Chapter 11 - The Weight of Truth

The flood of data rushing into his mind was like a tsunami - crashing against his thoughts, drowning him in fragmented records, visual logs, and disjointed memories.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe. His chest heaved as if suffocating. But it wasn't physical - it was pressure on his very soul.

"Earth was destroyed."

He gritted his teeth as the memories stabilized. Cities reduced to craters. Continents swallowed by the sea. Skyscrapers melted into flowing magma.

"Sage," Eshmund managed to whisper. "Show me the last recorded entry."

A holographic projection materialized before his eyes. A grainy, flickering video log. An old man, barely clinging to life, stared directly into the recording device. His hollow eyes burned with an intensity that sent chills down Eshmund's spine.





The voice rasped. A forced, bitter laugh escaped the dying man's lips, followed by a ragged groan.



He winced in pain, shaking his head.



His mind wandered in incoherent thoughts, perhaps from everything he had seen. Then, he snapped back.



He coughed violently, blood staining his once-white lab coat. He steadied himself, his trembling hands gripping the console.

















The old scientist shook his head, his eyes distant.














His gaze darkened.




His hands clenched into weak fists.


A long pause. His hollow eyes stared past the camera, as if seeing ghosts of the past.





His breath grew shallower, his words turning hoarse.








A bitter chuckle. His lips curled in disgust.


His fists loosened. His strength was fading.


His voice dropped to a whisper.


Tears rolled down his cheek and mixed with the blood trickling from his mouth. He reached toward the camera, his fingers trembling.


His gaze sharpened with sudden clarity.


His breath slowed. He coughed again - harder. More blood. His breathing turned ragged.


A flicker of a grin.


A deep exhale. A weak chuckle.


The video cut to black.

Silence.

Eshmund sat frozen, his breath shallow, his pulse hammering against his temples. The holographic display had long since flickered out, but the old man's words still echoed in his skull. Earth was a lie. The world he knew was nothing but a sealed prison, abandoned by those who came before. For a long time, he didn't move. Didn't speak. He didn't know what to make of it.

A wave of nausea rolled through him. His hands, once steady, trembled. He clenched them into fists, but it did nothing to stop the cold, empty dread sinking into his bones.

"It was beautiful... we came this far."

The final words of a man who watched his entire race be wiped out. A man who had no hope left. A man who -like him- had been powerless to stop it.

A bitter laugh escaped Eshmund's throat, hollow and shaky. So this is how it ended?

He curled his fingers through his hair, gripping it tightly as if that could somehow stop his mind from spiraling. If Earth was truly gone, if its history had been buried beneath deception and greed, then what did that make him?

Why was he still here? Had he really been reborn? If so, how and why? The scientist in the recording had died. There was no miraculous escape, no last-minute salvation. And yet, somehow, he existed. But as who? What was he now?

His entire body tensed, veins pulsing with frustration. The government he worked for - could they have known? If the history of Earth had been hidden for so long, who was still benefiting from those lies? Were they the remnants of the Sealers? Their direct descendants perhaps? The same ones who had abandoned humanity once before? That must be it.

His fingers flew across the virtual console. The Cube contained more than just the scientist's final message - it held Earth's last historical repository. He pulled up records, scanned genetic archives, cross-referenced all available data.

And then, he found it.

A name.

A bloodline.

His breath caught in his throat as his own genetic signature matched perfectly with the old scientist's. The dying man in the recording - the last human of Earth - was his descendant. Eshmund's pulse pounded so hard it felt like his veins would burst.

This wasn't just a tragedy.

This wasn't just history.

This was his family.

His vision blurred. The weight of it all crushed down on him - rage, sorrow, helplessness. It was too much. For a moment, he almost gave in. Almost collapsed under the sheer hopelessness of it all. Then, on impulse, he searched for something else. Himself.

His old name. His old life. What happened to him? He scoured through classified reports, public databases, missing persons records - anything. And he found it. His old self had been listed as missing. No body. No cause of death. No trace of where he had gone. A ghost.

"So they did screw me over... I bet it was them who erased me" he thought. The thought sent rage surging through his chest like wildfire. "Damn them." The words slipped out, low and venomous.

He slammed his fist into the table, the impact sending a sharp jolt of pain up his arm, but he barely felt it. He wanted to break something, to tear the veil of lies apart, to find the people responsible and make them answer for what they had done.

A second search result. His family...

His wife his daughter.

Their names stared back at him, along with decades of history he had never been there to witness.

His chest tightened as he read through it all. The years after his disappearance. The struggles, the resilience. His daughter had grown up, started a family of her own. His wife - she had moved on, but she had lived.

They had lived.

A shaky breath left him, and the corners of his mouth quirked - just slightly.

It wasn't much. But at least they were safe. They had lived fulfilling lives. A flicker of warmth ran through him. Touched by nostalgia, tears welled up in his eyes. He wiped them away and breathed deeply.

Then, as the silence settled, another thought crept in.

If God was real maybe.. maybe this was His way of making amends ? A strange, cruel form of compensation - giving him back his memories, his consciousness, when everything he cared about was already gone.

Or maybe it wasn't compensation at all.

Maybe it was a test. Maybe it hold a purpose. Something greater than himself, greater than his past. But what purpose? Was he meant to right the wrongs of the past? To expose the truth? To seek vengeance?

Or was he just a stray soul, caught in the chaos of existence, grasping at meaning where there was none? The uncertainty gnawed at him. But whatever the answer, one thing was clear.

He wasn't done yet. Maybe he could find the answers in this world?

The weight on Edmund's heart felt lighter. Not gone, but no longer suffocating.

For the first time since he came to this world, his mind wasn't spiraling in uncertainty and confusions anymore. Some pressing questions still lingered, but they no longer consumed him. He let out a slow breath.

Maybe, just maybe, he could move forward. With that thought, exhaustion finally claimed him, pulling him into deep sleep.

---

The scent of brewed tea and the low murmur of conversation stirred him awake. Morning light filtered through the window, casting a warm glow across the wooden floor. Eshmund blinked away the haze of sleep and sat up.

His grandparents and Muhsan were seated at the table, joined by a few government officials. A steaming teapot rested between them as they quietly sipped, discussing something with calm efficiency.

"We've finished the final checklist," one of the officials said, flipping through a set of documents. "The Red Veined Horse Cabbage farm is fully operational."

His grandfather nodded in approval. "Good. The village will prosper with this."

Muhsan took a measured sip of his tea before setting his cup down. "With this project complete, I think it's time to move on to the next matter - Eshmund."

At the mention of his name, Eshmund straightened, fully alert. The others turned toward him, their expressions shifting to something more expectant.

"I plan to take him to the Samang Sect," Muhsan continued. "It's the best path for him to grow stronger. He has potential - wasting it here would be a shame."

His grandmother's eyes softened with quiet encouragement. "Eshmund, dear, I think you should go. This village is safe, but the world is vast. You should see it for yourself."

His grandfather nodded in agreement. "And if there's something you need to do, something you need to find answers for, staying here won't help."

Eshmund looked between them, processing their words.

A few days ago, he still have some lingering resistance. But now.. now he had too many questions, too many uncertainties about this world and his place in it.

Maybe this was the right step.

Maybe it was time to start moving forward.

A brief silence lingered before his grandparents exchanged hesitant glances with Muhsan. Their postures shifted slightly, as if they wanted to say something but were unsure how to begin.

Eshmund exhaled through his nose. He already knew what they were struggling to tell him.

"You don't have to dance around it," he said, breaking the silence. "I overheard you before. I don't have a spiritual root, so I can't become a cultivator."

Their eyes widened slightly, and his grandmother's fingers tightened around her teacup.

"I've known for a while," Eshmund continued, his voice steady. "You don't have to worry about how I'll take it."

A flicker of relief passed through them, though his grandmother still looked as if she wanted to say something.

Muhsan let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "Well, that saves us the trouble of telling you gently."

Eshmund offered a small smirk in response. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm not that fragile."

Muhsan leaned forward. "Then you also know why I'm bringing you with me. You'll train under me as my martial disciple. Your path may not be that of a cultivator, but that doesn't mean you won't grow strong."

Eshmund nodded.

Cultivation or not, he had no intention of being powerless in this world.

Muhsan set his teacup down, his gaze settling on Eshmund. "You'll be responsible for the magical herb garden at the sect. It's an important job, and I trust you to handle it well."

Eshmund nodded, listening intently.

"You'll also train under me in martial arts," Muhsan continued. "But aside from that, your time is yours. Do what you want with it. You'll be paid handsomely for your work in the garden, so you won't have to worry about money."

That alone was a good deal, but what truly caught Eshmund's attention was what Muhsan said next.

"The sect's grand library is open to disciples, and it holds countless books - on history, ancient records, even old cultivation techniques."

A spark of excitement flickered in Eshmund's chest. A massive library filled with knowledge about this world? That was more than he could have asked for. He had been desperate for answers, for any piece of information that could help him understand his situation better.

"I'm in," Eshmund said, his lips quirking up.

Muhsan chuckled. "I figured you'd like that."

Traditionally, accepting a disciple required a formal ceremony, but since Eshmund wasn't joining as a cultivator, Muhsan decided to keep it simple.

"A bow and a tea toast will do," he said.

Eshmund stood, poured a cup, and respectfully presented it to Muhsan. He then gave a deep bow.

Muhsan accepted the tea, taking a slow sip before placing the cup down with a quiet sigh. He liked Eshmund - he really did. The boy had a sharp mind and a determined heart. It frustrated him that there was nothing he could do about his lack of a spiritual root.

Still, he had a welcoming gift.

Muhsan reached into his robe and pulled out a space pouch, tossing it toward Eshmund. The boy caught it, eyes widening.

"A space pouch?"

Muhsan smirked. "Even though you can't cultivate, you can still absorb and control elemental energy. That means you can use this easily. Here, let me show you how."

He gave a quick demonstration, and after a few tries, Eshmund successfully stored and retrieved an item. It wasn't difficult, this body could interact with energy; it just couldn't retain it like a cultivator.

"If you have things to bring along, you can use that. You might as well start packing now," Muhsan said. "We leave for the sect tomorrow morning."

Eshmund nodded.

He didn't have many things to pack - just some clothes and a few tools he had asked Anise, the blacksmith, to make for him.

Later, he accompanied his grandfather, Muhsan, and the government personnel to the plant nursery - where they cultivate the cabbage seedlings for the cabbage project. It was located within a protective formation set up by the Samang Sect's formation master. Two more formations safeguarded the fields where the raised beds were located, each field as large as a football field.

Since Eshmund had never entered a formation like this before, he got to experience firsthand how to pass through it.

There was a designated entry and exit point outside the formation, guarded by government-assigned personnel. Nearby, workers were constructing living accommodations - likely for the guards and others who would maintain the garden in the future.

To enter, a government official - a cultivator at the 5th level of Qi Condensation - handed each of them a formation token, granting access to the protected area. Driven by his natural curiosity, Eshmund tested it a few times - without the token, it was like crashing into an invisible wall

After inspecting the nursery, Eshmund made a few suggestions before heading home.

The rest of the day was spent saying goodbye to his friends around the village. He lingered the longest at Anise's workshop - his second home - before moving on.

Since Carlan's shop was in town, he planned to stop there tomorrow to buy some supplies for his time at the sect.

With everything settled, he was ready for the journey ahead.