Reverend Insanity: Golden Beast

I still remember the chill of dawn that morning—the cold air biting at my skin as I made my way to the training grounds, a makeshift clearing near the edge of the Grand City. Five years had passed since the massacre, yet every day was a struggle against the memories that haunted me. With each new lesson, I forged my body and mind anew, determined to transform pain into power. That day, my teacher had chosen a challenge that would test every ounce of my fledgling cultivation: I was to train against an ordinary beast—a fierce, relentless wolf pack comparable to what even a rank‐one Gu Master might face.

I clutched my vital gu tightly—a rank one Titan Bronze Gu I had selected with quiet conviction. Its raw, unyielding energy pulsed within me, a reminder that even in weakness, there was strength waiting to be awakened. The Titan Bronze Gu was my foundation; every subsequent technique and gu I would master must someday build upon its resilience.

My teacher, a weathered man whose eyes had witnessed the brutality of countless battles, stood in silent appraisal as he explained the task. "Today," he said in a low, measured tone, "you will face ordinary beasts. I have chosen the most ferocious beast at our disposal. Do not underestimate it, for even the most unassuming enemy can teach you a lesson. You must learn to balance offense, defense, and movement. These three gu I now bestow upon you will be your tools on the battlefield."

He handed me three small vials—each containing a distinct type of gu. The first was the Bronze Sword Gu, a weapon forged from the same essence as my vital gu, designed for offense. The second was the Bronze Skin Gu, meant to harden my body against sudden strikes. The third, the Wind Swift Gu, was a gift to help me maintain constant movement and avoid being overwhelmed. Each vial glowed with a subtle, burnished light, promising to reinforce my fragile form if I could learn to master them.

I took a deep breath and began my training. I stepped into the clearing, the early light stretching long shadows across the ground. I could hear the low growls and snarls of a nearby wolf pack—ordinary beasts, yes, but ferocious nonetheless. My heart pounded in time with my racing thoughts: every move I made here would not only test my skill but also determine how much more I could push myself beyond the mediocrity of my B-grade aptitude.

I started by summoning my Bronze Sword Gu. With a focused thought, I felt its energy condense into the form of a slender, gleaming sword made entirely of molten bronze. Its blade shone with a golden brilliance. I approached the pack with cautious determination. Out of the mass of snarling wolves, three emerged as primary targets. Their eyes burned with primal fury as they advanced, teeth bared and ready to tear at my flesh.

The battle began almost immediately. I leaped forward, brandishing the Bronze Sword Gu in a series of fluid, practiced strikes. My first blow was swift and true—I slashed at the nearest wolf, its cry drowned out by the clang of metal against fur. The second wolf fell before I could even see its counterattack, its body collapsing onto the bloodstained earth. The third met the same fate, leaving a silent gap in the pack's formation. For a moment, I allowed myself a fleeting smile of triumph as I realized that even a novice like me could overcome raw brute force when guided by technique.

But victory was short-lived.

As I shifted my stance to prepare for the next onslaught, a smaller, more cunning wolf slunk from the shadows. It darted toward me with a feral speed I had not anticipated. Its attack was silent—a predatory lunge aimed at my exposed side. I barely had time to register the movement when I instinctively activated my Bronze Skin Gu. Almost imperceptibly, my flesh transformed; a layer of bronze-like armor formed across my body, hard and unyielding. The wolf's sharp teeth clashed against the hardened skin, its bite falling short of causing any real harm. I felt the impact jolt through my limbs, a reminder that every second in combat could be a fight for life.

I refused to be pinned down. Memories of past failures echoed in my mind: the lesson that to survive in this brutal world, I must always be on the move. I swiftly activated the Wind Swift Gu. Suddenly, I felt as if the very air around me had lightened my steps, granting me a burst of speed that allowed me to dodge and weave among the attacking wolves. I darted from one side of the clearing to the other, each movement a carefully calculated step to avoid being surrounded. The Wind Swift Gu granted me the grace to slip past snapping jaws and slashing claws, even as the pack tried desperately to close in.

Yet, as I fought, my teacher's voice rang out in my memory—a warning I had nearly forgotten in the heat of battle. "Never assume that any opponent is a pushover! Even the almighty rank eight is not invincible, and the future rank nine... well, they are untouchable for a reason." His words were not meant to discourage, but to instill in me a sense of constant vigilance. 

After what seemed like an eternity of strikes, parries, and evasive maneuvers, the pack finally retreated. I stood in the clearing, my breathing ragged and my body marked by bruises and sweat. The battle had been hard-fought, but every strike, every narrow escape, had honed my instincts a little further. I glanced around, still clutching the essence of my gu in my heart—a burning promise of what I was meant to become.

Later that evening, as I sat by a small, crackling fire in the sparse refuge of our training chamber, my teacher finally spoke. His tone was stern, carrying the weight of countless battles and the wisdom of hard lessons learned. "Jin Xu," he began, his gaze steady and unyielding, "you fought well today, but I must remind you: you are too cautious. You hide behind your gu, always on guard, and you hesitate to strike boldly. Remember, the battlefield is not a place for timidity. Never underestimate your opponent, no matter how ordinary they might seem. In this world, even the almighty rank eight has been brought low by the unexpected."

I listened intently, the fire's light dancing in my eyes as I absorbed his words. "But teacher," I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper, "why is it that no one can ever overcome a rank nine? Why do venerables remain invincible?" I searched his weathered face for an answer that might unlock the mysteries of true strength.

He sighed heavily, his eyes reflecting a deep-seated melancholy mingled with hardened resolve. "Even I do not fully understand the nature of rank nine's invincibility," he admitted slowly. "But one truth remains: each time a venerable is born, none can stand against him. Take, for instance, primordial origin immortal venerable —when he walked among variant humans, many of whom had reached rank eight, they were slaughtered without mercy. Their very existence was erased, a harsh reminder that power, true power, is absolute."

I sat in silence, grappling with his words as the fire flickered and cast long shadows on the rough stone floor. "And what if two venerables were to fight? Or among the eight, which one is the strongest?" I pressed, desperate to understand the hierarchy of power in a world that had so cruelly shaped my destiny.

My teacher's gaze turned distant, and his tone grew even more measured. "There are many factors at play in a battle between immortals—fate, Dao, even the subtle interplay of their cultivation methods. You, Jin Xu, are not yet an immortal. You are still bound by mortal limitations, and you must first cultivate and ascend before you can truly understand such matters. For now, focus on mastering your own path and learning every lesson you can from these battles. Only then will you be ready to face the challenges of the immortal realm."

His words, though enigmatic, resonated deeply within me. I realized that while the mysteries of venerable power would remain distant for now, every battle and every lesson was a stepping stone toward that ultimate goal. I was determined not to be one of the weak who merely survived; I would forge my destiny in blood and steel, growing stronger with every trial.

The days that followed were filled with relentless training. At dawn, I rose before the first light of day and practiced with the gu my teacher had gifted me. I swung the Bronze Sword Gu until my arms burned, its weight and brilliance a constant reminder of the power I hoped to one day command. I tested my defenses repeatedly with the Bronze Skin Gu, each blow reinforcing the hard, impenetrable layer that shielded me. And I darted about using the Wind Swift Gu, learning to be a ghost on the battlefield—always moving, always elusive.

I would sometimes train alone in a deserted courtyard behind the boarding house, the quiet punctuated only by my own ragged breaths and the distant sounds of the city awakening. I remembered the lessons of yesterday's battle—the way the wolves had attacked, how one had nearly caught me off guard—and I replayed every moment in my mind. Each success was a spark of hope, each misstep a reminder that I still had much to learn.

One particular training session stands out in my memory. I had chosen a particularly ferocious wolf—a massive creature with a wild glint in its eyes. As I approached, my heart pounded like a drum, and I could almost taste the metallic tang of fear mixed with anticipation. The wolf circled me, its muscles tensed and ready for battle. I summoned my Bronze Sword Gu; the blade shimmered to life in my hand, a golden arc of pure intent. We clashed, our movements a desperate dance of survival. I parried its savage strikes, my sword finding its mark time and again. When I finally drove the blade through the wolf's flank, it howled in pain and fell, its eyes dimming as it succumbed to the inevitability of fate.

But even as I achieved victory, I knew the lesson was not yet complete. My teacher's earlier words echoed in my mind: to be truly powerful, one must strike boldly without excessive caution. I had relied on the safety of my gu—the protective Bronze Skin Gu and the evasive Wind Swift Gu—but I knew that relying solely on defense was a weakness. The battle had shown me that I must learn to balance offense and defense, to never assume that an enemy is weak simply because it is ordinary. Even the mightiest among them can rise unexpectedly.

That night, as I sat alone in my modest room at the boarding house, I replayed the day's events in my mind. The lesson was as clear as the flickering light of a dying candle: to become a true cultivator, I had to embrace the cruel, indifferent nature of the world and harness it to my will. The pain of my past, the grief of my losses, and the scars of every battle were all threads in the tapestry of my destiny. I knew I would one day confront the venerables, the immortal warriors who had once decimated entire armies without a second thought. And though I did not yet understand the full mystery of rank nine's invincibility, I resolved to never be caught off guard again.

My teacher's words still haunted me: "Even the almighty rank eight is not invincible, and each time a venerable is born, none can stand against him." I had pondered this deeply. In the dark hours before sleep, I had asked myself what it truly meant to be invincible. Was it merely a matter of overwhelming power, or was it something more—something that transcended the physical and touched upon the very essence of Dao? I knew that the answers would come with time, with cultivation and with the endless struggle against both external foes and the inner weaknesses that bound me.

Now, as I took the first steps along this path, I was determined to push beyond my limits. I would train until my muscles screamed and my mind became as sharp as the edge of my Bronze Sword Gu. I would learn from every scar, every bruise, and every moment of fear. I would not allow the ghosts of my past to dictate my future. Instead, I would carve my name into the annals of history with the same relentless determination that had driven me from the ruins of my tribe.

With that resolve burning within me, I looked forward to the challenges ahead—each battle, each training session, a necessary crucible that would shape me into a cultivator worthy of the Metal Path. I knew that I still had a long way to go, that the mysteries of venerable power and the secrets of the immortal realm were worlds away from my current grasp. But I also knew that every step, every bitter lesson, was preparing me for that fated day when I would rise, not as a victim of destiny, but as its master.

I closed my eyes that night, the words of my teacher echoing in the silence: "Struggle, or be consumed. Rise, or be forgotten." And in that quiet darkness, as I drifted toward sleep, I made a silent vow to myself: no matter how harsh the journey, no matter how many times I fell, I would rise again—each time stronger, each time more resolute. For I was Jin Xu, the last survivor of the Jin Tribe, and I would forge my destiny with blood, bronze, and unyielding will.

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Sorry for delay if the 3 chapter, but with studies, you know.