The Masked Warrior’s Art of Cultivation

Li Tianren groaned as his back hit the hard earth for what felt like the tenth time in the last five minutes. His vision swam, his breath came in short gasps, and his entire body ached in ways he hadn't even thought possible.

His mentor—though calling him that felt generous—stood over him with a smirk, hands clasped behind his back as if he hadn't just casually thrown him around like a ragdoll.

Tianren lay there for a moment, re-evaluating all his life choices.

"I thought we were going to start with something simple," he wheezed.

The man tilted his head. "This is simple."

Tianren lifted his head slightly to glare at him. "For you, maybe! I'm just some guy who got isekai'd! I don't even have Qi yet! I have the physical endurance of a boiled noodle!"

His mentor hummed thoughtfully. "Then I suppose we will have to fix that."

Tianren was about to make a snarky remark when the man casually lifted a wooden staff and swung it down.

Tianren rolled to the side just in time to avoid getting his ribs cracked. The ground where he had been lying moments ago splintered.

His brain caught up with the situation half a second late.

Did he just try to murder me?!

He scrambled to his feet, his body moving on sheer survival instinct. "Hold on, hold on! Why do you have a weapon?!"

His mentor adjusted his grip on the staff. "It is not a weapon. It is a training tool."

Tianren gestured wildly. "You just tried to kill me with it!"

The man shrugged. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."

Tianren opened his mouth, then closed it.

…Fair point.

But still—

"Are you seriously training me by trying to beat me to death?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe your opponents in the sect examination will be kind to you?"

Tianren groaned. "Okay, but maybe we start with something like push-ups or meditation instead of extreme combat trauma?"

His mentor looked unimpressed. "You have two weeks. If you wish to survive, we do not have time for luxuries."

Tianren nearly choked. "Push-ups are a luxury now?!"

His mentor didn't answer. Instead, he shifted his stance, staff poised in a very menacing way.

Tianren took a step back. "Wait—"

The staff came swinging toward him.

His body moved before his brain could catch up. He ducked, barely dodging, and stumbled sideways.

His mentor nodded slightly. "Good. At least you are not completely hopeless."

Tianren huffed. "Wow. Such high praise. I feel so honored."

The staff swung again. This time, he wasn't fast enough.

It caught him on the side, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

Pain flared across his ribs, and he wheeze-laughed in agony.

His mentor, utterly unbothered, leaned on his staff. "Again."

Tianren lay there for a moment, staring at the sky, contemplating all the events in his life that had led him to this moment.

At some point, he must have angered a god.

By the third hour of training, Tianren had been thrown, tripped, smacked, and otherwise abused in the name of "building endurance" more times than he could count.

He had zero techniques, zero Qi, and no idea what he was doing, but his body was learning. Forced adaptation. If he didn't dodge, he got hit. If he got hit, it hurt. A lot.

Pain, as it turned out, was a very effective teacher.

At some point, something clicked.

Tianren stopped thinking about dodging and just moved. His body twisted away from a strike, his footwork adjusted naturally, and when the staff came again, he instinctively leaned into the momentum instead of resisting it.

His mentor narrowed his eyes slightly.

"You learn quickly," he murmured.

Tianren grinned despite the bruises. "Yeah? Must be all the workplace abuse from my past life."

His mentor blinked. "Your what?"

Tianren immediately coughed. "I mean—uh, never mind, continue."

The man gave him a long, suspicious look but didn't press the issue.

Training continued.

Tianren got hit a lot, but the important part was that he was getting hit slightly less than before.

Which, in his book, was progress.

As the sun began to set, his mentor finally lowered the staff.

"Enough for today."

Tianren collapsed immediately, spread out on the ground like a dead fish.

He had never been this sore in his entire life. Every inch of him felt like it had been run over by a horse-drawn carriage, twice.

His mentor glanced down at him. "Do you wish to continue tomorrow?"

Tianren groaned, voice muffled against the dirt. "Do I have a choice?"

The man smirked slightly. "Not really."

Tianren lifted a weak thumbs-up. "Then sure. Why not. Let's make this suffering a daily thing."

The man chuckled. "Good."

Tianren sighed heavily, letting his body sink into the ground. If he didn't move, maybe his muscles wouldn't hurt as much.

"Your combat awareness is poor," his mentor continued. "Your reactions are slow, and your stamina is abysmal."

Tianren made an indignant noise. "Okay, ouch."

"But," the man added, "your instincts are good. You adjust quickly. That is promising."

Tianren blinked up at him. "…That almost sounded like a compliment."

His mentor smirked. "Don't let it go to your head."

Tianren sighed again. "Of course not. My head is too busy dealing with a concussion right now."

His mentor shook his head, turning toward the hut. "Come. You will need food and rest. Tomorrow, we focus on conditioning."

Tianren sat up slowly, his body protesting. "Please tell me 'conditioning' doesn't mean more beatings."

The man didn't answer.

Tianren groaned. "Of course it does."

Dragging himself to his feet, he stumbled after his mentor toward the hut, already dreading whatever fresh hell awaited him in the morning.

That night, as he lay on the uncomfortable cot, he stared at the ceiling and let out a slow breath. His muscles throbbed, his ribs ached, and his entire body was a collection of bruises.

And yet… he felt alive.

For the first time since arriving in this world, he had a direction. A goal.

He wasn't just some clueless reincarnated guy trying to figure things out. He had a path.

He was going to enter Cloudsong Sect.

And he was going to get strong.

…Preferably without getting hit in the face again.

But, given his mentor's training style, he wasn't holding his breath.