The chilling thought of 'corrupted beings' emerging in two weeks had burrowed deep into Zaylan's mind, a constant, sharp spur. He had two weeks.
To go from 'Beginner' to 'Foundation Building' and beyond. And the only clear path he saw was to seek out the source of mana, the spatial tears themselves.
Specifically, the one that had brought him here, the very anomaly that had stolen Dylan's life and gifted him a second chance. He had run from it then, driven by primal fear, but now… now it seemed like his only hope, a dangerous, forbidden wellspring of power.
The decision was a calculated risk, a desperate gamble against the terrifying unknown. Aethelburg, for all its newly ignited chaos, was at least a semblance of civilization.
Leaving it, venturing back into the wilds to confront the source of his awakening, was pure recklessness.
But the thought of standing by, weak and unprepared, while an unknown threat devoured this new world, was unbearable.
He couldn't be just a survivor; he had to be a force.
His internal mana absorption, while constant thanks to Physical Refinement, was agonizingly slow, like a single drop of water filling a vast ocean.
He needed a catalyst, an explosion of mana to truly begin his cultivation journey. He envisioned himself as a parched desert, and the spatial tear as a roaring river. He had to drink deeply, even if it meant risking being swept away.
He spent the next two days working his usual shifts at the docks, but his mind was elsewhere.
He observed the unfolding panic, the rampant speculation, the desperate attempts of others to understand their new reality.
News channels, now featuring official System data overlays and constant updates, were broadcasting live feeds of people manifesting abilities, sometimes dramatically, sometimes comically.
"Did you see that poor kid in the Gaelic Commonwealth?" Borin asked, shaking his head as they moved a heavy net. "He accidentally set his whole kitchen on fire trying to conjure a 'Minor Flame Burst'! What a mess!"
Gareth, despite his usual cynicism, had a look of genuine concern. "Yeah, and my old Uncle Silas in the Sovereign Republic of Kaito? His 'Enhanced Memory' just let him recall every single winning lottery number from the past decade. He's rich now, but he's also having terrible nightmares about every bad decision he ever made. Every single one, in perfect detail."
Lena, the red-haired dockworker, overheard them and sighed. "At least your abilities are... tangible. Mine's 'Whisper of the Tides.' I keep hearing faint currents, even when there's no water. It's just distracting."
Zaylan listened, nodding occasionally, but kept his own profile and unique path to himself. He knew he was different.
His cultivation wasn't an ability to manifest; it was a path to internal growth, to a profound transformation of his very being. He felt the pull of the wilderness, the silent promise of raw mana, calling to him. He needed to leave.
On the third day, under the cloak of pre-dawn darkness, Zaylan slipped out of the dormitory. He carried a small rucksack he'd purchased, packed with high-density nutrient bars, several bottles of water, and a simple navigation compass.
The journey back to the forest, to that cursed and blessed spatial tear, began. He bypassed the public hover train system; it was too public, too monitored, and he couldn't risk being spotted.
Instead, he chose a longer, more arduous route, tracing the winding, overgrown outskirts of Aethelburg, then veering off towards the distant, wild green.
The constant drone of hover-vehicles slowly faded, replaced by the chirping of unseen insects and the rustling of leaves in a rising wind.
His Physical Refinement ability was already subtly at work, proving its worth. The long trek, which would have exhausted Dylan within hours, was merely tiresome for Zaylan.
His muscles, though aching, didn't burn with the usual agony. His stamina felt vast, enduring. His senses, too, felt sharper – the earthy scent of pine needles, the faint, distant sound of running water, the subtle shift in the wind that hinted at approaching weather.
He was more connected to his body, more aware of its intricate mechanisms and its constantly improving capabilities.
This newfound awareness was a direct product of his cultivation, a subtle but profound benefit of being in Stage 0. He was already better equipped for survival in the wild than any normal human.
As he ventured deeper into the forest, the mana became increasingly palpable. It wasn't the refined, almost processed mana of Aethelburg, diluted and filtered through layers of human infrastructure and activity.
Here, it was raw, wild, a potent energy that buzzed around him, making the air feel thick and alive.
The trees grew denser, their leaves a more vibrant green than he remembered, some even exhibiting faint, ethereal glows at their edges.
Ancient, moss-covered rocks seemed to pulse with faint light. The earth itself seemed to hum beneath his feet, a resonant frequency that spoke of immense, untapped power.
He found the hover train tracks again, the silent metallic path leading him further into the heart of this mana-rich zone.
He kept his distance, knowing the tracks would eventually lead him back to the small village he'd previously stopped at. He bypassed it, sticking to the deeper woods, his destination the tear itself.
Finally, after a day and a half of relentless trekking, a familiar, unsettling sight emerged through the dense foliage.
A disturbance in the very air, a shimmering distortion that warped the trees behind it, making them ripple like water.
The spatial tear. It was small, no more than two meters tall and a meter wide, a jagged, obsidian rip in reality, silently leaking its dark, swirling essence into the world.
It was the same tear that had ended Dylan's life. And it was exactly what Zaylan needed.
A cold dread coiled in his stomach, a primal fear he couldn't quite shake.
This was where Dylan had died. This was pure danger. But the system's prompt, Mana Saturation (100%), pulsed in his mind like a beacon, overriding his instinct for self-preservation.
He had to go closer. He had to absorb. He had to cultivate.
He approached cautiously, his heart pounding a furious rhythm against his ribs. The mana pouring from the tear was overwhelming, a tidal wave compared to the gentle currents he'd felt elsewhere.
It felt like standing directly in front of a raw, untamed power source, a roaring furnace of pure energy.
He extended a trembling hand, feeling the chill emanating from the tear, the inexplicable magnetic pull it exerted, a force that promised both immense power and utter annihilation.
This was it. The crucible. His personal cultivation journey, unlike any other Awakener, truly began now.
He would either harness this raw mana and advance, or be consumed by it, just like Dylan.
The fate of his new life, and perhaps even a tiny fraction of this awakening world, rested on the edge of this terrifying, beautiful abyss.