Spells Grinding: From Basic Sparks to Divine Arts

10 miles outside the Imperial Capital, the air in the military encampment was thick with the smell of sweat, fear, and cheap stew.

Dou Wen sat cross-legged on the dirt, a piece of tattered cloth in his hand. He methodically wiped the tip of his spear, polishing the cold steel until it gleamed.

Around him, soldiers shoveled rice into their mouths as if they were starving ghosts. They ate with desperate urgency, wolfing down every grain. Their eyes, however, darted nervously toward the distant city walls.

They all knew this might be the last meal they ever tasted.

Once their bellies were full, they would march. Their target was the sacred heart of the dynasty: the Imperial Capital, Jingcheng.

Unlike the recruits, there was no panic in Dou Wen’s eyes. There was only a numb calm. He was a squad leader, a veteran with ten lives under his command. They marched under the banner of Prince Kang, part of a massive coalition assembled to storm the gates.

Dou Wen didn’t care about the politics. He only knew the official story: The Emperor had gone mad. He had slaughtered Prince Kang during a routine paying of respects at the Imperial Mausoleum. Rumor had it the tyrant had even executed the Prime Minister.

So, the Heir Apparent—Prince Kang’s son—had rallied the troops. They were marching to slay the Mad King, install a new ruler, and “save the people.”

“Hey, Brother Dou.”

A young soldier leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you hear the latest?”

Dou Wen didn’t look up from his spear. “Hear what?”

“Word from the capital. They say the Mad King was possessed by an evil ghost. That’s why he killed so many people. But he’s gone now. The Crown Prince, Yu Heng, has already taken the throne.”

“Hm?”

Dou Wen’s hand paused. He looked up, frowning. “If the tyrant is gone and a new Emperor is seated, why are we still fighting?”

If the objective was to remove the Mad King, the war should be over.

“Who knows if it’s true?” The soldier shrugged, glancing around. “But my bet? We’re fighting anyway.”

“Why?”

“Heh. Haven’t you heard the saying? The Emperor’s throne rotates; next year it could be our family’s turn!” The soldier sneered, gesturing toward the command tent. “Do you think the Heir Apparent gives a damn about justice? He has an army at the gates. New Emperor, old Emperor… he wants that chair for himself.”

Dou Wen nodded slowly. The Heir Apparent was a man of boundless ambition. He wouldn’t let a little thing like “peace” get in the way of seizing power.

Just as Dou Wen opened his mouth to reply, a thunderous rolling sound shattered the conversation.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

War drums.

The sound hit them like a physical blow. Every spine in the camp stiffened. Conversations died instantly.

The drums meant one thing: Attack.

“Drop the bowls! Move!” Dou Wen roared, kicking a dazed recruit in the shin. “Grab your weapons and form up! Anyone slow gets skinned alive!”

Discipline took over. Under Dou Wen’s barking orders, his squad scrambled into their armor. Within moments, they were filing out of the tents, merging into the sea of iron and leather that was the main army.

Tens of thousands of soldiers formed a massive phalanx on the plains. The scale was suffocating.

At the front, a handsome young man on a white horse rode back and forth. It was their commander, the Heir Apparent.

He gave a speech. Words like “justice,” “destiny,” and “vengeance” floated over the ranks. Dou Wen tuned it all out. He was an old oil-slick of a veteran; he knew better than to listen to the lies of nobles. His only goal was to keep his head attached to his neck when the Imperial Guard started firing their heavy ballistas.

The Heir Apparent drew his sword, pointing it dramatically toward the towering walls of the capital.

“Advance!”

The order fell like a guillotine.

“Move! Keep your wits about you!” Dou Wen shouted, breaking into a run. “Don’t die on me!”

“Yes, sir!” the recruits screamed, their voices cracking with terror.

The army surged forward like a landslide. Dou Wen kept his eyes on the sky, waiting for the black cloud of arrows that always signaled the start of the slaughter.

But the arrows never came.

Instead, Dou Wen saw something else.

“Whoosh!”

A sharp, tearing sound cut through the air above them.

Dou Wen looked up and froze, his stride faltering. “What… what in the hells…”

A figure was flying.

Not jumping. Flying.

A single person streaked over their heads, tearing through the sky faster than a heavy crossbow bolt. The figure zoomed past the vanguard and slammed to a halt in mid-air, hovering directly in the army’s path.

It was a young man in black robes, holding a long spear. He floated there with his arms crossed, staring down at the charging thousands with a look of absolute, terrifying arrogance. He looked like a Demon King descending to the mortal realm.

Dou Wen’s jaw dropped.

“Whoa!”

“Look up! Someone’s in the sky!”

“Impossible! It’s an Immortal!”

Panic rippled through the front lines. Men pointed and screamed, stumbling over each other. But the momentum of tens of thousands of men was impossible to stop instantly; the rear ranks kept pushing, forcing the army forward.

Then, the man in the sky moved.

He raised his spear and slashed downward.

BOOM!

A beam of energy, solid and heavy as a mountain, crashed into the earth.

The ground exploded. A deafening roar shook the bones of every soldier on the field. Dust and debris blasted outward, blinding the vanguard.

When the dust settled, the army slammed to a halt.

A massive trench, dozens of feet deep and hundreds of feet long, had been carved into the earth just meters in front of the leading soldiers.

The soldiers standing at the edge stared into the abyss, swallowing hard. If that strike had landed on them, they wouldn’t have been killed—they would have been erased.

“Hey!”

A voice boomed from the sky, amplified by Qi until it sounded like thunder rolling in their ears.

“WITH ME HERE, WHO DARES START A WAR?!”

The shout shattered whatever morale the army had left. Thousands of men took a collective step back. Weapons lowered. In the face of such overwhelming, supernatural power, military discipline evaporated.

Dou Wen was trembling. He had survived a dozen battles, but he had never seen a human being defy gravity and reshape the landscape.

A dormant memory surfaced in his mind. A legend he had heard in taverns—that thousands of miles away, past the mountains and seas, there was a place called Liangcheng. A city of Immortals who could ascend to the heavens and burrow into the earth.

He had always thought they were fairy tales for children.

But looking at the god-like figure floating above them, Dou Wen realized the terrifying truth. The legends are real.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

The Heir Apparent rode his white horse to the edge of the trench. His face was pale, but he forced himself to cup his hands and bow toward the sky.

“This… Immortal Master?”

The youth in black looked down, his expression lazy and unimpressed. “You’re the commander?”

“I… yes.”

“Oh. Then listen closely.” The youth picked at his ear. “This war is a setup. It was orchestrated by Evil Cultivators. You are all just pawns. To avoid filling this valley with rivers of blood, today’s war is cancelled. Go home.”

The words rang out across the silent battlefield.

The soldiers of Prince Kang’s army looked at each other in shock. Even the Imperial Guards on the city walls lowered their bows, stunned.

The Heir Apparent’s face twisted. Ambition warred with fear in his eyes. He had come so close to the throne. To turn back now…

Whoosh!

Before the Prince could speak, the black-clad youth dropped from the sky like a meteor.

He stopped abruptly, hovering just inches from the Heir Apparent’s face. The sudden displacement of air blew the Prince’s hair back.

“Do you agree?” The youth asked, his voice low and indifferent. “If not, I can cut you down first, and then negotiate with your second-in-command…”

The threat was naked. There was no killing intent, just a cold statement of fact. To this being, the Prince was no more important than an ant.

The Heir Apparent swallowed, sweat beading on his forehead. The pressure radiating from the youth felt like a heavy stone pressing on his chest.

“I… I agree,” the Prince stammered. “I will order the retreat immediately.”

“Smart choice.”

Dou Wen let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The tension in his shoulders collapsed.

We get to live.

Moments later, the order echoed down the lines. Messenger cavalry galloped back and forth, screaming, “Return to camp! All units, fall back!”

The massive army began to turn, a chaotic sea of relief.

Dou Wen turned to leave, but he stopped. He couldn’t help it. He looked back over his shoulder.

The black-robed youth was still there, floating effortlessly in the sky, watching them leave.

Dou Wen stared at the figure, his heart pounding a new rhythm against his ribs. The fear was gone, replaced by a burning, unfamiliar desire.

So, Immortals truly exist in this world.

A thought took root in his mind, wild and impossible.

I want to go there. I want to seek the Immortals and inquire about the Dao.