The blade plunged into his chest, not with a whisper, but with the wet, sickening crunch of bone and flesh. It was a sound Kael knew well, having delivered it countless times on the battlefield. But this time, the blade was his own, a priceless artifact forged from the heart of a fallen star, a gift from his sworn brother, Lord Valerius. The shock was a physical blow, a far greater pain than the steel itself. A lifetime of shared battles, of whispered secrets under a canopy of stars, and of unshakeable loyalty felt like a cruel, twisted lie."Why?" The word was a bloody rasp, barely audible. Kael's body, forged in a hundred wars and honed by peak cultivation, was already failing. His cultivation base, the source of his immense power that had leveled mountains and driven back armies, was dissolving from a poison he now realized had been in his lover's last kiss. The sweet, flowery taste of Elara's lips, a flavor he had once cherished as a taste of victory and peace, was now a searing a

The trek from the musty storage room to Lord Alaric’s chambers was a journey through the corpse of a once-great house. Kael walked the same halls he had a thousand times in this life, but for the first time, he saw them with the clarity of his past self. The chipped marble floor, once a pristine surface that shone with the reflected light of grand chandeliers, now lay dull and scuffed. The frayed tapestries, depicting glorious victories of ancestors long forgotten, hung like ghosts of a time when the House of Aethelred was a pillar of the empire. The dim lanterns that barely fought back the oppressive shadows seemed to mourn the absence of life and vitality. It was all a symbol of the house’s decay, a slow, inevitable death. In his past life, he had commanded an army of millions, and his own palace had been a city of light and power, a fortress that intimidated even the heavens. This house was a hollow mockery, a tomb built for a fading lineage.Each step he took was a quiet affirmati

Kael walked down the grand staircase, each step a testament to his new will. The faint energy now coursing through his veins gave his stride a purpose it had lacked just hours ago. He was still wearing the same simple, worn tunic he had on in the storage room—a stark contrast to the shimmering silk and polished armor of the other noble heirs gathered in the main hall. He looked like an out-of-place servant, an errant shadow at a festival of light. His presence, an anachronism in this gaudy display, felt like a silent rebuke to the very air he breathed.The grand hall of the House of Aethelred was a testament to its bygone glory, a corpse of a once-great dynasty. Crystal chandeliers that had long since lost their brilliant luster hung from the high, vaulted ceiling, their dull surfaces reflecting no light. Frayed tapestries depicting glorious victories long forgotten sagged from the walls like withered skin. Servants moved through the crowd with silver platters, their faces a mask of w

The mission notification filled Kael's vision, but the words were no longer a command. They were a challenge, a declaration of war from a man who thought he held all the power. Lord Osric was not just challenging him; he was trying to erase him for the third time in two lives. The thought filled Kael not with fear, but with a cold, serene focus. The time for petty revenge was over. This was a battle for his very existence, a test of his will against the forces that had condemned him, the very same forces that had orchestrated his first fall. This was the final hurdle.He dismissed the system screen and knelt on the dusty floor. He had 24 hours. The first thing he needed to do was use his rewards. He accessed the system's inventory and focused on the Beginner's Luck Potion. The name was still absurd, a trinket for a novice, but the feeling of power in his blood had taught him to trust this system implicitly. He had seen its bizarre, yet utterly effective, results. Without a second thou

The seventy-two hours passed in a flash. Kael spent the time not in frantic preparation, but in quiet, ruthless cultivation. He absorbed the raw, potent spiritual energy from the Aethelred treasury vault, his Tyrant's Body absorbing it with a hungry ferocity. The black lotus in his dantian swirled faster, its petals growing sharper, its core burning brighter. He had broken through the Second Level of the Martial Master Realm, his body now feeling like a diamond forged in the heart of a star, a vessel of unyielding power. He was a weapon, and he was ready for the final confrontation.On the third day, the Imperial delegation arrived. The very air outside the House of Aethelred seemed to hum with authority, a palpable sense of imperial might. The two Imperial Knights, clad in polished silver armor with the roaring lion crest of the empire, stood at the front gates, their presence alone enough to make any commoner tremble. Their faces were as stern and unyielding as the metal they wore.