Chapter 8: The Reveal
Wu Shan Town, within the Baruch family estate.
At the dining table, two figures—one tall, one small—sat in silence as they quietly ate their evening meal.
It was a still moment, broken only by the occasional clink of cutlery on porcelain.
"…Father."
The word came unexpectedly from the smaller figure.
Hogg raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised.
Baruch family etiquette was strict: no talking while eating or sleeping. And if there was one person who mastered this rule better than anyone else, it was his second son—Xinghui.
For Xinghui to break it now meant something was on his mind.
Hogg paused, then chuckled lightly, thinking he'd guessed the reason. "Are you nervous about tomorrow's magic aptitude test?"
He smiled as he tried to ease the boy's nerves. "There's no need to worry. Your big brother's magic talent is outstanding—you probably won't be much different."
He added with a note of pride, "Besides, even though you can't cultivate the Dragonblood Mystic Codex, you're already a level-two warrior, while little Wharton is still stuck at level one."
Hogg's eyes softened. "Your warrior talent is extraordinary. Even if you don't become a mage, a physical cultivator from our Dragonblood Warrior bloodline can reach level eight, even level nine. That's enough to become a powerful figure."
But as he spoke these comforting words, Hogg couldn't suppress the quiet sigh in his heart.
The Dragonblood bloodline—a source of pride and strength for the Baruch family—was also a shackle.
Xinghui's warrior talent was top-tier. Maybe even Wharton, whose bloodline was strong enough to eventually awaken as a true Dragonblood Warrior, couldn't compare.
But their family bloodline came with limits. Limits that even Hogg, once a prodigy himself, couldn't escape.
Those born into the Baruch bloodline couldn't cultivate battle qi. They had to rely solely on the strength of their bodies. No matter how talented, their speed of progress would eventually slow, and others would surpass them. Their upper limit was set in stone.
That was the cruel truth.
Still, Hogg believed—perhaps hoped—that Xinghui had a different fate. Unlike himself, his son still had a chance. If Xinghui possessed mage talent like Linley, everything could change.
But Hogg was unaware of the storm brewing inside the little boy across from him.
Xinghui calmly looked up, his eyes steady and ancient beyond their years.
"Father," he said slowly, "I know… Mother didn't die from childbirth."
Clang—!
The sound of cutlery crashing against a plate pierced the silence. A splash of soup hit Hogg's robes, staining the fabric.
For a moment, everything froze.
Regaining his composure, Hogg bent down to tidy the mess and asked, voice calm but sharp beneath the surface:
"Who told you that? Was it Uncle Hilman? Or Grandpa Hiri?"
Only three people in all of Wu Shan Town knew the truth about Lina's death: Hogg, Hilman the warrior, and Hiri the old butler.
He certainly hadn't said anything.
If Xinghui knew the truth, he must've heard it from one of the other two.
But then Xinghui shook his head.
"No one told me," he said softly. "I've known since I was born. I remember when… they took her away."
His voice didn't tremble, but Hogg's heart did.
Xinghui wasn't lying.
He really did remember.
In truth, that was the moment when his clone first arrived in the Panlong World.
Unfortunately, infants are weak and sleepy by nature. By the time his consciousness fully awakened to his situation and identity, it was too late. His mother, Lina, had already been taken by that monster—Patterson.
Swaddled in cloth, unable to move or resist, all he could do was watch.
(Xinghui's inner monologue: "I was a baby, man. What was I supposed to do? Dropkick a warlord with my tiny feet?")
Hogg's expression grew heavier. Looking at his son's calm, mature demeanor, he finally understood a piece of the mystery.
No wonder Xinghui had been precocious since he was a toddler.
No wonder he had begged Hilman to train him at the age of two. Why he pushed himself so hard.
It wasn't childish pride. It was the burden of memory.
Of loss.
Hogg reached out and gently touched his son's head.
"…I promise, Xinghui. I'll find out who took your mother—and I'll avenge her."
His voice was resolute, but there was a quiet finality to it. He had made his decision.
Once Xinghui and Wharton were settled, once their futures were secured—he would go searching for the truth.
And he would either bring justice…
…or die trying.
"Father."
Xinghui's eyes narrowed slightly. His tone became serious.
"This is exactly why I'm telling you now."
He wasn't worried about tomorrow's test. Not in the slightest.
Even if his magic talent wasn't as freakishly strong as Linley's, it wouldn't be far behind. Probably equal. Maybe better.
His spiritual force had been nourished since the day he reincarnated. His soul, aided by the system and the ego link with his original self, was ridiculously advanced.
No exaggeration—he was probably thirty to forty times stronger than a normal kid his age.
And more importantly, his earth elemental affinity was off the charts.
This wasn't baseless optimism. It wasn't, "Oh, my big bro's a genius, I must be too!"
No. Xinghui had proof.
Thanks to the Gold Jade Body Tempering Art gifted from his main body, his absorption of elemental energy—especially the heavy, grounded earth element—was overwhelming.
The progress he made as a physical cultivator wasn't from talent alone. It was a cheat.
Linley had broken through to level one at nearly ten years old.
Wharton was still crawling at level one despite his powerful bloodline.
But Xinghui?
He had overtaken both of them.
Not from natural talent.
From Gold Jade cultivation.
In just two years, he'd become a second-level warrior—and not with battle qi, just raw body refinement!
This was his trump card.
And once he was accepted into a magic academy—especially if it was the prestigious Ernst Institute—his future would be secure.
But that's where the problem started.
Once his future was settled…
Once little Wharton's tuition was paid…
What would Hogg do?
Xinghui knew the answer.
He had read the original story front to back.
His father, the proud Hogg Baruch, would quietly pack his bags and walk the road of vengeance—alone.
And he would die.
That ending was unacceptable.
Which is why Xinghui needed to say it now. To look Hogg in the eyes and make him understand:
"This time, you're not playing solo."
"This time, your family has three endgame-level carries."
"So lie down, Old Man. Don't feed the enemy team."