Void Root Abilities and a New Problem
Void root abilities became the subject of whispered legend in the silence that followed—rumors of a Void Root cultivator who survived what sect disciples could not. The whispers spoke of a ghost, a silent figure who appeared only at night, a man who held a crumbling wall against a tide of monsters.
The sect disciples dismissed it as a myth, but the mortals of Havenstone saw a different truth. They saw a quiet, unyielding guardian.
His growing legend, however, was not a source of comfort. It was a weight. The name, The Last Man on the Wall, became an echo that followed him, and the increased attention brought new dangers. Other adventurers began to test him.
He defeated them all, not with a roar, but with the silent efficiency of someone who had long ago ceased to fight for glory.
His Cursed Blessing: Shadowfang’s Mark was a constant reminder of his isolation. He could move with supernatural speed in the darkest alleys, his vision sharp as an eagle’s. But every sunrise was a torment, forcing him to seek refuge in the city’s deepest, most sunless tunnels.
He had learned to use his curse as a shield, to hide from the world that had cast him out.
One day, a new job was posted on the Adventurer Guild‘s board. It was a high-tier request, a mission typically reserved for the city’s most respected cultivators.
The scroll was sealed with the sigil of the Inscription Guild and a symbol of the Craftsman Guild — a task combining the two disciplines.
The payout was enough to sustain him for a year, but the details were what caught his eye. The mission required a cultivator known for their void root abilities — or a similar absorption-type spiritual root — to resolve a spiritual contamination within a core-powered engine.
The engine, located in a remote mining outpost, was the heart of a new enchanted steam-machine. A rare void-aligned artifact had been used to power it, but had since gone haywire, corrupting the delicate runic inscriptions and threatening to cause a catastrophic explosion. Its layered enchantments, designed for containment, were spiraling out of control.
Sect cultivators had tried and failed, their elemental roots only fueling the volatile energy.
He took the mission. The journey led him far from the city walls and into the desolate canyons of the Iron Peaks. He traveled at night, his curse a silent guide through the moonlit passes.
At the outpost, he found a scene of chaos: panicked miners, frustrated craftsmen, and a towering steam engine humming with a dangerous, unstable energy. At its center, a master from the Inscription GuildA guild is a mortal-run organization focused on a specific trade, craft, or field of service. Unlike sects, guilds are not ruled by cultivation power but by skill, experience, and reputation. Each guild follows a standardized rank system, provides unique privileges to its members, and operates independently across cities and nations. In the Realm of Origin, major guilds include the... More, an elderly woman named Elder Mei, was tirelessly trying to contain the damage.
She looked at him with an appraising, weary eye. “They told me you were coming,” she said, her voice dry as parchment. “The one with the void-like root. Let’s see what you can do.”
He said nothing, simply walking toward the engine. The air around it was thick with a buzzing, corrupted spiritual energy. The runes etched on the metal plates pulsed with an angry, unstable red light.
He placed his hands on the cold steel, closing his eyes. His Void Root, which had so far only absorbed, now began to actively draw in the chaos.
The process was agonizing, a hundred tiny daggers of spiritual energy tearing at his meridians. But he endured. He felt the raw power of the void artifact—it wasn’t evil, just a wild, untamed thing, hungry for balance.
He pulled at the spiritual energy, his body shaking with the strain. The red runes on the engine dimmed, turning a faint grey.
Elder Mei watched, her eyes wide with shock. A normal cultivator would have been torn apart. But he was not normal. He was a creature of silence and pain, and this pain was another form of cultivation.
He wasn’t destroying the corrupted energy; he was integrating it—making it a part of himself, a new form of strength born from pure will.
When he finally pulled his hands away, the engine fell silent. The runes were still. The contamination was gone.
Elder Mei, a Master of her craft, looked at him with a newfound respect. “You didn’t just clear it,” she murmured. “You absorbed it. But this… this wasn’t an accident.”
She pointed to a faint, almost invisible mark that was now gone. “This is an elder rune of chaos. And the core was designed to amplify its effect.”
He looked at her, his dull eyes showing a flicker of comprehension. The world had not only forgotten him—it was actively working against him.
The whispers were not just rumors; they were a warning.
🧭 Across Guilds and Beyond
To explore the origin and evolution of this lonely cultivator’s journey, visit:
- The inspiration behind The Last Man on the Wall (Nexus Hub)
- RMG Nexus – Sci-Fi & Fantasy Lore Network
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: