Chapter One – The Solitary Ascent of a Void Root Cultivator
He was the younger of two sons, a quiet shadow in the brilliance of his older brother. His mother’s affection, his father’s attention, and his family’s approval were all lavished upon his brother, a charming and cunning boy who effortlessly stole the hearts of all around him. The protagonist, however, was plain. He was an afterthought, a boy his grandmother called cursed. He spent his days watching, a silent observer of a family that had no time for him.
This neglect was never more apparent than during the preparations for the spiritual awakening test. His brother was celebrated, tutored, and surrounded by well-wishers. For him, there were no words of encouragement, no mentors, just the simple command to wait outside.
When his turn finally came, the temple was silent save for the crackle of sacred flames. He stood alone, a forgotten son performing a sacred rite with no one to bear witness. With a heavy heart, he placed his hand on the crystal.
His spiritual root flared to life—strange, quiet, deep. A root that didn’t shine brightly, but pulsed steadily. The elders called it rare. Not strong, not weak, but balanced. The kind that grows in solitude.
The pulse was the unmistakable signal of his Void Root—rare, dangerous, and barely understood. It wasn’t a flashy fire or flowing water, but a profound Spiritual Root of emptiness and absorption. Its quality was not a blazing Purple, but a deep, unblinking Silver-tier, marked by a humble 3★ rating.
To the elders, his roots meant potential, but not immediate power. Without a sponsor or a sect, it was a root destined to wither. And so, they dismissed him as a curiosity, a problem for a different day. That day never came.
Cast out from the temple, he wandered, the hunger in his belly a sharper pain than the neglect in his heart. His journey wasn’t a hero’s path; it was a scavenger’s crawl.
He found a home in the grimy back alleys of the sprawling city of Havenstone, a hub for mortals and low-tier cultivators. It was a world of fantasy guilds and humble mortal craftsmanship.
He found a place that didn’t look away. He entered the rough-hewn doors of the Adventurer Guild, a place where grit was worth more than a noble bloodline. With no status and only the most basic cultivation, he was granted the lowest rank: Initiate (Grey).
It was the start of a long and lonely journey, built not on prestige but pure survival.
His first mission was a simple, brutal task: clear a pack of Shadowfang Wolves from a decaying ruin on the city’s outskirts. It was a mission for fodder, for those with no hope of advancement. He went alone.
The ruins were a maze of broken stone and creeping shadows, a perfect hunting ground for the beasts. He didn’t fight with finesse; he fought to survive. He was outmatched, out-maneuvered, and mauled.
As the alpha wolf closed in for the kill, its claws tearing into his flesh, his Void Root reacted for the first time. It didn’t blast the beast with an elemental spell, but it did something far stranger—it absorbed the chaotic, corrupting energy of the wolf’s spiritual essence, turning his near-death into an agonizing new birth.
When he stumbled back into the city, he had gained his first, painful Blessing. It wasn’t a boon from a god or a spirit, but a Cursed Blessing: Shadowfang’s Mark.
The blessing granted him enhanced night vision and an unnatural swiftness in the shadows, but in return, the bright light of day would cause blinding, crippling pain.
He was now a creature of the dark, a phantom of the twilight. The blessing was a powerful tool, but it came with a price that marked him as an outcast even among outcasts.
Months turned into years. He took on mission after mission, rising steadily from his humble Initiate rank through Apprentice (Blue), and eventually earning the title of Journeyman (Green).
He became a ghost, an urban legend among the guilds, a quiet figure who worked under the moon and avoided the sun. His reputation, however, was forged not in glory, but in endurance.
It was during a ferocious beast tide that the name stuck. The city’s outermost wall, a crumbling remnant of an older era, was breached by a swarm of monstrous, insect-like creatures. The small sect assigned to protect that section of the wall, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and the tide’s ferocity, retreated in a panicked rout.
The mortals and low-tier Adventurers, with no masters to guide them, had nowhere to go.
And there, on that broken wall, stood one figure. The one they had all seen but never noticed.
He was not a savior; he was simply the one who stayed.
His Void Root pulsed, a silent fortress against the chaos. His Cursed Blessing, a mark of his solitude, allowed him to see in the churning darkness of the insect swarm.
He didn’t win a great victory. He simply… held the line. He stood there, alone, taking every hit, absorbing every shock, until the tide shifted and the creatures were repelled.
He was the guardian they never asked for, the defender no one celebrated. He became The Last Man on the Wall.
Across Realms and Reflections
His story, once ignored by sects and society, has begun to echo beyond the walls of Havenstone.
Explore different echoes of this tale across timelines:
- Read the origin life story that inspired this chapter on Rebootica Mobile Games.
- Follow his legend across alternate dimensions and starships on RMG Nexus.
Continue the Journey
The Last Man on the Wall is just one of our growing collection of cultivation stories and epic adventures. Each chapter builds on the path of Revan and his allies, uncovering deeper truths within the cultivation world. To explore every part of this tale, past and future, follow the links below: