I walked through the palace halls, carrying Aleriana in my arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The sun rays filtering through the windows on either side bathed everything in a soft glow, and the polished marble floor reflected our image—a man holding a woman close, her long hair draping over my arm like silk.
She wasn’t resisting. No squirming, no complaints. Just quiet.
Her arms were folded, her expression unreadable, but the slight blush on her ears gave her away.
"Left," she murmured.
I turned left.
"Straight."
I kept walking.
She guided me like this was completely normal. Like she wasn’t being carried through the palace in full view of every servant and maid.
They, however, were losing their minds.
A young maid gasped so sharply she nearly choked. Another fumbled her feather duster, letting it clatter to the floor.
An older maid—appearing composed—stopped dead in her tracks, the tray in her hands wobbling.
And then the whispers started.
"The Princess… she’s letting him carry her—?"
"She’s not resisting…?"
"Am I dreaming…?"
I ignored them, but Aleriana couldn’t. I felt it—the way her fingers curled slightly, gripping the fabric of my shirt.
Not my skin, just the cloth, but that small gesture said everything.
It felt… good.
My hands adjusted slightly, one beneath her thighs, the other supporting her back.
She was light.
Softer than I expected.
If she had been heavier, I wouldn’t have cared—I’d still carry her just the same.
But the way she fit against me, the steady rise and fall of her breath, the faint warmth of her body pressing into my chest… it again reminded me of the oath I took a moment ago.
An oath to protect this moment.
A flicker of guilt had initially crept in when I thought about how, using excuses, I was going to hurt her, maybe not only her but other women in the future without realizing it.
I’d always looked down on men and women who used their partners for selfish gain, yet here I was, taking comfort in her compromises, disheartening her by forcing my selfish desires.
Was I any different?
But then… I felt it.
That small strength she gave me, or according to her, her physique enhanced the strength of mine.
Maybe it wasn’t much.
Maybe it wouldn’t change anything in this world where people can crush mountains.
But to me, it was everything.
A reminder that just as she could be my strength, I should be hers too.
I wasn’t sure if I could love her the way she loved me.
Maybe I never would.
But I could try.
I could create memories, moments that would stay with us, even if love still felt like something distant and unknown.
And if nothing else—I wouldn’t just take from her. I’d give back.
Everything I had.
No expectations. No conditions.
She loved me. That was enough.
Enough for me to learn how to love her back.
The training grounds came into view.
Empty, silent.
"There," she said, her voice soft.
I carried her toward a heavy stone door set into the wall, made for isolation training.
She pushed it open.
And together, we stepped inside.
The internal decoration of the room appeared very bland as there were no seats, just the stone carving with the black stone walls and two big buckets where I could see dried grains, clearly indicating this was for isolation training.
"Can you tell me about why cultivation years are different and irregular even with each layer?" The first thing I did was inquire of her about the cultivation, clearly knowing that the answer the system gave me was bland and did not have the complete truth and was confusing.
So it was better to learn it directly from someone strong enough as I looked into her eyes.
"Do you want to... it’s a misconception," I could see the flicker of hesitation as she wanted to point out that she was unsure if I wanted to learn about cultivation.
But with my gaze intensely focused on her, she finally gave in and started to tell me about the cultivation years that I found different in each individual.
"Misconception?" I inquired, hearing her point out something different than what the system suggested.
"Yes... put me down; I will tell you." She clearly was hesitant, while embarrassed, though it did not appear on her face as she averted her gaze and pulled my collar, telling me to put her down, which I did, placing her down.
She then used her dimensional ring to take out a book.
"It’s a misconception because people think the year of cultivation represents the amount of Qi they hold at that moment, which is true in a way, but the reason everyone has different years is simply that with each threshold or sub-layer they cross, a certain amount of cultivation years is consumed..."
My gaze remained on her as she opened the book, which clearly seemed to be handwritten by her, with clear concepts as she pointed out, not hiding anything, as she genuinely wanted to tell me.
Her fingers moved through some texts, which were understandable, but my eyes, rather than the book, were fixed on her lips, her long eyelashes, lake-like eyes, and the way she blinked, sending ripples through my thoughts.
’System, will you be able to scan the book and restructure your stats based on it?’ From her words, I came to understand that the reason everyone had different years of cultivation, irrespective of their power layers, was simply because there was a threshold after which one could break through to another layer, and in doing so, the cultivation year in particular was consumed.
[ No, you need to read it manually. ]
’Useless, prick.’
A perfect example I could relate to was the assassination attack on me yesterday—That old man was at the early 6th Layer, someone who was as strong as Olea but had just 80 years of cultivation years, unlike Olea, who had 300 years of cultivation.
This clearly means that the old man had just broken into that cultivation layer a few days or moments ago, as per his cultivation years reserves.
The system told me it was due to reservoir or something similar, which was indeed the case, considering that the grade of one’s bloodline and physique decided the maximum utilization they could achieve by converting the internal energy in the atmosphere into their own Qi.
So, the system was correct in a way, but the way Aleriana was explaining this to me gave me a clearer understanding of the power system; the only thing I needed to know was exactly how many years were required for each sub-layer.
"I see, so if you are in the 6th Middle layer and have 280 years of cultivation, how many do you need to break through to the next stage?" I inquired, looking at the book, where it appeared she had also mentioned this as I turned the page.
’!?!’
This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.
"Y-you, how do you know my levels?"
Suddenly being called out by her, I realized that in this world, one can guess someone’s layer, but it’s hard to find out their sub-layers if they try to hide it and do not reveal their capability, causing me to slowly lift my eyes while hoping for her to be suspicious, angry, or something.
Instead, there was curiosity—a bright one at that, which caused me to chuckle.
"I have secrets too, my love." Shrugging my shoulder, I gave her a response that clearly brought me a narrowed suspicious gaze before she averted her glance, as if she did not like me hiding secrets. Though of course, it was a playful gesture that was met with my smile.
"Below the 7th layer, at least from my guess, it’s 400 cultivation years for each sub-layer."
While turning the pages of the book, I finally heard the exact answer I wanted to know, causing me to halt before lifting my gaze to meet hers.
’System, she has approximately 300 years; bestow 600 to her.’