The Sect Master’s gaze remained steady, his voice firm.

  “In Spiritual Farming, you may prefer to forge your own path,” he said. “But cultivation is more than just energy and techniques. You need combat skills, endurance, and a solid foundation. Becoming a Core Disciple would help you strengthen your weaker areas under proper guidance.”

  Devor exhaled slowly.

  No one would dictate his path as a Spiritual Farmer—that was non-negotiable. But cultivation? That was different. Learning from others when necessary wasn’t weakness—it was wisdom.

  A heavy silence settled between them as Devor weighed his options.

  Join another sect? The offers were tempting but uncertain. Azure Sky Sect was flawed, but it was also familiar. And leaving wasn’t just a personal choice—it was a statement.

  Reputation was everything.

  Would leaving make him seem ambitious? Or unreliable?

  No. If he wanted influence, he needed to be seen as stable.

  After what felt like an eternity, Devor finally spoke. “What’s the real reason someone targeted me and my garden?”

  He lifted his gaze, meeting the Sect Master’s eyes.

  The Sect Master sighed quietly, as if he had been expecting this question for a long time. “You’re only asking that now?”

  Devor remained silent.

  The Sect Master let out a short breath, shaking his head. “Hah. I had a response ready, but I didn’t think you’d wait this long to ask.”

  Devor’s expression was unreadable. “Disciples are insignificant in the grand scheme of cultivation,” he said evenly. “Even if I knew who was behind it, retaliation wouldn’t be simple. And the sect wouldn’t let me execute the mastermind, would it?”

  The Sect Master raised a brow. Sharp.

  Whoever had moved against Devor hadn’t dared to eliminate him outright—that spoke volumes. And even if Devor uncovered the culprit, would the sect allow him to take revenge? Unlikely. Power within the sect was a delicate balance, and justice was rarely about fairness.

  After a moment, the Sect Master flicked his fingers, summoning a glowing screen into the air.

  Hundreds of names shimmered into existence.

  Devor’s gaze swept over the list until one name stood out—circled.

  Devor Li.

  His grip tightened.

  “This is a list of the next generation of cultivators,” the Sect Master said. “Each one is exceptional in Spiritual Farming.”

  Devor’s fingers curled slightly. So this was why he had been targeted?

  Not petty jealousy—something far bigger.

  “Spiritual Farming is often looked down upon,” Devor murmured. “So why is there a list dedicated to those who excel at it?”

  The Sect Master’s faint smile held a deeper meaning. “Because appearances can be deceiving.”

  Devor’s pulse quickened.

  “This list contains potential candidates for the Immortal Palace in the East Skyveil Continent.”

  He exhaled sharply. The Immortal Palace.

  It was legendary, an untouchable force that loomed over the cultivation world like a celestial throne. To enter it was to step beyond mortality itself.

  “Our world is divided into five major regions,” the Sect Master continued, his tone steady. “When the Immortal Palace opens its doors, each region sends its best. The competition is ruthless.”

  Devor nodded. He already knew that Vinix City’s ten sects were a collective force, representing the strength of the East Skyveil Continent.

  But he had never truly considered what that meant.

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  “And the Immortal Palace itself?” he asked. “What is its true purpose?”

  The Sect Master studied him carefully.

  “It is an opportunity beyond measure,” he said. “They recruit disciples from smaller worlds like ours. Those chosen become part of the Immortal Palace Sect.”

  Devor’s thoughts raced.

  A sect above all others? One that handpicked cultivators from entire continents?

  More importantly—

  Had the attack on his farm been a warning?

  A way to eliminate competition before the real battle even began?

  The weight of the realization hit him.

  This was why sects allowed disciples to transfer so freely.

  Especially those with a high chance of reaching the Immortal Palace.

  Once a disciple crossed that threshold, they could never return.

  A one-way path.

  It wasn’t about loyalty—it was about investment.

  The Sect Master’s gaze flickered with approval. “You’ve grasped it,” he said. “Sect transfers are negotiations. Those with the potential to reach the Immortal Palace are investments. Forcing them to stay breeds resentment, and resentment leads to stagnation.”

  Devor exhaled slowly.

  Sects weren’t just martial brotherhoods.

  They were political entities—maneuvering for position long before the Immortal Palace made its selection.

  And the Immortal Palace itself?

  It didn’t rule through force.

  It ruled through cooperation.

  And now, Devor understood—

  He was already a piece on the board.

  The Sect Master clasped his hands behind his back, his expression unreadable.

  “Each continent selects only ten top disciples for further training before the real trials of the Immortal Palace,” he said. His voice was calm, but there was weight behind it. “Considering the sheer number of cultivators in each region, ten slots per continent is… nothing.”

  Devor frowned. What did that have to do with him being targeted?

  He was just a Qi Refining cultivator. A nobody. Half an hour ago, he hadn’t even known what the Immortal Palace was.

  The Sect Master studied him for a long moment, then flicked his wrist.

  A crystalline sphere materialized out of thin air, drifting toward Devor.

  Instinctively, he caught it. It was cold, impossibly smooth—like glass infused with liquid light.

  “Channel your energy into it,” the Sect Master instructed.

  Devor hesitated. Something about the crystal felt... expectant.

  Taking a steady breath, he complied.

  His blue Qi flowed into the crystal—then everything changed.

  A radiant green-gold light erupted from within, pulsing like a heartbeat—alive.

  Devor stiffened.

  What… was this?

  The energy felt ancient, yet familiar—like something buried deep inside him had just awakened.

  A whisper of recognition flickered at the edge of his mind.

  Impossible. He had never seen this energy before.

  And yet, somehow… he knew it.

  The Sect Master exhaled slowly. “There it is,” he murmured. “Proof of your nature.”

  Devor turned to him, his voice steady despite the storm raging within. “What is this energy?”

  The Sect Master studied him for a long moment before speaking.

  “The mark of a Worldroot Cultivator.”

  Silence.

  The term meant nothing to Devor.

  And yet… he knew it was his.

  The Sect Master’s voice carried an unmistakable weight.

  “That is a Dao Crystal.” He gestured toward the sphere. “If your energy changes color and you feel a connection to it, it means you've formed a Dao Embryo—your true power has begun to awaken.”

  Devor’s grip tightened. “A Dao? I’ve… formed a Dao?”

  The word alone sent a shiver through him.

  Dao was the foundation of cultivation—the ultimate pursuit, an intangible truth beyond words. Countless cultivators spent their lives chasing even a glimpse of it.

  And yet…

  As he stared into the swirling green-gold energy, he didn’t just see it.

  He recognized it.

  This was his Dao.

  His.

  The Sect Master exhaled, his expression unreadable. “A Qi Refining cultivator forming a Dao Embryo… Even among the top candidates, only a handful have done this—and at far higher levels.” His eyes darkened slightly. “But you?”

  His voice sharpened.

  “You did it on your own.”

  Devor steadied himself. He hadn’t even known this was possible.

  “The Immortal Palace values cultivators who have formed their Dao,” the Sect Master continued. “Your chances of advancement are extremely high.”

  And just like that, everything clicked.

  The unseen hostility. The forces moving against him.

  Even at his current level, he was already seen as a threat.

  Devor’s fingers tightened around the crystal.

  “The ten selected disciples will receive training beyond anything ordinary cultivators can dream of,” the Sect Master said. “Whoever targeted you was eliminating competition before the real battle even began.”

  Devor’s jaw clenched.

  Of course.

  The Sect Master’s gaze remained steady.

  “Cultivation isn’t just about talent or dedication,” he warned. “It’s about survival. If you focus only on training and ignore the world around you, someone else will seize the opportunities meant for you.”

  The words echoed in Devor’s mind.

  Survival.

  That was the true nature of cultivation.

  It wasn’t just about growing stronger.

  It was about making sure no one else got the chance to surpass you.

  Devor clenched his teeth.

  The cultivators in this world weren’t just characters from the novels he once read. Their ambitions weren’t blind greed or arrogance—they were calculated, ruthless, relentless.

  A moment’s hesitation could mean the difference between ascension and oblivion.

  The Sect Master stepped forward. “This is why the Elders never took you as a disciple or made you a Core Disciple.”

  Devor’s eyes narrowed.

  “Because of this.” The Sect Master gestured toward the Dao Crystal. “You formed your Dao Embryo on your own. If we had interfered—tried to mold you—would that have helped? Or would it have limited your true potential?”

  The realization hit him like a thunderclap.

  The sect’s silence hadn’t been neglect. It had been deliberate.

  They had been watching. Waiting.

  Because some things couldn’t be taught.

  It was like a child learning to walk—they had to stumble, fall, struggle. Too much intervention would cripple rather than strengthen.

  This… was the truth behind his hardships.

  They had let him fight his own battles, not out of indifference, but because they knew—

  He had to forge his own path.

  And now, he understood.

  The road ahead was his alone.

  A path unlike any other.

  And he would walk it to the very end.