Chapter Two: Endeavor

A torrential downpour crashed down from the heavens, the unbroken roll of thunder drowning out every other sound of the world. Under this sky, smothered by black clouds, countless acts—dirty, glorious, or mundane—continued as always, and yet, never before had anything quite like this occurred.

As if in celebration, at the very instant Liu Tian willed a thought, thunder exploded and lightning illuminated his entire room, only to plunge it back into darkness the next moment.

Even in this high-end residential district, the power had long since failed—whether the transmission lines had been felled by the raging wind or for some other reason, Liu Tian was not surprised. What did surprise him was that, despite the utter blackness, he could still see the simple panel before him with perfect clarity.

Origin Point: Heavenly Martial Fist.

Having read countless books, he instantly guessed its purpose. Suppressing his excitement, he focused his mind and tapped the word “Upgrade” with a single thought. Instantly, the level indicator on the Heavenly Martial Fist blurred and changed from three to four. At once, a scorching current surged from the depths of his soul, flooding through his entire body.

A tingling numbness, as if ants crawled over his skin, swept through him—just like after a long, arduous period of cultivation, when he’d finally, at a crucial opportunity, broken through his bottleneck and stepped into the realm his master, Dao of Heaven, had once described: the realm of the Martial Artist.

Initiate, Martial Artist, Fighter, and even the fabled King of the Century—these, according to Dao of Heaven, were the tiers of martial mastery. Since becoming Dao of Heaven’s disciple, Liu Tian had trained for ten years, yet remained forever at the threshold, unable to cross into the domain of the true Martial Artist.

Thanks to his master’s guidance and advanced techniques, Liu Tian’s explosive strength was not inferior to that of a Martial Artist. But the standard was not raw power—it was something else: the unity of mind and intent, the ability to, at a single thought, summon all one’s strength in an instant.

A Martial Artist’s pure strength might not always surpass that of an apprentice stuck at Initiate, but with will and power perfectly aligned—even upon just breaking through—a Martial Artist could easily outclass any apprentice, playing them for a fool.

A slender line separated the two, but it was a world of difference.

Dao of Heaven had estimated it would take Liu Tian at least another year to break through, yet now—with a single thought, a light tap—he had crossed the boundary effortlessly, without so much as a hint of aftereffect, as if he truly had labored for a year to achieve this step.

To prove it wasn’t an illusion, Liu Tian punched and kicked, the air splitting with a whistling roar. In a few flickers of movement, he leapt back and forth between ceiling and floor like a nimble monkey, tossing a vase to the far end of the room with a kick, only to catch it again before it landed.

If he’d possessed such skills before, he wouldn’t have needed the park’s complex terrain to dodge his pursuers; even in an open field, his odds of victory would have been formidable.

After all, in a fight against a gunman, Liu Tian didn’t have to be faster than the bullet—just faster than the shooter.

After a brief bout of movement to vent his excitement, Liu Tian glanced at the panel. The “Upgrade” option had vanished, and the Origin Points stood at a glaring zero. He clutched the diamond-shaped cylinder tightly, feeling the steady warmth flow into him, and let out a deep breath.

With this, he had confidence. In this dangerous world, this was his means to survive—no, to thrive—so long as he had enough Origin Points.

He didn’t know why, but he understood instinctively: this cylinder was not the source of the panel, merely a vessel that happened to contain Origin Points and had activated the panel early. Even without it, given a few more days, he would have awakened this strange panel on his own.

There must be other things in this world that could bring me Origin Points.

Clutching his hard-won trophy, Liu Tian pondered how best to keep it on his person—no, on his body at all times.

Earlier, he’d run an experiment: if the cylinder was separated from him by a certain distance or covered by something and not in direct contact, he couldn’t absorb the warmth. Even if he left it aside for a while and then touched it again, he couldn’t retroactively absorb what he’d missed.

This meant that to accumulate Origin Points quickly, he had to keep this troublesome item with him—no, intimately on him—at all times.

He didn’t know what it truly was, but judging by the ruthless efficiency of the two men who likely were now drifting with the tides, it was certainly no ordinary object.

If, before he grew stronger, someone discovered that Liu Tian had it, even if they didn’t realize he’d stolen it, trouble would surely ensue.

He had to find a way to carry it without drawing attention—and without losing it.

Comparing the risk of losing over half the potential energy, Liu Tian quickly abandoned the idea of hiding it away for nightly contact, instead focusing all his thoughts on how to carry it discreetly.

The cylinder wasn’t large, but not small either. In the height of summer, with scant clothing, a finger-thick, ten-centimeter-long object would be conspicuous no matter where he tried to hide it.

Standing before the mirror, Liu Tian studied his nearly 1.9-meter-tall frame—muscular, otherwise unremarkable—and pondered where to store it, spinning the cylinder between his fingers. He grew so desperate that he even considered using one of the body’s few natural cavities, but quickly shook his head—not quite that far, yet.

As he fretted, he squeezed the cylinder without thinking. To his surprise, it compressed easily, and when the pressure was released, it returned to its original shape.

Solid, yet malleable? And it could restore itself? So light, so elastic—what metal was this? Earth certainly had nothing like it, let alone in a world whose technology barely matched the Second World War.

Wait—malleable?

A bright idea struck him. Bringing his palms together, he flattened the diamond prism with ease, and found that the panel’s warmth-absorbing function was entirely unaffected.

At once, he thought of the perfect hiding place—one that, so long as he avoided violent combat, would be absolutely secure.

With the last problem solved, Liu Tian felt a wave of exhaustion overtake him. He didn’t know the hour, but his well-trained body clock told him it was time to sleep.

But before that, one last thing.

Focusing his mind, he summoned the panel. How should he address this wondrous thing? Deep Blue? Shadow? System? Attribute Panel?

A flurry of names flashed through his mind, but remembering the feeling of upgrading, he settled on the one word that would become his greatest asset going forward: Effort.

From now on, you’ll be called Effort.