The Elven Cultivator

Arriving at the meditation chamber, Anton sat down cross-legged and looked at the profound Heart Demon Guide in his palm.

Without hesitation, he placed the Pill directly into his mouth, and it slid down his throat into his stomach.

The warm medicinal power rose from his stomach like a stream, seeping into his four limbs and entire body. It finally converged at the point between his eyebrows, spreading rapidly like a drop of ink in clear water.

Anton's consciousness began to blur.

First, his vision blurred.

The soft light from the Light Source Stone seemed to dissolve as if in water, blurring into chaotic halos that dragged his surroundings into a haze.

Then, the sounds.

The sound of the wind from the direction of the Eternal Tree.

The clash of metal from the distant training grounds.

The chirping of birds in the Honeybell Tree outside the window.

All the sounds faded rapidly, as if someone had drawn a thick curtain between him and the world, isolating him completely.

Finally, sensation.

The feeling of being cross-legged vanished, the friction of his clothes disappeared, and even the flow of True Essence within his body became distant and indistinct.

He felt as if he were falling, passing through one invisible barrier after another.

Each layer stripped away a part of his consciousness, and he gradually sank into nothingness, leaving only a seemingly endless sensation of weightlessness.

After an unknown amount of time, the fall finally stopped.

The darkness receded, and light flooded in.

And with it, the sound of SPLASHING rain.

The moment Anton opened his eyes, cold raindrops splattered against his face, sliding down his cheeks and seeping into his collar, bringing a bone-chilling cold.

He was standing before a window.

Outside, lead-gray clouds hung low like a curtain. Purple lightning, like dragons and snakes, tore through the sky. Rolling thunder followed, making the window frame tremble.

Anton stood there blankly, his mind a chaotic mess.

Countless images flashed before his eyes like a film, but they were all obscured as if viewed through frosted glass, impossible to see clearly.

He looked down at his hands.

They were slender and fair, still possessing the unique delicacy of a youth.

'These are my hands.'

'But why... do I feel like something is missing?'

Anton closed his eyes, trying to grasp the memory fragments that were slipping away.

There were figures, sounds, and images... but they were all hazy, like old dreams from a long, long time ago.

When he opened his eyes again, those blurry fragments had completely dissipated.

At the same time, Anton finally remembered.

He was a Transmigrator.

He had transmigrated into the world of a globally popular MMORPG from his past life, *Dawn Annals*, becoming a thirteen-year-old Elf boy of the Silver Moon Race on the Eldron Plain.

"I must have the worst luck in eight lifetimes."

Anton sighed.

'Transmigrating as an Elf sounds pretty good on the surface.'

'Long-lived, favored by nature, drop-dead gorgeous.'

'But the problem is, this world is forged in blood and fire.'

'In almost every version of the game, the Dawn Continent was ravaged by endless war and turmoil.'

'For an ordinary Elf like me, with no special cheats beyond a little foresight, living in a world like this is just too much to ask.'

"Without power, forget controlling my own destiny; it'll be hard enough just to survive."

A strong, urgent desire for power immediately welled up inside Anton.

He didn't want to be like the countless nobodies on the Dawn Continent, passively accepting the disaster and despair swept upon them by the torrent of fate.

The problem was, Elves of the Silver Moon Race had to be eighteen years old to begin cultivation, at which point they would undergo selection training and be taught a meditation or breathing method by a mentor.

'I'm only thirteen now. That's five more years.'

"Five years..." Anton frowned. "That's not too long. I can wait."

He quickly adjusted his mindset.

'In any case, knowing what the future holds is better than knowing nothing at all.'

...

In the days that followed, Anton acted as he always did.

But in private, he began to train on his own.

Although Clan rules stated one had to be eighteen to start cultivating, he still wanted to strengthen himself as much as possible beforehand, even if it was only a small improvement.

After a long wait, he turned eighteen and could finally participate in the selection training.

Anton chose the path of a Caster without hesitation.

But once he started, he was disappointed to find that his talent for Magic was mediocre—terrible, even.

Even his instructor, Darian, tactfully advised him to give up on becoming a Caster.

With no other choice, Anton had to change his goal and began training as a Warrior alongside Romance.

The path of a Warrior was equally difficult.

His talent for being a Warrior was slightly better than his talent for Magic, but it was still only average and far inferior to Romance's.

The years passed, one by one.

Anton trained with all his might, working far harder than his peers and pouring in much more sweat and energy.

Meanwhile, every winter, the Clan faced an invasion from the Lizard-men.

Anton stood on the training grounds, fists clenched, as he watched the wounded and the dead being carried back from the battlefield.

He couldn't do anything.

He was too weak; he didn't even qualify to set foot on the battlefield.

The only thing he could do was train even more desperately, pushing himself to his absolute limit.

Thanks to his relentless and desperate training, by the time of his coming-of-age ceremony, Anton had reached the upper Black Iron Tier.

Among his peers, this was considered quite outstanding.

But compared to the exceptionally talented Romance, he was completely overshadowed.

On the day of the ceremony, Romance successfully passed the Wind-speaker's trial, becoming a prominent figure of the younger generation on par with Eleanor.

And Anton was just one of the many witnesses to this trial.

But he didn't give up. He joined the Forest Guard to continue honing his strength.

Not long after, winter came, and the Lizard-men invaded again.

Anton fought in a battle for the first time, gripping his Long Sword as he charged the enemy lines with his squad.

After killing two Lizard-men, he encountered a Silver Tier Draconic Lizardman.

With a single swipe of its claws, his opponent sent him flying, leaving him heavily wounded and unable to fight.

If his comrades hadn't intervened in time, he almost certainly would have died on the battlefield.

In that same war, Darian, who had once taught Anton meditation, was killed by a Golden Tier Draconic Lizardman named Moloch.

According to Captain Elena, that Draconic Lizardman was the designated successor to become chief of the Molten Spike Tribe.

After a brief period of dejection and grief, Anton quickly pulled himself together.

He poured even more time and energy into his training.

As time passed, the Molten Spike Tribe's assaults grew fiercer year by year.

The Silver Moon Race was forced to pull back its defensive lines.

Even so, the losses from the war inevitably weakened the Clan.

Anton's strength improved slowly, but that rate of progress felt pathetic in the face of the brutal war.

「Chenxi Calendar, Year 9325.」

From out of nowhere, hordes of subterranean races swarmed from the Thousand Rock Hills.

Kobolds, ogres, the Stone-blind Barbarian Race... and even the dreaded Mind Flayers!

The Mind Flayers soon led a massive army to attack the Silver Moon Forest.

The already weakened Silver Moon Race was no match for the subterranean army, suffering one defeat after another.

The three elders, Cedric, and Elena fell in battle one after another.

Eleanor, regarded as the hope of the Clan, also died to a Mind Flayer's psychic blast.

The Forest Guard was routed.

"Anton! Run!"

Romance's face was covered in blood, the blade of her War Axe was chipped, and most of her leather armor was shattered.

But there wasn't a trace of fear on her face.

"What are you talking about!" Anton grabbed her hand. "We escape together!"

Romance pushed him away and said with a serious look, "You go first. I'll cover our retreat."

"Cover our retreat, my ass!"

Anton tried to pull her with all his might, but he couldn't move her.

The strength of a Silver Tier Warrior was incomparable to that of a Black Iron Tier like him.

However, even if they wanted to escape, it was too late.

An invisible wave of psychic energy washed over them, pinning them both in place.

A high-ranking, Golden Tier Mind Flayer had caught up to them. A spear of Spiritual Energy pierced straight through Romance's chest.

Her body swayed, and then she collapsed.

The War Axe slipped from her hand, falling to the ground with a CLANG.

Anton stared blankly at the scene, feeling as if something deep inside his mind had shattered.

Memories flooded back like a tidal wave.

The Taoist Jade Scroll, the Taichu Hiding Skill, the Five Elements True Flame, the Stellar Sword Scripture...

Anton remembered it all.

A voice suddenly echoed in the depths of his heart.

It was calm, with a hint of mockery, but it was distinctly his own voice.

"So what if you're a Transmigrator?"

"Without the Taoist Jade Scroll, you are nothing."

"Everything you take pride in—the Cultivation Techniques, the Pills, the Magical Treasures... which of them wasn't a gift from the scroll?"

"On your own, you can't do a single thing. You can't change a single thing."

The voice was like a needle, stabbing into his heart again and again.

"Admit it. You've never been a genius. You're just a lucky guy who relies on a crutch."

"You knew disaster was coming from the very beginning, but could you stop it?"

"You won't even live to see the day the real turmoil begins."

"You're just a mediocre, incompetent Transmigrator who can't change a thing."

Anton was silent for a long time.

Ash fell on his shoulders, in his hair, and on his tightly clenched fists.

An unknown amount of time passed—perhaps an instant, perhaps a lifetime.

Anton finally raised his head.

He looked into the void, at that non-existent "himself," and the corners of his mouth slowly curved into a smile.

There was no anger in his smile, no excuses, only a lucid tranquility.

"You're right."

"Everything I rely on was given to me by the Jade Scroll."

His voice was hoarse, yet steady.

"But so what?"

"I have the Jade Scroll. This is my destiny."

"Just as many are born with noble bloodlines or outstanding natural talent, the Jade Scroll is also a part of me. To deny that would be true self-deception."

"The Jade Scroll gave me a starting point far beyond that of any ordinary person, but I also poured countless hours of sweat and effort into achieving what I have today."

"I admit I'm mediocre."

"But I don't need to prove my worth by showing I can 'succeed without the Jade Scroll'."

A sword light suddenly burst from Anton's chest, splitting into eight beams that shot like lightning into the surrounding void.

"I only need to prove that I am worthy of what I possess."

The moment the words left his lips, the world shattered like a mirror.

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