Invincible: I Level Up In My Sleep

Who Says This Prince Is Trash?

"Bind the girl! Throw the trash prince from his throne!"

Prime Minister Zhao’s arrogant voice echoed through the damp stone hall, dripping with malice.

At the base of the steps, Fan Changyu breathed heavily, her knuckles white around her sword hilt. She raised her blade, preparing to fight to her absolute last breath. The two corrupt royal guards closed in on her, their faces twisted into cruel, mocking grins. To them, executing a defenseless girl and a sickly prince was nothing more than an easy path to a promotion under the new regime.

But right before the blades could clash, a cold, low chuckle cut through the tension in the room.

It wasn't a loud sound, but it carried a strange, heavy resonance that made everyone freeze instinctively.

"Prime Minister Zhao," a calm, clear voice spoke from above. "You speak of the royal bloodline as if it were a bargain to be traded. Tell me, who gave a dog like you the right to negotiate on behalf of Ironcliff?"

Zhao blinked, his sneer faltering for a fraction of a second. He looked up at the throne.

Yan Zheng was standing up.

He was no longer slumping back like a frightened coward. His posture was completely straight, his shoulders broad beneath the heavy royal robes. The sickly, trembling weakness that usually defined the young prince had vanished. Though his body still looked thin, his posture carried the immovable weight of a mountain. His dark eyes, completely devoid of fear, locked directly onto Zhao.

"Your Highness?" Fan Changyu gasped, her almond eyes wide with shock. For a moment, looking at his back, she felt an inexplicable sense of pressure, as if she were standing before a completely different person.

"Hmph, trying to put on an act at death's door?" Zhao recovered quickly, his face darkening with annoyance. "Yan Zheng, you are a martial arts cripple who hasn't even touched the first layer of Qi Refinement. Your father is dead. Your army is broken. You are nothing but a historical footnote. Guards! What are you waiting for? Drag him down!"

The two Level 3 Qi Refinement guards snapped out of their daze, their faces hardening. One of them shifted his focus away from Fan Changyu, turning sharply toward the throne steps. With a loud shout, he leaped forward, channeling his spiritual energy. A faint, blurry glow of Qi coated his iron sword as he lunged straight for Yan Zheng's chest.

"Your Highness, look out!" Fan Changyu screamed, lunging forward to block the strike, but she was too far away.

Yan Zheng didn't move an inch. Beneath his long, flowing sleeves, his right hand was tightly clenching the empty crystalline vial.

Just seconds before waking up, he had pulled the cork with his teeth and swallowed the entire Elixir of Lesser Rejuvenation. The moment the liquid hit his throat, a volcanic explosion of pure, unadulterated energy had ruptured through his body. The ancient bodily toxins and blockages in his meridians were instantly dissolved and purged, replaced by the crushing, raw physical attributes of his Level 1 Dread Knight avatar, boosted by his newly allocated Strength points.

He didn't have Qi, but his physical muscle fibers and bones were now denser than solid steel.

The guard’s sword arrived before his face, slicing through the air with a deadly whistle.

Yan Zheng didn't draw a weapon. He simply raised his bare right hand, casually reaching out toward the incoming blade.

"Is he insane?!" Zhao laughed out loud. "He's trying to catch a Qi-infused blade with his bare hands! His arm will be severed!"

CLANG!

A loud, metallic screech echoed through the throne room, followed by the agonizing sound of shattering iron.

The laughter died instantly in Zhao's throat.

Yan Zheng’s bare palm had clamped shut directly onto the sharp edge of the iron sword. The faint glow of the guard's Level 3 Qi flickered violently before shattering like fragile glass against Yan Zheng’s skin. Not a single drop of blood fell from the prince's hand. His grip was an absolute, unbreakable vice.

"What... what kind of monster..." The guard’s eyes dilated in pure terror. He tried to pull his sword back, but it felt as though it were welded into a mountain of solid iron.

"Your sword is too slow," Yan Zheng said softly.

He flexed his fingers.

CRACK!

With a casual twist of his wrist, the heavy iron blade shattered into a dozen jagged metallic shards. Before the guard could even scream, Yan Zheng stepped forward, closing the distance instantly. His fist blurred through the air, striking the guard squarely in the chest.

BOOM!

The sheer physical force of a Level 1 Dread Knight erupted. The guard's heavy steel breastplate caved inward with a sickening crunch. His body went completely airborne, flying backward across the entire length of the throne room like a broken ragdoll before slamming heavily into the thick oak doors. He slid to the floor, coughing up blood, instantly unconscious.

Silence fell over the room. It was so quiet that the crackle of the wall torches sounded like explosions.

The remaining nine guards took three steps back in unison, their hands trembling as they held their weapons. Fan Changyu stood frozen, her sword lowering slightly as she stared at Yan Zheng in absolute, breathtaking awe.

*Barehanded... he destroyed a Qi Refinement cultivator barehanded without using a single shred of Qi?!* her mind screamed.

Yan Zheng casually brushed a speck of dust off his royal robes, stepping down the throne stairs one slow, deliberate step at a time. His eyes never left Prime Minister Zhao, whose face had gone completely pale, sweat pouring down his wrinkled forehead.

"Zhao," Yan Zheng rumbled, his voice echoing with the exact same terrifying authority as his Dread Knight avatar. "You said Ironcliff needs a realist at the helm. Tell me, does this reality suit you?"

"You... you hid your strength! You've been cultivating a ancient body-tempering technique!" Zhao stammered, backing away until his spine hit the stone pillar. He panicked, screaming at the remaining soldiers, "Kill him! He's just one person! Anyone who takes his head will be rewarded with ten thousand gold coins!"

The allure of wealth overcame their fear. The remaining nine guards roared, drawing their weapons and charging up the steps together.

"Changyu," Yan Zheng called out smoothly, not even breaking his stride.

"Yes, Your Highness!" she responded automatically, her heart hammering with sudden adrenaline.

"Watch the doors. Don't let a single traitor escape."

Before she could even answer, Yan Zheng vanished from his position.

To the untrained eye, it looked like a ghost. He didn't use advanced movement techniques; it was just pure, raw, explosive Agility. He reappeared right in the center of the guard formation.

What followed was not a battle—it was a slaughterhouse.

Yan Zheng moved like a cyclone of dark iron. A backhand strike shattered a guard's jaw, sending him spinning into the air. A simple kick to another's shield shattered the wood into splinters, breaking the soldier's arm in three places. He caught a spear thrust under his armpit, yanked the weapon away, and used the blunt wooden shaft to sweep the legs of three guards simultaneously, cracking the stone floor beneath them.

In less than sixty seconds, all nine guards were texturing the floor, groaning in agony with broken bones and shattered armor.

Yan Zheng stood in the center of the carnage, completely unblemished. Not a single speck of dirt or blood had touched his regal robes. He turned his gaze slowly toward the corner of the room.

Prime Minister Zhao was on his knees, his luxurious silk robes soaked in his own cold sweat. He was shaking violently, his hands pressed together in desperate supplication.

"Your Highness! Mercy! I was forced into this! The Iron-Blood Tribe threatened to slaughter the entire city!" Zhao wept, dragging himself forward to kiss Yan Zheng's boots. "I did it for the people! Please, I am the only one who knows the enemy's terms! You need me!"

Yan Zheng looked down at the pathetic old man, his expression completely cold. He reached out, grabbing Zhao by the collar of his expensive robes, lifting the heavy old man into the air with one hand as if he weighed nothing.

"The people of Ironcliff don't need a coward who sells their children into slavery," Yan Zheng said calmly.

He walked over to the grand stained-glass window overlooking the castle courtyard and the city below. The distant sounds of a panicked populace and the faint smoke of the approaching enemy vanguard could be seen on the horizon.

"Your Highness, wait! No! Ahhh!" Zhao screamed, kicking his legs frantically.

"Go tell my father's spirit that the court has been cleaned," Yan Zheng said.

With a powerful heave, he threw the Prime Minister straight through the glass. The grand window shattered into a beautiful explosion of colored shards, and Zhao's long, terrified scream cut through the morning air before ending with a dull, heavy thud in the stone courtyard below.

Yan Zheng stood at the broken window, the cold northern wind blowing his dark hair across his face.

Behind him, Fan Changyu stepped forward, her boots crunching on the glass. She looked at the courtyard below, then up at the profile of her prince. Without a single word of hesitation, she dropped to one knee, placing her sword flat on the ground before him.

"General's daughter, Fan Changyu, swears absolute life-long fealty to the true King of Ironcliff," she said, her voice ringing with fierce pride and fierce devotion. "Command me, Your Highness."

Yan Zheng turned around, looking down at his most loyal subordinate. A dark, confident smile played on his lips as a sudden system notification flashed across his vision.

[Notice: Real-world alignment checked. Main Quest Unlocked: The First Siege of Ironcliff.]

[Objective: Annihilate the Iron-Blood Tribe vanguard at the city gates.]

[Crucible Sleep-State available in: 12 Hours.]