The Accidental Cultivator

The wind whispered through the tall grass like a secret it refused to share.

Aryan stepped lightly across the edge of the valley, boots sinking slightly into the dew-soft earth.

The sky above was a velvet curtain of night, dotted with silver stars, yet somehow the entire clearing glowed with an ethereal bluish tint.

It wasn't moonlight.

It was the water.

A narrow stream, glowing faintly like liquid starlight, cut through the clearing and emptied into a small pond no larger than a village well.

The pond shimmered quietly, untouched by ripples, almost too still—as if it were holding its breath.

Surrounding it were ancient trees, black-barked and tall, so dense that no wind passed between them.

Moss curled up their trunks like coiled snakes, and silent vines dangled like sleeping spirits.

The air smelled of petrichor, old leaves, and something faintly metallic—like old blood soaked deep into the roots.

Just ahead, across the pond, the mouth of a cave yawned open.

It wasn't large—barely tall enough for a grown man to walk into—but it was pitch black, unnaturally so.

Even the light from the stream dared not approach its entrance.

It stood like a throat to some forgotten world, silent and waiting.

Aryan sat by the water's edge, legs crossed, the obsidian mask resting beside him like a loyal dog.

He had escaped the misunderstanding.

He had survived the purge.

Now… he didn't know what he had walked into.

The System finally broke the silence.

System:

"Well. Congratulations, Mr. Fireball. You managed to nuke the murderer, offend royalty, traumatize witnesses, and escape a manhunt—all in one day. That has to be a record. Somewhere."

Aryan groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Are we still doing this?"

System:

"Oh, we will always be doing this. But for now, let's call this your… cooldown arc. You're a walking diplomatic incident wearing corpse couture. We need to stay low."

Aryan sighed, letting his fingers trail through the glowing stream. "At least this place is quiet. Kinda nice. Peaceful."

System:

"Yes. Peaceful. Just you, an open death cave, and a haunted cloak stitched from God-knows-what. It's basically a honeymoon spot."

Aryan smirked. "You jealous?"

System:

"Only of your ability to survive this long with a brain made of burnt tofu."

Aryan stood and approached the Shadow Cloak draped over a flat stone. It moved slightly even when untouched—its fabric shifting like it breathed.

"Let's see what else you're hiding."

He reached into the inside of the cloak. It felt like dipping his hand into warm liquid shadow. No resistance. No weight. Just depth.

And then—

FWOOM.

A ripple ran through the air. A vortex of black and violet chakra symbols spun out, hovering above the grass.

Rows of scrolls, books, and strange objects shimmered into view—dozens of them.

Aryan's eyes widened.

There were not just seven scrolls—there were eighteen, each bound in dark material, marked with different Yamalok seals:

Silent Strike in Hollow Wind (Close Combat Assassination Technique)

Twilight Root Binding (Chakra Anchor Method)

Reverse Chakra Reflection (A defensive counter-flow skill)

Dead Pulse Walk (Silent step movement technique)

…And more for his chakra journey till 2nd chakra 2nd stage user.

Aryan wasn't just looking at knowledge. He was looking at a hidden martial inheritance. Something passed down in silence, buried in time.

But it didn't stop at scrolls.

Beneath them hovered objects—neatly folded and stored.

A stone water flask carved with unfamiliar glyphs. The water inside glowed faintly.

A pair of weighted ankle rings—forged with gravity seals.

A void compass—pointing not north, but somewhere deeper, like it sought something lost.

A scroll with no words—just an imprint of two fingers pressed into it, like a blood oath.

And finally…

He reached in again—

And pulled out a pair of gauntlets.

Jet black.

Ridges of obsidian running across the knuckles. Cold to the touch. The moment Aryan's chakra flowed into them, they pulsed with life—like the gloves were hungry.

System:

"Oh. Oh-ho-ho. Now we're cooking."

"What are they?" Aryan whispered, slipping them on.

System:

"Void Gauntlets. Soul class. They absorb chakra like sponges and release it on contact or from afar. The more chakra you pump in… the more destruction they give out."

Aryan grinned, flexing his fists. "And I've got a lot to give."

System:

"Go ahead try them, I wanna see how much power you can unleash"

Aryan smile and thought 'Definitely, I wanna try out these toys myself too'

System:

"you know I can hear you, right? you lunatic"

Aryan dismissed the Systems chatter with lethal disregard, channeling his chakra into his gauntlets.

His eyes burned with a fierce intensity as he unleashed a savage burst of energy, roaring through the air towards the distant trees.

With a devastating strike, he set three towering giants ablaze from twenty meters away, flames licking the sky, leaving nothing but smoldering ruin in his path.

System:

"Alright, so you're just a walking bomb now, huh? Still, it's a pity you don't know any real techniques."

But even as it said that something changed.

The scroll titled "Rooted Breath" began to glow faintly.

Aryan looked at it.

It pulsed with warmth. His chakra resonated with it like a tuning fork hitting perfect pitch. As if the scroll had waited for him.

He reached toward it—and it opened on its own, the ink glowing and rising off the page and wrapping around his arms like gentle flame.

System:

"…That technique likes you. I mean really likes you. Your body's reacting like it's eating a seven-course feast after a famine."

Aryan smiled slowly, something rising in his chest—something old.

Excitement.

Belonging.

And above the pond, fireflies danced like sparks torn from the stars, as the cave across the water pulsed once—faintly.

Something waited in there.

But for now, Aryan had treasures to study.

And finally, the time… to become someone worth fearing.

But when he was thinking of giving a speech like fearsome Hero

The scroll in his hand began to tremble.

Not shake.

Tremble—like it was alive… and afraid.

Before he could react, the air pulsed.

A silent shockwave rippled through the valley.

The other scrolls around him lit up—one by one—like black candles igniting under moonlight. Their crimson seals cracked, unravelling in streams of burning ink that lifted into the air like smoke drawn backward.

"What the hell—" Aryan started.

Then the scrolls burst.

Not into flame, but into light and language.

Ancient words, in sharp angular script—like Sanskrit but twisted—spilled out of them and burned toward him. They swirled around his arms, his chest, his neck, his back—branding themselves into his skin with searing white heat.

Aryan screamed and fell to his knees.

The cloak flared around him like a living creature, trying to contain the eruption.

System:

"Well, good news. You've successfully installed eighteen ancient martial arts into your skin. Bad news? You forgot to ask about the side effects."

The words glowed on Aryan's flesh—twisting and folding, crawling like veins of molten LAVA just beneath the surface.

He looked at his hands. The Sanskrit-like inscriptions glimmered faintly under the skin, pulsing with every breath.

And then they vanished—like they had never been there.

But he could still feel them.

Everywhere.

"Wh-What was that?" Aryan rasped, clutching his chest.

System:

"Let's call it a high-speed download. All the techniques in that cloak? Your body just memorized them. You don't need to study them now. You just… are them."

Aryan blinked in confusion.

"…So I can just use them?"

System:

"Oh yes. Just say the word. But every time you do… those markings will resurface. And they're not decorative. They burn."

Aryan's lips parted, horrified.

"You mean—"

System:

"Pain. Real, soul-burning, chakra-searing pain. Your bones will remember every move. Your nerves will scream your legacy. Enjoy!"

Aryan let out a shaky breath, rubbing his shoulder where faint red lines still lingered before fading back in.

"…Great. So I've basically tattooed ancient death arts into my bloodstream. And they hate me."

System:

"Oh no, they love you. You're the perfect meal. That's the problem."

Aryan chuckled weakly. "Lucky me…"

But even as he tried to calm himself, something… changed.

A breeze rolled across the valley.

But it came not from the sky.

It came from the cave.

Aryan turned slowly.

The black-mouthed hole across the pond… felt different now.

Before, it had been silent.

Now… it called.

No voice. No sound.

But a pull. Like someone gently tugging at his soul. Like a whisper just beneath hearing.

Aryan stood, shaky legs straightening.

The cloak tightened slightly, responding to his intent.

"…Did you feel that?" he whispered.

System:

"Yes. And I don't like it. Its chakra isn't… natural."

Aryan took a step forward.

The water of the glowing stream gently parted as he passed, the fireflies circling him like orbiting stars.

Another step.

Then another.

The cave pulsed.

System (popup notification):

[Cave Detected: Designation – "Cave of Desires"]

Status: DORMANT OR AWAKE (undefined)

Function: Offers what is most deeply desired

Risk Level: (???) UNKNOWN

Entry permitted by resonance

Aryan stopped at the mouth of the cave, staring into the blackness.

His heartbeat slowed. Then quickened.

System:

"Well. Here it is. A cave that gives you what you want. Or what it thinks you want. Either way... this is where your path changes."

Aryan remained silent, an unsettling emptiness flickering behind his eyes, as if something darker had taken hold of him.

He simply took one step forward—

—and disappeared into the dark.