Rebirth of the primordial sovereign

Yuna's expression wavered as she processed Makoto's words. His voice, though still strained, carried a weight that hadn't been there moments before—a determination that seemed incongruous with the fragile state of his body.

"Regain your strength?" she repeated, concern flickering in her eyes. "Makoto, your meridians were shattered. Even if... even if we could find the rarest of medicines, it would take years to heal—if it's even possible."

Makoto's lips pressed into a thin line. He had heard similar doubts in the past, in a different time, a different life. Back then, naysayers had surrounded him, doubting his ability to rise from the ashes. Yet, he had defied them all. This was no different.

"My body may be broken," he said, his voice steadying, "but I am not. There are ways to rebuild what was lost—even if it means starting from nothing."

Yuna frowned, her worry deepening. "Makoto, this isn't just about willpower. Without a proper foundation, cultivation is impossible. The sect's resources are limited, and after what happened, the elders might not—"

"They won't help me," Makoto interrupted, finishing her sentence. "I know. The sect will write me off as a failure. But I don't need their help." He clenched his fists, the faint pain serving as a reminder of his current state. "I've been through worse."

Yuna's mouth opened as if to argue, but something in his eyes silenced her. It was as if he carried an unshakable certainty, one born not from arrogance, but from deep, unyielding experience. She hesitated, then sighed. "If you're serious about this, I'll help you in any way I can."

Her words carried sincerity, and for a brief moment, warmth flickered in Makoto's heart. He nodded. "Thank you, Yuna. I'll need your help, but there are things I must do on my own first."

---

Hours later, when the room had quieted and Yuna had left to prepare food, Makoto sat cross-legged on the wooden bed. His body was weak, his dantian empty, and his meridians shattered—but his mind remained sharp. He closed his eyes, focusing inward.

In his previous life, he had been a master of countless arts, the creator of techniques that had shaped the foundation of cultivation itself. Even now, with nothing but his soul and knowledge, he could sense the faint remnants of his past strength—a sliver of power lingering within the shattered shell of his body.

The Sealed Soul Realm.

The seal placed on his soul in his past life was still intact, preventing him from accessing the full depth of his abilities. Yet, the strength of his soul remained unparalleled in this world. Even sealed, it was a beacon compared to the dim sparks of others.

Drawing a deep breath, Makoto began to circulate his energy—or at least what little of it he could muster. His body protested, weak and sluggish, but he ignored the pain. This was the first step.

"Rebuild the foundation. Strengthen the body. Restore the meridians."

The process was painstakingly slow, but he was patient. He started with the simplest technique—a breathing exercise he had created eons ago. The modern world knew it as the "Basic Qi Gathering Technique," a rudimentary practice for beginners. But the version used today was a pale imitation of the original.

Makoto's technique was ancient, pure, and vastly more effective. Each breath drew in minute traces of energy from the air, converting it into warmth that seeped into his limbs. The process was almost imperceptible, but it was progress.

As he continued, he felt the first faint stirrings of life within his dantian—a flicker of energy no stronger than a candle flame. It was meager, but it was a start.

---

By the time Yuna returned, carrying a bowl of steaming broth, Makoto's complexion had improved slightly. He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. She paused, startled by the faint clarity in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"You've been meditating," she said, setting the bowl down. "Does it... help?"

Makoto nodded. "A little. It will take time, but I can already feel the difference."

Yuna studied him for a moment, then sighed. "You're stubborn, Makoto. I suppose that's a good thing, given everything that's happened."

He smiled faintly. "Stubbornness is often mistaken for resolve."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Well, eat. You'll need your strength for whatever you're planning."

As Makoto took the bowl, he glanced at Yuna. Her concern was genuine, and for that, he was grateful. But he couldn't afford to let her know everything—not yet. The truth about Kaizen, the sect, and the deeper conspiracies at play would have to wait.

For now, his focus was singular: rebuild his strength and reclaim what had been taken from him.

---

Late that night, as the sect grounds fell silent, Makoto stepped outside for the first time since waking. The cool night air bit at his skin, but he relished it. Above him, the stars stretched endlessly across the sky, a reminder of the vastness of the world—and his place within it.

He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening.

"I may have been broken, but I will rise again. This world will remember my name."