Cultivating with a Broken System (and No Talent)

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Chapter 5 – The Body Is Not Mine

Years later...

"This body still moves... even when the system does nothing."

I sat beneath a dying tree, fingers digging into dirt that felt far too warm.

Was it blood? Or just the memory of blood?

No... it pulsed.

> "It's not the system keeping you alive. It's the body itself."

That voice again.

It wasn't just in my head anymore.

It vibrated through my bones.

> "This body isn't yours. It never was. It belonged to Him—his fear, his rage, his death... all buried beneath your skin."

I shivered.

"Then why me...?"

Silence.

The voice vanished again.

I walked for days after that, without direction, without thought—just driven by the instinct to move. Maybe I hoped distance would erase the truth… or drown the voice.

But fate never forgets.

"Hand over everything you have!"

A gang of young bandits surrounded me. Desperate, untrained, afraid to kill. I saw it in their eyes—souls not yet stained.

I didn't kill them.

Instead, I gave them knowledge... and a little money.

Not because I was kind.

Because I saw myself in them—before the darkness, before the voice.

Still… something followed me. A presence. A hunger.

I could feel it inside me now, like static in the blood.

One night, it returned.

The scent of blood. Familiar.

Heavy. Wrong.

I hadn't killed anyone recently.

But someone—or something—had.

I stared into my reflection, and for a split second…

…it smiled back.

> "You didn't kill them. I did."

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