former limitations and become something far superior to what you were before.
Ryan clutched the Silver Pearl and sprinted toward the city. The 1st Realm was a massive expanse divided into four cardinal wings: West, East, South, and North. Ryan's journey had begun in the West Wing, specifically in the bustling Nebula City.
As he approached the massive stone gates, the guards straightened their posture. In Nebula City, the City Lord stood at the Peak Gold Stage, which meant a Silver Stage cultivator was a figure of significant authority.
"Sir, your token please," the guard requested, bowing slightly.
Ryan produced his token, the metal cold against his skin, and walked through without a word.
First, the casualty report, Ryan thought. Then, home.
His eyes gleamed with a hunger he had suppressed for years. He wasn't like the "heroes" of the stories he'd heard back on Earth—those transmigrators who arrived with "Systems," "Cheats," or a convenient download of local memories. When Ryan arrived four years ago, he was a thirteen-year-old beggar who didn't even understand the language. He had come here blank.
But on Earth, Ryan had been a thirty-two-year-old corporate manager. He was a man who understood leverage, politics, and the art of the long game. To him, the power struggles of the slums were child's play. He spent three months observing, learning the tongue, and surviving. After a year of begging, saving, and—when necessary—looting from other beggars, he had scraped together enough to join the Adventurer's Association.
People had looked down on the "beggar brat" at first. They stopped laughing when he began completing missions with a 100% success rate, using the money to buy 2nd-Grade techniques and rising through the ranks to the Early Silver Stage. Now, at seventeen, he was one of the most senior figures in the city.
After filing the "tragic" report of his team's demise at the Administration Office, Ryan returned to the Association. Only Silver Stage members were granted private quarters on the second floor. He entered his room, locked the door, and spoke into the shadows.
"David!"
A figure seemed to materialize out of the darkness, kneeling instantly. "Sir. Command me."
This was David. Ryan had saved him from the gutter, molded him into a loyal weapon, and trained him in the lethal arts of assassination. At the Peak Bronze Stage, David was a shadow that few in the city could detect.
"How are the preparations?" Ryan asked.
David hesitated, his head still lowered. "Sir... are you certain of this? If you remain with the Association, you are already second only to the Leader. Even the City Lord has hinted that he would name you his successor once you evolve to the Gold Stage."
Ryan looked out the window, his gaze piercing the horizon. "David, you see a pond; I see the ocean. To the people of the Higher Realms, a Gold Stage cultivator is an ant. If I want to ascend—if I want to reach the 7th Realm—the Academy is my only path."
He turned back to his subordinate. "The Academy's admission begins at age eighteen. The minimum requirement is only Early Bronze, which I have long surpassed. Do not try to persuade me with small-time titles, David."
"I understand, sir. My apologies," David whispered.
"Good. Prepare yourself," Ryan commanded. "I will need a blade in the darkness once we enter the Academy. We leave after my evolution."