A metal chariot rattled along the cobbled path leading toward Rosewood City, the creaking wheels struggling to keep pace with the powerful strides of the two bulls pulling it—one red, one black.
The city’s entrance loomed ahead, bustling with a large crowd who held several flags with symbols.
The road was lined with merchants hawking their goods, children playing in the shadows of the trees, and travelers making their way into the vibrant heart of the city.
The air was thick with the scents of roasted meats and sweet pastries, mixed with the earthy aroma of the forest that surrounded the city.
Riding at the front of the chariot was a young man, round in stature with a face flushed. This was Fatty Ben, known to all by his affectionate nickname.
He held the pulling threads of the bulls with a practiced grip, his pudgy fingers surprisingly skilful as he guided the creatures forward. Despite the chariot’s steady movement, his brows were furrowed in concentration, sweat beading on his forehead as he tried to maintain the perfect balance between speed and control.
Behind him, sitting in the back of the chariot with an air of stern authority, was his master, Leonard III. Leonard was a man of strict discipline and unwavering standards. His eyes, sharp as an eagle’s, never left the path ahead or the posture of his young disciple. He had the look of someone who had seen too many students fall short of his expectations, and he wasn’t about to let this one off easy.
“Watch your grip on the rope!” Leonard barked, his voice cutting through the clatter of the chariot. “You’re too stiff on the left—loosen your hold, or you’ll throw the bulls off balance!”
Fatty Ben flinched at the criticism, his hands instinctively relaxing, though his heart pounded even harder in his chest. He is riding the chariot like a professional, but still, his master found fault in every move he made.
The initial enthusiasm he’d felt when he first started learning had long since faded, replaced by a grim determination born out of necessity.
It hadn’t been an easy road for Fatty Ben. When he first arrived to learn chariot riding, he had been met with sneers and derision. The other disciples, far more advanced in their training and cultivation, had seized every opportunity to mock him.
They’d treated him as little more than a stable hand, forcing him to clean their horses and beasts while they sneered from the sidelines. Fatty’s low cultivation made him an easy target, and he’d become the center of everyone’s bullying.
The worst of it had come from the palace heirs, the proud sons and daughters of the chariot training family. They despised seeing Fatty Ben’s innocent interactions with the pretty ladies who visited the training grounds.
Envy and arrogance drove them to new lows, and one day, they had taken things too far. They’d cornered him, demanding that he hand over his beloved bulls—his only companions and the creatures he had tamed with wild effort.
When Fatty refused, they beat him mercilessly, their laughter ringing in his ears as they struck blow after blow. But the bulls—his loyal, steadfast friends—had refused to stand idly by.
The red bull had charged, its massive body barreling into one of the attackers, while the black bull had reared up, driving the others back with its powerful hooves. The sudden show of defiance had startled the group, and they quickly fled, leaving Fatty Ben shattered but not broken.
It was this scene that had caught the eye of Leonard III. The palace master, always on the lookout for potential talents, had been impressed by the connection between Ben and his bulls.
He had seen something in the young man—something that others had overlooked. Fatty Ben had a talent for caring for beasts, a natural gift that went beyond mere training. And so, Leonard had taken him as a disciple, believing that with the right guidance, Ben could achieve greatness.
Fatty thought the bullying would end with his new master, he was sorely mistaken. Leonard was a harsh taskmaster, pushing him to his limits and beyond. The training was grueling, the expectations high, and there were many days when Ben wanted nothing more than to quit.
But every time the thought crossed his mind, he would remember Kent—his friend, his savior, the one who had always provided him with benefits.
Now, with the Immortal Beast Spirit Gathering only months away, Fatty Ben knew he had to keep going. He had to be ready.
Today was a significant day in that journey. Leonard had brought him to Rosewood City to participate in a chariot race—an opportunity to prove himself.
As the chariot neared the city gates, the noise of the bustling city grew louder. Leonard’s gaze remained fixed on Fatty.
–
Golden Bamboo City…
The Eternal Sun Sect, once a respectable yet modest establishment in Golden Bamboo City, had transformed almost overnight into a top sect.
The catalyst for this remarkable rise was none other than Kent Clark. His name had become legendary, spoken with reverence, admiration.
After Kent was offered the position of Supreme by the Wizard Association, the sect’s fortune took a dramatic turn.
The resources provided by the wizard association were akin to most powerful prime families, and with such wealth came unprecedented growth.
The Eternal Sun Sect, which had once struggled to attract talent, now found itself buried with applications. The number of disciples tripled in mere months, forcing the peak master to raise the standard of selection to ensure only the best were admitted.
The sect’s reputation soared to such heights that it was recognized as a top-tier sect by the Wizard Association, an honor that solidified its status and attracted even more ambitious cultivators from across the realms.
The legend of Kent Clark was the fuel driving this meteoric rise. His name echoed in the halls, whispered among the disciples, and shouted from the rooftops of Golden Bamboo City.
–
Thank you…