The last and first sensations Timaias Adama felt were pain.

  There was the pain of all the clubs crashing down on his body, bruising what they should have never been able to even scratch. The final crack to the back of the head that caused everything to go dark. That was followed up with a merciful floating sensation, where the pain finally stopped, and he felt himself moving through an endless expanse of black void. All that came to a screeching halt when he felt a strange stretching feeling, quite like the one that he felt in the Uncrowned King tournament all those years ago, before finally more pain.

  Adama gasped and opened his eyes on an unfamiliar forest floor. His limbs felt like wet dishrags, but battle adrenaline sent new life into them as he leaped to his feet. A lightning bolt of pain lanced through his head as he smacked his head against a low hanging branch above him. Eyes watering involuntarily, Adama nevertheless grabbed at his waist for his sword. He found only an empty scabbard, but that didn’t stop him from scanning the world around him for threats. He had just been approaching the Ancestor’s tomb, yet now all he could see was lush forest. This didn’t resemble anywhere he had seen in Sacred Valley.

  He tried to cycle his madra and reach out with his Jade senses, but he found nothing. His breathing technique was practiced and instinctual, having long become second nature, but nothing happened. His arms merely trembled with the strength of a mortal, and his Jade senses were nowhere to be found. He even tried his Copper Sight. Nothing. The Sword Icon? Nonexistent.

  Eyes narrowed in consternation, he tried to sense his core while still on his feet. What he found was even worse than nothing. He couldn’t even use his internal senses to look for a core, much less find a gap where one was supposed to be. Breathing deeply, he continued to glance around for danger. Even the weakest woodland creature might be a threat if he had no madra, no sword, and a weakened body. He fought back that paranoia, sat down with crossed legs, and went into a meditative trance. Still no internal sense and certainly no core to see. Definitely no soulspace either, none he could sense anyways.

  Suddenly overcome with disgust, he chided himself for a moment. So, what if he had none of his abilities? That was bizarre to be sure, given that last he remembered he was fighting with Jades. None of them should have even been able to even hurt him, much less take away his sacred arts. Then again, they had apparently knocked him out, then dragged him to some random forest. But that didn’t make any sense either. Opening his eyes, he did another once over of his surroundings. There was no one in sight. No Jades, no Yerin, nobody at all.

  He quickly felt a pang of worry for Yerin. Would she have escaped the Jades after he sent her away? What had happened to her? Then again, did he really have the luxury to worry about his apprentice when he was somehow totally crippled? He decided to focus on his breathing technique for a moment or two. Even if the technique wasn’t useful for cycling madra in his crippled state, it was familiar and helped to keep him calm. He mastered himself, opened his eyes, stood up, and began to walk around.

  His joints creaked like a construct that needed maintenance and his legs trembled as they plodded over the grassy carpet. His throat throbbed with pain, and he knew his immediate priority was water. Fortunately, his natural senses were still sharp, and he picked up on the burbling of a nearby stream after a short bit of wandering around. He followed the sound to a blessedly clear and pleasant little river of water flowing over the forest floor.

  Abandoning the natural dignity of a sacred artist, he threw himself down and drank deeply, reveling in the pain slowly receding from his throat. His thoughts slowly smoothing out as he quenched his thirst. After coming up for air and going back for more several times, he finally paused for long enough to peer at his reflection in the water. And that’s when a second lance of pain went right through his head and travelled down his spine, viscerally shaking him as he gazed down at a face that was not his.

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  The pain was caused not by surprise, though, but by the sudden influx of memories. He was Timothy Forrester, a small-town boy, the son of a farmer’s daughter and retired veteran soldier. Both his parents were killed in a plague that ran through his town last year, prompting him to take up his father’s sword and head to a city where all skilled adventurers and warriors gathered.

  Orario, the Dungeon city, was a place of worldwide renown. It was situated atop a labyrinthine network of tunnels known as the “Dungeon”, a place of extraordinary danger and extraordinary rewards. Many an aspiring sellsword and adventurer made their way to that city to make a name for themselves. With nothing to lose, Timothy decided to give it a shot.

  He nearly made it too.

  After getting within a day’s journey to the great city, he was set upon by robbers. He fought back with some rough skills that he had learned from his father, but he was outnumbered. They killed him and took everything he had, besides his clothes, and left his body to rot. Somehow, Adama had managed to inhabit a restored version of that body, with no sign of the boy’s soul besides his latent memories.

  After he finished processing the memories, Adama felt at his left breast. Sure enough, there was a hole in his tunic where the sword of the bandit had pierced right through his heart, though the flesh was unharmed. He looked back down at his reflection and saw the gaunt, unshaven face of a boy who had barely eclipsed 15 summers in age. Heavy bags under serious viridian eyes and set above bony cheeks made him look older than he was. Dark brown hair was mussed with dried blood and his face bore a few faint scars.

  Not like he was afraid of scars, though. He had had plenty of those before advancing to Underlord. He felt bad for the boy and was still shocked that he had somehow commandeered this body, but it beat being dead.

  He was starting to come to terms with that idea. Being dead. He couldn’t believe that a bunch of field mice had somehow nibbled him to death, but he supposed that that was just the price of his arrogance. He hoped Yerin, at least, hadn’t paid that price as well. He felt the weight of not being able to do more for her like a pit in his stomach. Her training was far from complete. But every bird needed to leave the nest at some point. Now, with him gone, that time had come a bit early for her.

  He didn’t know where in the world Orario was, but he was starting to doubt that it was in Cradle at all. He was vaguely familiar with the concept of other Iterations, so maybe he was somehow in one of those. Or some twisted form of afterlife. Or somewhere else entirely. It was hard to tell, but sitting here and thinking about it wasn’t going to help, sure as steel was solid. He had always been a man of action.

  So, he acted.

  He started making his way towards Orario, using the boy’s memories as a guide. As he dragged himself through the undergrowth, he thought wryly about how not too long ago, a weak body had been something of a novelty. About how he had waxed nostalgic about running from wolves during his early training years, before he reached Archlord and little existed that could exhaust him afterwards.

  In Cradle, that novelty had been made possible by the suppression script of that remote valley. That had done all the heavy lifting to eventually do him in, and now the novelty of weakness had totally worn off. He missed his stronger-than-steel body and joints that didn’t feel like they had been kicked by a Dreadgod.

  But he was made of sterner stuff than most, and he made his way through the forest at a steady pace, stopping to eat from a berry bush and avoiding any creatures that looked too dangerous. As night began to fall, he found the hollow of a tree and some leaves, dug a trench near the hollow so he could squeeze in, and lay down while covering himself with the leaves and some branches. He was so exhausted that the moment his camouflage was in place, he passed out.

  The next morning, he continued his little trek. He didn’t know what going to the famous city would really do for him, but he knew that he needed to make a living somehow, and his only marketable skill in this world would be his skill with the blade. Clear as good glass he wouldn’t make a living as a farmer. He’d probably die of boredom.

  As the sun reached its’ zenith, he stumbled out of the copse of trees to see it. Orario, the city of Adventures.

  The city sprawled in a massive circle surrounding an enormous ivory tower that marked the world-famous dungeon. The urban sprawl was defended by perfectly circular walls that circled the perimeter of the city, with taller buildings at the perimeter and shorter buildings towards the center. No building, though, even began to match the towering height of the dungeon’s shining central marker, known commonly as the tower of Babel. The city wasn’t terribly large by Cradle standards. Those would reach the tens of millions on a regular basis. In comparison, this seemed like more of a loose collection of huts. It seemed like their technology was rather behind Cradle’s as well, given the primitive nature of their walls and buildings. But he would be grateful for what he had.

  When he was done looking, he walked across the plain, heading for the gated entrance.

  Advancement and the Sacred Arts: Central to Cradle, this is a system whereby the people of this world cultivate and store the remarkable power of the world around them within themselves to grow more powerful. Advancement is done gradually and in levels, which are grouped in larger stages. If you have ever read a Xianxia novel, think of that. If that's total nonsense to you, then just imagine your average Cradle citizen starting their life out as similar to a normal human baby, then ultimately cultivating and growing in power so much that they become something of a demigod that can depopulate a continent. Only a small minority ever actually reach that last point, though. Otherwise things would be super unstable. Most are superhuman by our standards, though, even though they only go through a few advancement levels before stopping, since cultivating to further levels and stages requires finite resources and natural talent, not to mention time.

  Uncrowned King Tournament: A worldwide tournament fought in by only the most elite younger sacred artists, at the level of Underlord. Adama acquitted himself well in one iteration of the UKT in his younger years.

  Madra: The power of the natural world that a cultivator has stored in their personal core. A given cultivators madra fuels their abilities and obeys their commands. Earth madra can be used to throw rocks while sword madra fuels unique sword related techniques or "magic" if you will.

  Jade Senses: personal senses one obtains when they reach the advancement level "Jade". Allows them to sense the spiritual powers of the people and things around them.

  Breathing technique and cycling: To oversimplify a complicated topic, sacred artists typically move their madra in certain ways when fighting or cultivating called cycling. This allows them to restore and increase their energy supply while also more smoothly use their fighting techniques. They breathe in a certain way to do this. This is of course called a breathing technique. I believe I have explained this correctly.

  Copper Sight: similar to Jade senses, this sight is obtained when Cradle citizens reach the advancement level "Copper". This allows them to see aura, or the power of the natural world that is wild, or not cultivated by people.

  Sword Icon: The Sword Icon, simply put, is an aspect or part of the fundamental bedrock of the universe or reality in Cradle, commonly called the "Way". Every Sage taps into the Way and manifests an Icon that they can use for various purposes. The Sword Icon obviously could be used to enhance sword techniques, among other things. This is an oversimplification and probably not technically correct, but lets move on because its honestly not that important for the story.

  Soulspace: An ability created if a sacred artist reaches the level of Underlord. Allows them to create an alternate pocket dimension in their body where they can store items. This pocket dimension increases in size as you advance.

  Jade: Someone at the Jade level of advancement. Superhuman by our standards but very weak by the standards of Cradle.

  Sage: Someone at the Lord stage of advancement (either Underlord, Overlord, or Archlord, which are all levels of advancement), who has manifested an Icon. Crazy strong, even by Cradle standards. Our intrepid MC used to be this.

  Yeirin: The Sage's Disciple. Major character in Cradle.

  Constructs and Remnants and Soulsmithing, oh my: Constructs are autonomous or semi-autonomous creations made of madra from Remants. Remants moving and living remainders of madra left over when a sacred artist dies. Soulsmiths use Remnants and Remnant parts to make constructs, among other things.

  Underlords and Soulfire: As mentioned before, Underlord is a level of advancement that is a part of the Lord stage. It involves having your body being strengthened and remolded by a powerful material called soulfire, that you now gain a reserve of at the Lord stage. This process can do wonders for looks and remove scars as well. Soulfire is another asset that allows sacred artists to manipulate the world around them and enhance their techniques. Some soulfire is more powerful than other soulfire, and the more advanced you are the more powerful your soulfire, but people of the same stage should only have differences in amount, not kind.

  Archlord: The peak level of the Lord stage and what Adama was when he became a Sage.

  Script: Unique writing that can change the natural world and affect beings with Madra when they step within the script and the script is powered. The suppression script that is mentioned here was the most advanced bit of scripting ever, that I am aware of, and covered an enormous area.

  Dreadgods: Insanely powerful creatures in Cradle. More walking disaster than anything else. Would easily kill a Sage if they fought to the death (Technically, there is an exception to that last bit. Long story. Read Cradle to find out more!)