"Miss! Please!—Think of something fast. If Madam finds out, he'll be turned into flower fertilizer for sure!"
A whisper pierced the darkness.
Then came the gentle sigh of a woman.
Her voice alone was enough to make a man's heart tremble. Not seductive, not forced—just natural. Breath like Silken. The kind of voice that stirred blood and boiled spirit without even trying.
She said softly, "Saving a life is better than building seven temples. If he stays here… and if you don't tell, and I don't tell, who would ever know?"
"But Madam…"
"What?" Her tone turned cold. "So now you only listen to Madam and not to me?"
"Your servant… obeys you, Miss."
"He fell into the lake. He's is injured and caught a chill. Go to my room. Bring a ginseng pill."
"…Yes."
Riven Ashvale didn't see their faces.
But he heard them.
In that half-awake state between dream and reality, he could almost see a woman—her figure hidden in mist, like a celestial maiden drifting down from the clouds.
His breath hitched.
His body ached.
His mind... scrambled.
'Wait... what the fuck happened to me? Ah! Fuh- Everything hurts!!!!'
Right—he remembered now. He was on the road to the imperial examination. And then—
Killed.
He had been killed??
His thoughts drifted.
A thousand images flickering through the haze. This life. The past one. The strange space in between.
He'd been born into this world as a baby.
The Nine Dynasties stood tall.
A realm where small states thrived like weeds, martial sects bloomed like spring grass, and every corner of the land was thick with swordsmen, spellcasters, cultivators, assassins, scholars, monks, exorcists, and monsters... You name it, they've got it.
This world had no single time period. It was as if someone had thrown a hundred martial fantasy tropes into a blender and hit "chaos."
And somewhere in all that mess was him—
Riven Ashvale.
A direct descendant of the first crown prince of Emperor Asheville, the founding sovereign of the Ashenvale Dynasty. In theory, he belonged to the imperial family.
In reality?
Well.
After the Cabinet Alliance—when the second prince's line, House Ashbourne, seized the throne—his lineage, House Ashvale, fell from favor. The "main branch" was stripped of power. The collateral branches? Forgotten entirely.
Of course… an imperial family can't be 'stripped' of power just like that. The main household still stands firm.
Some descendants still lived in wealth and power. But the rest? Blended into commoner life. Faded from relevance.
Riven? He was one of the latter.
His name wasn't even written into the Ashvale genealogy.
A concubine-born son with no cultivation background, raised in a city estate barely clinging to noble status.
He had no martial arts teacher. No master. No magical scroll falling from the sky.
His father?
Let's be polite.
He was a disgrace. A soft-spoken, indecisive man unworthy of the Ashvale bloodline. A noble by title alone.
Riven had been raised mostly by his grandmother. A strict, sharp-witted old woman who had once been a general's daughter, now living in quiet bitterness at Ashvale House in the Sundawn commercial city.
She taught him what she could.
But she was just a mortal.
So, left with no other options—and no special aptitude or resources for anything but books and looks—Riven did the only thing he could.
He studied.
He memorized poems. He practiced essays. He obsessed over the Confucian classics.
Studied the flow of ancient and current dynasties. Read biographies written by influential people... kings...
How to govern a state, a country, an empire? Crowd psychology. Mass manipulation tactics. Totalitarian propaganda.
What caused dynasties to fall... the whole lot.
With his out-of-the-box thinking from Earth, which held a stark difference to the people in this world, he strongly believed he had a real good edge.
For ten years, he devoted his mind to the path of scholarship. He pinned all his hopes on one thing: passing the preliminary Imperial Scholar exams in the capital.
If he couldn't fight for power with his fists, maybe he could claw for it with words.
That was the plan.
Until it all fell apart.
He had barely left for the capital, traveling along the Great Lake, when a shadowy figure attacked from nowhere. A hand like cold steel gripped him—he struggled desperately with all he knew, exhausted all he knew, but still left with mortal wounds, he ran, fell into something...
And the next thing he knew, he was falling into dark water.
That was the end of it.
Or should have been.
A million thoughts galloped in his head like war horses. Finally, his energy ran out, and unable to bear the pain everywhere, he fainted again.
When Riven awoke again, he was alone.
"Kuh! Fuck! Argh… shit. Goddamn it! Fuck!", he groaned in pain.
The voices were gone.
His body was hurting, but warm. His lips tasted faintly of ginseng.
Someone had fed him a pill.
And though he was drenched and aching, the cold that had seeped into his bones was slowly being pushed out by a quiet, burning heat.
He glanced around, head still fuzzy.
He was somewhere in the Peony Manor, near the estates of the Virelyn Clan. That much, he recognized from the voices of the girls. The scents, the sounds… even the weight of the air.
This was a place nestled on an island in the Great Lake.
But something was different now.
He had died??
And yet—he hadn't.
He had been hunted.
And now… he had survived.
Whoever saved him had done more than just heal his physical wounds. Whoever this woman is...
'Sigh.... what can I even give her for her compassion?'
However, it didn't take long for him to find an answer.
Riven could feel it in the depths of his soul.
Something had awakened.
[Ding! Critical Hit Refund System loaded!]
A mechanical sound echoed in his mind.
Riven's gaze sharpened.
System?
His lips curled into a crooked grin.
Ah... I didn't drown for nothing after all!
[Critical Hit Refund System: Gifting items to others grants random critical hit refunds. Critical multiplier up to ten thousand times!]
Ten thousand times?
He sucked in a sharp breath.
Damn. That's insane.
[Ding! You received a new starter gift pack. Open now?]
Riven laughed under his breath. "A starter pack too? Hell yeah—open it!"
[Ding! Gift pack opened. Enhancing host's soul and spirit...]
[Ding! Bestowing ten years of martial arts experience...]
[Ding! Granting a superior-grade Earth-tier Primordial Pill...]
[Ding! Granting x100 Yellow-Tier Mortal Fortifying pills...]
[Ding! Loading ten years of inner strength accumulation...]
[Ding! Delivering lower-grade Earth-tier martial art: 'Evil-Repelling Sword Manual'...]
As the prompts rang out, power flooded into him from somewhere.
A gentle, warm inner strength surged from deep within, rushing through his meridians.
The cold that had soaked into his bones evaporated like snow meeting fire.
And with the ginseng pill's aid, his complexion rapidly improved.
He could feel it all—the ancient strength, the martial experience, the memory of moves and stances etched into his body like he'd practiced them a thousand times before.
Back when he was younger, his grandmother had taught him a few simple exercises—basic breathing methods, light strengthening drills. Nothing that could really be called cultivation.
Though he toiled in training himself… his lovely father made sure he received no food with even a hint of energy in it.
The Great Ashenvale Dynasty prized literature far above martial skill.
The throne had long been paranoid about "rebellious generals"—so martial arts were suppressed.
Honestly? Riven thought it was idiotic.
A kingdom that abandoned strength was one waiting to be conquered.
But those were the choices made by a couple of frail, jealous emperors.
History's slow suicide.
Riven pushed himself up and stretched, feeling the muscles in his body respond with an almost musical smoothness.
The lingering ache and stiffness vanished without a trace.
He flexed his fingers.
A deep, thrilling resonance hummed through his bones.
Power.
Real power.
He closed his eyes, feeling it settle deep into his core.
In this world, strength wasn't everything.
But without strength?
You weren't even qualified to struggle.
Riven opened his eyes and looked inward, instinctively pulling up the system panel.
[Name: Riven Ashvale]
[Cultivation Level: Postnatal Muscle Strengthening]
[Martial Arts: None]
[Talent: Ordinary (changing...)]
[Appearance: Handsome, Noble's grace]
[Remaining Critical Hit Chances: 10]
[Remarks:
One critical hit chance per day. Chances accumulate indefinitely if unused.Some automatic critical hits will trigger as achievements to guide the host on the usage of the system. (These do not consume accumulated chances.) All critical rewards are stored in system space until claimed. The host cannot access storage manually.System grows alongside the host, generally linked to lifeform evolution.]
Riven studied the screen quietly.
'Martial world, huh...'
In this world, the cultivation system was simple—but brutal.
Postnatal acquired training: eight stages, from Skin Tempering all the way to Fetal Breathing.
Fetal Breathing marked the peak of mortal flesh, the limit of what an ordinary human body could achieve.
Above that?
The Innate Life Realm.
Where they were no longer considered "acquired" beings, but "innate" lifeforms, acknowledged by heaven and earth.
Creatures like ancient beasts, immortal trees, and divine birds.
Beings who transcended the mundane world.
In the secular world, people who reached that stage were so rare they might as well be folklore.
Children's bedtime stories spoke of them.
But in the day-to-day world?
Almost no one had ever seen a real one.
However, Riven also knew that this could simply be because his horizon was too narrow. Up to this day, he hasn't even seen many powerful martial artists...
So, it was normal for one to consider these as legends.
Riven exhaled softly.
Postnatal Muscle Strengthening...
Second stage of mortal cultivation, huh.
Technically speaking, he had already crossed the first stage—Skin Tempering—purely through grit, self-discipline, and daily training, even without a master.
A lifetime of stubbornness... and a bit of insanity.
Now, the system had bumped him up another notch.
Not bad for a guy who'd been thrown into a lake and left for dead.
Still.
Ten years of inner strength sounded amazing on paper.
But in practice?
Since he hadn't cultivated before, most of that inner strength had been burned healing his internal and external wounds.
And because his foundation was weak—borderline nonexistent—the majority of the energy went into nourishing the depleted blood, strengthening the weak bones, repairing what was broken.
The actual usable inner strength he had left?
Maybe about a year's worth.
At best.
They really fucked me up, he thought grimly.
No resentment though.
Weeellll.... maybe a bit... a teeny tiny bit.... just enough to strip the flesh off their bones?
Riven's gaze sharpened slightly.
Primordial Pill.
Evil-Repelling Sword Manual.
He remembered the system's words.
[Primordial Pill: Enhances and cleanses tendons and marrow, fully opens meridians, strengthens physique, boosts cultivation base, prolongs life, and preserves youthful vitality. Created with myriad Heaven and Earth treasures to act as the perfect supplement for the Nascent Human Foundation.]
One glance at the description, and he knew: this wasn't something you could casually buy even if you were a prince.
This was a priceless treasure.
The kind of pill that ancient sects fought wars over.
A perfect foundation-building divine item.
'Nascent Human? Why not use the word 'Children'?'
Riven felt there was a reason this was worded so; however, without any other information to ponder on it, he discarded any deep thought.
As for the sword manual…
Riven flipped it open mentally, scanning the first few lines.
His mouth twitched.
"To practice this art, one must first sever attachments to the mortal world... including carnal attachments..."
"...Begin by severing flesh..."
Castration?
He wanted to hurl the manual across the room on instinct.
Fucking hell!
Before he could spiral deeper into cursing, light footsteps sounded from outside the room.
He froze.
Quickly, he flopped back down, pretending to be asleep.
He barely had time to adjust his breathing before the door creaked open.
A faint, delicate fragrance drifted into the room—soft and pure, like orchids on a spring breeze.
Riven cracked one eye open, just a sliver.
A girl stepped into view.
Fifteen? Maybe sixteen?
She wore a light pink dress, simple but elegant, no jewelry weighing her down.
Her skin was smooth as porcelain, her black eyes like shimmering stars, and her every movement carried a quiet, effortless grace.
Selene Virelyn.
The daughter of the Virelyn Clan, raised in the Peony Manor alongside the Great Lake.
Sheltered, innocent.
Smart too—someone who had memorized half the family's martial and medical scrolls without ever leaving the estate.
Selene approached quietly, worry etching her delicate brows.
She sat by the bed, rolling up her sleeves with practiced care.
Her fingertips touched Riven's forehead—testing for fever.
Her hand was soft. Cooler than his skin.
She paused, sensing that his temperature had stabilized.
A soft smile bloomed across her face.
Satisfied.
Relieved.
For the past two days, she had been tending him herself.
Applying everything she had learned—prescriptions, acupuncture points....
And seeing it finally work...
It made her heart swell.
She had saved him.
She had finally done something real.
Selene murmured under her breath, "Did the ginseng pill work?"
She reached into her sleeve, pulling out another small white pill, preparing to feed it to him again.
Leaning over slightly, Selene Virelyn carefully pinched his jaw with one hand.
She waited for his mouth to open, her other hand holding the tiny ginseng pill delicately between her thumb and forefinger.
Just as she leaned in—
Snap.
His mouth clamped down, biting her slender fingers—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make her yelp.
Before she could react, a strong hand grabbed her wrist.
Another arm snaked around her waist, pulling her off balance straight into a warm, unyielding chest.
"Ack—!" Selene let out a soft cry, struggling instinctively.
Before she could even scream properly, a cold voice, sharp and full of suspicion, snapped at her ear.
"Who are you?"
"Where am I?"
"What's your purpose in chasing and killing me?"
The words came fast, crisp, and dangerous.
Pressed against him, Selene froze—then her face flushed red in realization.
This idiot... he thinks I'm an assassin?
Understandable, but still—!
Selene huffed, cheeks burning, and squirmed angrily.
"You impolite brute!" she snapped, her voice trembling with a mix of shyness and fury. "Let go of me! I'm not the one who tried to kill you!"
A warm scent lingered between them, a faint mix of sandalwood and ginseng.
Riven Ashvale narrowed his eyes slightly, feeling the softness in his arms. Inwardly, he smirked.
But his tone stayed cold and guarded.
"How can I trust you?" he said, almost lazily.
Selene glared up at him, frustrated beyond words.
She forced herself to calm down.
Fine. If brute strength didn't work, she'd use her head.
"I'm from the Virelyn Clan's Peony Manor," she said quickly, forcing her voice to stay even. "You've heard of the Virelyn family, haven't you?"
Riven's brows twitched.
"Virelyn... Peony Manor..." he muttered.
A flicker of recognition crossed his face.
"Hmm. My ancestors had dealings with the Virelyn family once. Is this... that family?"
Selene blinked.
He actually knew?
"Correct!" she said proudly. "This is Peony Manor. My mother is the current head!"
Realization dawned in Riven's mind.
He loosened his hold—slightly.
"So you're the famous Young Miss Virelyn," he said, his voice losing some of its iciness.
Selene wriggled indignantly.
"Then if you believe me now," she said through gritted teeth, "strangers shouldn't be so... close! Let go, quickly!"
Riven coughed lightly, putting on a solemn face.
"My apologies, Miss Virelyn. I was ambushed before. Woke up here not knowing friend from foe. Please forgive my... impoliteness."
He said all the right words.
But.
He made no move to actually release her.
Selene practically vibrated in place, furious and humiliated.
From birth till now, she could count the number of men she had spoken to on one hand.
Forget being touched—being hugged?
This was... this was catastrophic!
If her good-for-nothing cousin heard about this, he would flip the entire manor upside down.
"You're unreasonable!" she hissed. "I saved your life, and now you... you—this ruins my purity!"
Her voice shook, half from anger, half from mortification.
"If I had known you'd be like this, I would've let you drown in the lake!"
Riven snorted.
"Miss Virelyn, please understand," he said mock-seriously. "My mother once told me—"
He paused, smirking internally.
Bullshit. His mother had died long ago.
But it sounded good, so he went on.
"—that the prettier a woman is, the more dangerous she might be. Your beauty, Miss Virelyn, is... frankly lethal."
Selene's mouth fell open.
Was he praising her?
Or accusing her of being a vixen?
She couldn't tell!
She spluttered, cheeks puffed out.
"You—You say I'm beautiful, but umm - how do I know you're not lying?! Anyway, I- I don't deceive people!"
Her flustered tone made Riven's grin widen.
"Hasn't anyone ever told you you're beautiful?" he asked softly.
Selene faltered.
Slowly, she shook her head, a faint trace of loneliness flashing across her bright eyes.
"No one has ever said anything," she whispered. "In this manor, aside from my mother, the others are just servants. They don't care if I'm beautiful or ugly. They just bow and scrape and move along."
Her words hung heavy in the air.
Riven looked at her, something unreadable flashing through his gaze.
"Then let me be the first," he said lightly.
"Eh?"
Selene stared at him, wide-eyed.
"For saving my life," Riven continued solemnly, "I can't repay you with mere words."
He let out an exaggerated sigh, putting on an act.
"It seems... I'll have to offer myself in marriage."
Selene gawked at him, scandalized.
"Pfft! Who wants you to offer yourself?!" she cried, shoving at his chest.
"You—You let me go right now! Or I'll scream!"
"If you scream," Riven said leisurely, "your mother will find us like this, hugging. And then, well... she might chop me into pieces and bury me under the camellia tree."
Selene almost burst into tears out of sheer frustration.
This scoundrel!
This... this rogue!
Still, her mind worked fast.
Years of quiet study had taught her how to think, not panic.
Fighting back against a thug would only make things worse.
Sometimes, compliance was the smarter move... for now.
Seeing her struggling but hesitating, Riven finally laughed and said, "Alright, alright. I'll let you go."
"But," he added with a glint in his eye, "not for free."
Selene stiffened.
"What... what do you want?" she asked cautiously.
Riven smiled mysteriously.
"I'll give you something instead. A gift."
"...What kind of gift?"
"A pill," Riven said grandly. "One that could change your fate."
Selene narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious.
"What kind of pill?"
Riven put on a grave face.
"Ten-Day Death Pill."
Selene: "..."