This was the conclusion Amon arrived at as he looked at the clouds. Cultivators struggled in the boundary between the mortal and the immortal. This was a point where there was no equilibrium. In the end, they would end up as mortals and die or would turn into immortals.

It was a very sad matter when one thought about it carefully. Of all the mortals, the cultivators that failed lived the most, but alas it was all for naught. Their struggles would mean nothing at all.

Worst of all, Amon could not recall even a single person that managed to truly achieve immortality. As far as he was concerned, it was nothing but a myth. At most, it was a possibility that had never been verified.

Supposing it was truly possible, would it be worth it?

Was immortality a blessing given after countless struggles or was it a curse placed upon those that went against the natural order?

As Amon looked at the red clouds in the sky, he could not help but ponder deeply. Cultivation brought one power. Cultivation brought one knowledge. Most important of all, it brought one an extended lifespan.

Only with an extended lifespan would one be able to make the most of knowledge and power they obtained. Thinking that way, it was reasonable to a.s.sume that, to some extent, living more was the goal of every cultivator, or at the very least a necessary step to achieve or enjoy it.

One that cultivated could not escape the pursuit of immortality, no matter if they wanted to tread that path or if it was just a milestone on the way. Every cultivator that denied this was bound to be mediocre at best, because their lifespan would grow alongside their strength. For them, there would always be a down side to every breakthrough. At some point, they would stop moving forward.

Real cultivators wanted to live more than anyone else, so they fought for it nonstop throughout their lives. And the stronger they became, the longer the fight would be. This made their deaths even more tragic. Cultivators were the ones that lived the most after all, so they were the ones that wanted to avoid death the most.

Cultivation was a struggle in and of itself. Maybe it was a foolish one, maybe it was a struggle impossible to overcome.

Why would Amon cultivate, then?

Why did he start cultivating in the first place?

What did he want for the long, long life that lay ahead of him if he followed this path?

Amon was in a daze as he pondered. He remembered the day he met Lya. The day he buried Alexei Vine's corpse and took Brightmoon.

He remembered what he had discussed with Lya that day.

He remembered how he was denied, and how he later found an answer that she found acceptable. He thought about the answer she gave her at that time.

He remembered the reason he gave her to pursue strength and to cultivate.

Was immortality his desire?

No. It never had truly been. It was not something he could comprehend or seriously consider. He had barely started his cultivation, and he had barely lived. He knew, however, that for him, a greater lifespan would be nothing but a side effect of his true pursuit.

Was knowledge his desire?

No. He didn't really mind how the world worked, and even if its mysteries were interesting and elusive, for him cracking them open would be nothing but entertainment, not what drove him forward.

Was strength his desire?

Yes and no. Strength was a necessary step to achieve what he wanted, but it wasn't his objective. Rather than that, he was forced to become strong given his situation.

What he wanted…

He closed his eyes, and a clear image made its way into his head. He saw a pair of clear and bright green eyes looking at him tenderly. He saw flowing golden hair glistening in the sunlight that came from a window. He saw a pure smile, full of warmth.

A smile full of happiness.

A promise was echoing in the depths of his mind.

Amon knew he would be an awful cultivator, because cultivation was merely a necessary step for him. He would never cultivate whole-heartedly.

Amon also knew that he would be an amazing cultivator, because cultivation was a necessary step for him. He would always cultivate doing his best.

Amon knew what he wanted. It was very simple, almost unbearably so.

What he wanted was no different from what anyone else wanted. When one pursued a wish, the result when it was fulfilled was the same, no matter what wish it was.

He was no different from any other cultivator, but he was also not nearly the same as them.

He did not realize it, but, ever so slowly, the clouds above him started to move. There was a wind that had started blowing in the sky, pus.h.i.+ng them forward at will. Slowly, but surely, they moved on without stopping.

When Amon finally opened his eyes, the sky above him had changed. The clouds blown by the wind above him were pure white, and the sky was of a bright azure color. He was lying on a vast expanse of gra.s.s, and on the horizon, he could see mountains and trees.

Amon felt refreshed and full of energy, as if everything that he had experienced for who knows how long had been nothing but a dream, a faint thought in the back of his head.

He jumped up, patting his Bottomless Pouch and taking a jar filled with water. He knew he was not really thirsty at all, but there was still a lingering feeling of pain and numbness in his body, even if in truth there was nothing at all.

What happened was not something he would forget so soon. No, it was not something he could forget in his life. In that unbearable suffering, at the point where he was about to give up, he found the answer he always knew, but never understood.

He gladly gulped a mouthful of cold, refres.h.i.+ng water, feeling really satisfied.

He did not know if the answer he found was something acceptable to the Guardian or whoever it was that judge him in the Trials. He also did not mind it one bit.

His answer was his, and no one else's. Nothing more mattered other than that. As Lya had said, cultivation was something that he had to do for no one but himself.

For the first time in a long while, he felt fulfilled.