Heaven's Eyes

Groundbreaking Power

Emmet’s heart raced.

He drew a deep breath and stomped hard on the ground.

Peh!

The earth cracked beneath him, his foot leaving a half-inch imprint in solid dirt.

Excitement surged through him. He stepped over to a 96-pound stone, raised his palm

Crack!

The stone shattered under his strike.

This… this is the second rank! I broke through during the night!

Eyes wide, he stilled himself and focused inward. His body felt different, stronger, more stable, more efficient.

He sent his mind back into his 3rd eye consciousness.

The purple light in the void had grown again, from around 23 inches to roughly 27.

His energy felt richer, more refined. And though he couldn’t yet explain all the changes… he knew this was only the beginning.

“Now that I’ve broken through to the Second Rank of the Martial Path, I’m no longer at the bottom. And more importantly… I can finally qualify for the Family Sparring Trials.”

Emmet couldn’t hold back the grin on his face, but he quickly calmed himself.

The Martial Path consisted of nine stages, each one more difficult than the last, forming a pyramid of progression.

The first three ranks were commonly called the Foundation Ranks also known as the stage of Body Forgers.

Body Forgers trained their raw strength and resilience, preparing their physical bodies as the base for all future cultivation. While it was still considered the beginning of martial practice, reaching the peak of this stage wasn’t easy.

At the Third Rank, a cultivator would wield over 881 pounds of physical force. Talented individuals could even exceed 1105, tearing beasts apart with their bare hands.

Though Emmet had just reached the Second Rank, his strength was already approaching 66 lbs, far beyond what an ordinary person could handle. Paired with strong techniques, even a dozen untrained fighters couldn’t touch him.

“If I can reach the Third Rank and hit 881 pounds of force, my overall strength will double.”

That was his next goal.

But what he truly aimed for was the Fourth Rank, the threshold where real martial cultivation began.

Ranks Four through Six were known as the Core Ranks, or the stage of the Soulchi Sculptors.

At this level, a cultivator’s progress wasn’t just about muscle; it involved the cultivation of internal organs, blood circulation, and, most importantly, internal force. This “inner strength” allowed practitioners to strike harder than raw power alone.

Crossing into the Core Ranks meant leaving the realm of ordinary mortals behind.

Back in Green Hollow Village, Emmet had always dreamed of becoming a true martial artist. And joining the Windcrest Sect had brought him one step closer.

—

After confirming his advancement, Emmet rushed to share the news with his parents.

“Second Rank?” his father, Darian Rowan, echoed with a stunned expression.

His mother, Mara, covered her mouth in disbelief, then let out a relieved breath.

To break through without pills or external assistance, just through sheer effort, was no small feat. It placed Emmet above many others his age.

“You don’t need to place too high at the Trials,” Darian said with a warm smile. “Just represent us well. That’s all we ask.”

Mara nodded, her face glowing with pride.

But Emmet’s ambitions went far beyond simply avoiding embarrassment. He wanted to rise, no, soar. To stand among the elite. Maybe even reach the pinnacle of martial cultivation someday.

And now, as a Second Rank cultivator, I can access the first floor of the Sect’s Martial Archive.

The Archive contained countless martial techniques, each one a stepping stone toward power.

Just thinking about it lit a fire in his chest.

He set off immediately.

“Emmet!”

A familiar voice called from behind.

He stopped mid-step.

The voice was soft, almost nostalgic. Turning, he saw a pair walking toward him, one boy, one girl, both about his age.

The boy wore a violet robe, stood tall with broad shoulders and sharp, confident eyes. He radiated power clearly, a Third Rank cultivator at the peak.

Whispers stirred in the crowd nearby.

“That’s Keaton Vale third-ranked among the outer disciples!”

Beside him stood a girl in white. Her beauty was striking, and her eyes carried both sharpness and hesitation.

“Liliah…” Emmet murmured, recognizing her instantly.

She had joined the Windcrest Sect at the same time as him, just six months ago.

Back in Green Hollow, she had admired him, followed him everywhere. But ever since arriving at the sect, she had changed. Distant. Almost like a stranger.

Word was she had quickly become close with Keaton, using her charm and connections to advance. She’d recently broken into the Second Rank herself.

Liliah said something to Keaton in a hushed voice.

He gave a short nod and stepped aside, not even glancing at Emmette.

Liliah approached slowly.

“You’ve broken through to the Second Rank,” she said quietly, with a complicated expression. “That’s good… but I’ll be honest with you, Emmette. Don’t cling to old dreams. This place isn’t like Green Hollow.”

“What’s your point?” Emmette replied, his tone cool.

She bit her lip, then continued, “My advice is this: go to Keaton and pledge yourself to him. With his help, you’ll finally get access to the inner circle of the sect. Otherwise, you’ll be alone out here... and it won’t end well.”

Pledge?

Emmet scoffed. “I don’t follow anyone. Not now. Not ever.”

Keaton had always looked down on him. The few times they’d crossed paths, the disdain in his eyes was obvious like Emmette was beneath notice.

Seeing his reaction, Liliah exhaled and returned to Keaton’s side, whispering something to him.

“Hmph. Doesn’t know what’s good for him,” Keaton muttered loud enough for Emmette to hear. “Useless garbage.”

Emmette’s brow twitched.

Keaton stepped forward, smirking. “You’re supposed to be Green Hollow’s little prodigy, right? Let’s see how that holds up at the Family Trials. I’ll crush you with one move.”

Emmette met his gaze coldly. “We’ll see.”

He turned and walked toward the Martial Archive, no longer interested in conversation.

They would settle things in two months, on the arena floor.

As Liliah’s gaze followed him, her heart stirred with a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

Something about Emmette felt… different.

She couldn’t explain it.

“He sure thinks highly of himself,” Keaton scoffed.

To him, Emmette was no threat at all.

Among the outer disciples, there were fewer than sixty who had reached the Third Rank. Keaton was third among them.

Which meant one thing:

He wasn’t just strong.

He was elite.

Liliah sighed, but said nothing. She knew Keaton’s strength. Few could withstand even a single strike from him.

But somewhere inside, a small part of her wondered…

What if Emmet could?

Liliah shook those thoughts away.

Emmet’s only making things harder for himself…

She knew how powerful Keaton truly was. Some third-rank disciples couldn’t survive a single one of his attacks.

Meanwhile, Emmet arrived at one of the sect’s most important grounds: the Martial Archive.

The Archive was a heavily guarded facility, home to the sect’s treasured martial techniques.

“Branch disciple?”

An elder in white robes eyed Emmet’s identity plate and frowned slightly.

“Elder,” Emmet said respectfully, bowing. He could feel the immense strength hidden behind the man’s calm demeanor.

Through the new power of his 3rd eye, he sensed something deeper, a red energy layered beneath the elder’s skin, flowing like living fire through his veins. It pulsed with silent violence, ready to strike through the air and crush steel like clay.

That was inner strength.

Only those who had reached at least the Fourth Rank of the Martial Path could cultivate inner strength to this level.

Neither Marcus, Liliah, nor Keaton had that power yet.

Emmet bowed again. “I request permission to access the second floor of the Martial Archive.”

The elder raised a brow.

“Breaking through to the Second Rank at age fourteen is… average. But before you get ahead of yourself, remember this: branch disciples and core disciples are not treated equally.”

Emmet nodded slightly. He had already guessed that the rules weren’t in his favor.

“Please explain, Elder.”

He knew he wasn’t in a position to complain. Not until he had the strength to back it up.

The elder’s voice was flat. “Disciples at the Second Rank may only access the first floor of the archive. The first floor contains many basic techniques and a few mid-tier ones. Core disciples may select up to two mid-tier arts or four basic arts, with a borrowing period of two months. Branch disciples such as yourself may only choose one mid-tier or two basic techniques. And your time limit is one month.”

Emmet inhaled slowly and bowed again. “Understood.”

Half the access. Half the time.

Still, it was better than nothing.

“Very well. You may enter now. But your selection time is limited to thirty minutes.”

With a silent nod, Emmet stepped forward and crossed the threshold into the archive.

A place he’d dreamed of reaching his entire life.

The Martial Archive was one of the most sacred locations in the Windcrest Sect. It held a vast collection of martial techniques accumulated over centuries, passed down in hopes that the younger generation would continue to strengthen the sect’s legacy.

In most sects, the size and quality of a martial archive directly reflected its strength. Emmet remembered that back in Green Hollow Village, his family didn’t even have a martial arts library.

The Martial Archive was divided into three levels.

The first floor held a large volume of techniques, mostly basic-rank, with a few mid-tier ones scattered throughout.

The second floor, by contrast, was said to contain the sect’s traditional and secret techniques. Most of these were high-rank, with rumors of even a few peak-rank arts sealed within.

However, access to the second floor was restricted to those who had reached at least the Fourth Rank of the Martial Path.

As for the third floor it was the stuff of legend. No one had ever seen it open.

For someone like Emmet, both the second and third floors were far beyond reach. Even the techniques on the first floor were something he had dreamed about for years.

He had no standing within the sect. No blood ties to the core families. And unless someone like him possessed extraordinary talent, access to elite techniques was impossible. His current technique, Blazing Core Fist, was just a rudimentary training art, weaker than even the lowest-ranked official martial skills.

But now, after breaking through to the Second Rank, he finally had the right to enter the first floor and choose a technique of his own.

“No wonder Windcrest is one of the Three Great Houses of Sunfeather City sitting atop hundreds of minor families.”

Emmet stepped onto the first floor. His breathing quickened.

Several other disciples were already browsing quietly, each of them using their allotted time carefully.

According to sect rules, each disciple had thirty minutes to make their selection. Every second mattered.

“One mid-rank technique, or two low-rank ones. I need to choose wisely.”

Emmet scanned the long rows of shelves lining the chamber.

There were thousands of manuals, each one bound in thick covers, roughly half an inch thick. Picking the right technique among so many options wouldn’t be easy.

“Rocksplit Palm… Draconic Burst Fist… Leafcut Swordplay… Gale Step…”

His eyes darted from title to title. The variety was staggering.

Shuah! Shuah!

He began flipping through manuals rapidly, focusing on the first pages where most contained summaries.