The Legend of Dungsworth

2. King Jigo Staff of Light

On a vast continent ruled by an oligarchic system, three kinds of beings coexisted: humans, beastfolk, and demons. The land was known as the Hena Plains.

Among the humans, there were seven great clans: the Fire Clan (Naar), Water Clan (Ma’), Wind Clan (Hawa), Land Clan (Ard), Light Clan (Nur), Darkness Clan (Dullam), and Plant Clan (Nabat).

The beastfolk were governed by leaders of their own kind—such as the monkey tribe, once ruled by King Jigo, the great Monkey King. As for the demons, their forces were divided into three domains: the Red Demons, the Green Demons, and the Black Demons.

Humans occupied the northern regions, beastfolk the southeast, and demons the southwest. At the far northern edge stood the Ironhart Institute, a basic academy for cultivation. Half of its grounds were surrounded by dense forest and the Blue Sea coast.

---

A faint glow appeared on Quincy Dungsworth’s right palm—the shape of a blazing sun. But the mark faded as quickly as it appeared, vanishing the moment he dropped the charred stick from earlier.

“What was that mark? Could it be… connected to my origin?” Quincy whispered.

He picked up the stick again. Once more, his palm burned with searing pain, glowing with white light. This time, he clenched his teeth and endured it. Slowly, the glow spread, enveloping the battered wood. Before his eyes, the stick lengthened, reshaping into a radiant staff of light that illuminated the darkness.

“This staff…”

Quincy recalled a story his teacher once told him—the tale of the tragic Monkey King.

Eight years ago, a massive battle had broken out between humans, beastfolk, and demons over the Central Lands, where a legendary tower stood: the Ancient Tower (Ti Yang).

The tower, built by the Great Hero a thousand years ago, was a training ground reserved for humans alone. Neither beastfolk nor demons were ever allowed to enter.

Since the Hero’s passing, his immortal soul fragments lingered, barring all outsiders from approaching. But King Jigo, the proud Monkey King, once tried to force his way in, wielding his divine staff. He was repelled, his body rotting from the cursed waters of the Black Lake surrounding the tower, while the Hero’s lingering spirit struck him down further.

“Could this… be King Jigo’s divine staff?”

“You’re correct!” boomed a voice.

Quincy froze. “Y-you can talk?”

“Of course! I am a sacred relic. I disguised myself as a withered stick, awaiting a worthy successor. Congratulations—you are chosen. From this moment, I shall merge with your body and awaken your strength!”

The staff dissolved into shards of light, pouring into Quincy’s veins. He screamed as radiant energy surged, his eyes and mouth shining like molten fire.

“AAAAARGH!” His body trembled violently, feeling as though it might explode. His chest constricted, burning, suffocating—until at last, he collapsed, gasping for air.

“What… what power is this?” Quincy muttered, kneeling, staring at his trembling hands.

The sun-mark flared on his palm once more, accompanied by the relic’s voice:

“Call upon me whenever you need.”

Then it vanished, leaving only silence.

---

Quincy felt warmth coursing through his body. Suddenly, sparks of light flickered in both his palm. 

“The Light Core? I… I’ve reached the First Spiritual Realm, Stage Two!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet, fists clenched in excitement.

For humans, there were nine realms of cultivation, each divided into nine stages.

“The path of human cultivation is divided into nine realms,” his teacher’s words echoed in Quincy’s memory. “The higher the realm, the greater the pressure one exerts upon the world.

First Realm – Spirit Initiate.

The beginning of absorption. At the second stage, the first Spiritual Core emerges. Fragile, yet it is the foundation of all cultivation.

Second Realm – Spirit Refiner.

The core solidifies, able to be summoned forth. A faint aura of energy begins to sheath the body or weapon.

Third Realm – Element Controller.

The innate element—fire, water, wind, land, plant, light, or darkness—can be harnessed.

Fourth Realm – Spirit Guardian.

The body hardens, and one’s aura forms a natural shield.

Fifth Realm – Spirit Warrior.

Every strike is imbued with energy. Movements leave behind trails of light.

Sixth Realm – Spirit Conqueror.

One’s aura alone suppresses foes. Their mere presence can topple weaker soldiers.

Seventh Realm – Spirit Sovereign.

The element unites with the world. A single attack can shake the battlefield.

Eighth Realm – Spirit Saint.

The Spiritual Core evolves into a Sacred Core. Their strikes rend the earth, and their body approaches immortality.

Ninth Realm – Grandmaster.

The pinnacle. Their core shines like a star. Their very existence compels all beings to bow.”

These realms defined the path every cultivator sought to climb. And now, at last, Quincy had taken his very first step.

Without inner energy, a core could never be born. Which meant Quincy’s body had already formed inner energy beforehand—yet no one had ever noticed.

“Divine Staff, come forth!” Quincy shouted.

Whoooosh!

A radiant staff spun into existence before him. He swung it wildly, knocking down several trees.

Whuuush! Whuuush! Whuuush!

“Whoa!” he gasped, awestruck by his newfound strength.

But almost instantly, a thought struck him: he must hide this power. He needed to study hard, train in secret, and search for the truth about his origins.

---

Just then, he heard a scream. Not far away, a small girl was trapped between the jaws of a tiger. The beast carried her into the forest, its saliva dripping onto her body.

Quincy sprinted after it. His legs moved faster than ever before, catching up with the beast.

Grrrrrr!

The tiger growled, tightening its grip. Blood trickled from the girl’s body.

“Let her go, or I’ll kill you!” Quincy roared, aiming the glowing staff at the tiger’s head.

The beast’s eyes widened. It recognized the staff—and in fear, it dropped the girl and fled without a fight.

Did… did it fear this staff? Quincy wondered, shrugging.

He rushed to the girl’s side—and froze.

“Lila!” he gasped.

The girl was Lila Liet, daughter of Mr. Liet, teacher of Class 1F. Mr. Liet was known as the most patient teacher in the Institute, guiding students deemed hopeless—Quincy among them. Other instructors often mocked him for wasting effort on the “crippled and talentless.”

Now, Lila, the only one who ever treated Quincy warmly, lay limp in his arms, drenched in blood.

“Is she… already dead?” His eyes blurred with tears.

Memories of her cheerful voice echoed in his mind:

“Quin-Ge, aren’t you tired of always brooding?”

“Don’t bother Quin-Ge, or I’ll tell my father to punish you!”

His heart ached. Tears streamed down his face.

“Lila!” Quincy cried, hugging her tight.

Suddenly, his body flared with green light. The glow surged outward, draining all his energy and pouring it into the girl in his arms. His strength left him entirely.

Until, at last, he collapsed—unconscious.