The next morning, golden sunlight streamed through the grand palace windows, casting a warm glow across the marble floors. Servants moved quickly but quietly, setting up an elaborate breakfast spread the long mahogany dining table in the royal dining hall.
Plates of delicacies—steamed dumplings, roasted spirit-beast meat, glazed fruits, and jade-colored wine, were neatly arranged under silver domes. The rich aroma of breakfast mingled with the subtle scent of sandalwood incense.
At the head of the table sat King Alaric, his expression calm yet noble as he sipped from a porcelain cup.
Soon after, the ornate doors opened with a creak, and Lucien walked in, followed by his four classmates from the Crimson Vale Institute. All of them wore pristine white uniforms, and their steps echoed with quiet authority.
The air carried a subtle tension—formal, polite, yet distant.
As the group exchanged morning greetings and took their seats, two more young figures entered—a boy and a girl, both bearing royal blood. The Second Prince and Third Princess, seated respectfully across from Lucien.
"The second prince and third princess," Lucien introduced with a smile. "My younger siblings. Meet my classmates."
After a brief round of greetings, the royal family began their meal.
Lucien raised a teacup to his lips, speaking casually with one of his classmates, when the king turned to a nearby servant.
"Go," Alaric said, his tone unhurried. "Summon Riven. He should be awake by now. Have him join us for breakfast."
The statement landed like thunder.
Lucien choked on his tea, lowering the cup quickly.
"Father… what did you just say?" he asked, stunned. "Riven… he's awake?"
The second prince and third princess also turned to Alaric with similar expressions of confusion and surprise.
Even the guests from Crimson Vale Institute exchanged curious glances. For someone like Lucien usually composed and unshakable to react so strongly… the mystery only deepened.
King Alaric chuckled lightly. "I suppose none of you were told. Riven awoke from his coma a few days ago. He was in the cultivation chamber for the past four days. Just yesterday, he emerged—but he was tired, so I let him rest."
The words hadn't even settled before the dining room doors opened again.
The hall fell silent. As riven stepped in.
He wore a simple black shirt tucked neatly into dark trousers. No ornaments. No display of nobility. But his very presence felt different—commanding, cold, restrained.
His once-pale features now carried a quiet handsomeness, the definition of someone reborn. His jet black hairs fell lightly over his brows, and his deep blue eyes scanned the room with an expressionless calm that made the air drop a few degrees colder.
He was no longer the pale, sickly boy they once remembered. His presence was sharp—quiet, yet commanding. Something about him had changed... and everyone felt it.
"Good morning, Father," Riven said softly. His voice was smooth but emotionless. He did not bow—but Alaric didn't seem to mind.
"Come, Riven," the king said kindly, gesturing toward a seat. "Have breakfast with us. Your brothers and sister are here… and so are the students from Crimson Vale Institute."
Riven's gaze drifted toward the royal siblings. He recognized them from the body's memories. Lucien, Seraphine, and Kael.
Unlike the cruel sibling rivalries rampant in most noble bloodlines, these three… had always treated him with kindness. There had been no malice in them—only distant warmth. Politeness without venom.
He nodded lightly, a faint curve forming on his lips. "It's good to see you again, brothers… and sister... It's been a long time."
Lucien rose slowly and walked toward him.
Riven watched him carefully, ready for anything—yet what came next surprised even him.
Lucien hugged him.
No hesitation. No calculation. A genuine embrace.
He patted Riven's head with brotherly affection, then stepped back with a bright smile. "Thank the heavens… I feared you'd never wake up. It's good to have you back."
Riven froze.
He hadn't expected it—this raw sincerity. But he could feel it—Lucien's heartbeat, the trembling in his voice. It was real. Unforced.
Something stirred within him. A memory—faint and fragile of what it once felt like to belong. To be held without suspicion. But like a dying ember, it faded before he could grasp it.
He smiled faintly. "I'm alright now, big brother," he said softly. "I guess… I got lucky."
Lucien stepped back, nodding. His sharp features relaxed for the first time since he'd arrived.
The Second Prince and Third Princess also stood, walking over. Seraphine hugged him gently, her voice almost a whisper. "You look different… but still you. Welcome back, Riven."
Kael gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. "About time you woke up. We missed having someone to bully."
He took his seat and exchanged a few words with his siblings. But his attention soon drifted toward the institute students.
His eyes swept across them briefly once, without much interest.
But the moment they looked back—
Their hearts froze.
Jordan, Jessica, and the others felt it instantly—the terrifying, invisible pressure behind those eyes. Like staring into an abyss, a frigid ocean of eternal silence. It wasn't bloodlust, nor spiritual pressure—it was presence.
A crushing sense that everything they were—cultivators, students, prodigies—amounted to dust beneath those indifferent eyes.
Jessica, usually composed, gripped her teacup tighter. "Jordan… d-did you feel that?" she whispered, voice barely stable.
Jordan didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on Riven, eyes narrowed in silent disbelief.
"T-That aura… even the instructors at Crimson Vale don't have something like that. It felt like… like a slumbering god watching insects. Who the hell is this guy?"
King Alaric noticed the students' reaction, hid a knowing smile behind his wine cup. "This son of mine... he's changed. No longer weak. But not cruel either. Just... unreadable."
But then, his brows knit in confusion.
"Riven..." the king began cautiously, his voice low. "Your Veinroot… was destroyed. How are you a cultivator again? You're clearly in the Veinroot Realm now…"
The entire room paused.
Riven expected this. He had already crafted his response.
He calmly sipped the tea placed before him, the cup not shaking in the slightest.
"I've thought about that as well," he said with a hint of fatigue. "Back when I was comatose, my body deteriorated so much that everyone assumed my Veinroot was shattered. In reality… it had only dried up. When I secluded myself in the chamber, I used some experimental methods—herbs, techniques, luck and it… reacted."
A half-truth. Enough to be believable.
The king stared at him long, as if trying to read a deeper layer.
"I see..." Alaric finally said. He didn't press the matter further.
After all, every cultivator had their secrets. And Riven—this Riven was no longer a boy. There was something else lurking behind that calm.
And so, the breakfast resumed. The table filled with light conversation, silent glances, and veiled questions.
When the meal ended, King Alaric left first. Riven excused himself as well, citing urgent tasks.
The younger siblings followed shortly after. Only Lucien and the Crimson Vale students remained.
The moment the last door closed, Jessica exhaled sharply. "Brother Lucien... we didn't come here for breakfast and small talk. The Institute sent us for a reason."
Lucien's expression sharpened. "You're right."
Jordan added, "Let's not delay. The sooner we head for the Red Lotus Forest, the better."
The others nodded in agreement.
Lucien's face turned serious. "Alright. Pack what you need. We leave within the hour."
They rose from their seats, each carrying an unspoken urgency. But none of them noticed the faint flicker of movement beyond the hallway wall.
Hidden in the shadows—Riven watched them with arms crossed, face calm, eyes sharp.
"I knew it... Crimson Vale wouldn't send outer candidates here just for leisure. There's something in that forest. And whatever it is..."
He smirked. "They call themselves geniuses… Crimson Vale's pride. Let's see what they look like when death breathes down their neck."
The wind shifted as he turned away, cloak billowing faintly behind him.
And exactly one hour later, the group gathered near the palace entrance once more. Each of them now wore travel gear—simple, unmarked tunics and cloaks to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. The polished white uniforms of Crimson Vale Institute were gone, replaced by muted earth-tones suited for field work.
No one said a word. Their eyes did all the talking.
They knew what they were about to do wasn't officially sanctioned. The mission was secret, buried under layers of confidentiality. Even the King hadn't asked questions.
Lucien led them silently out of the palace. They didn't summon a carriage. Instead, they moved on foot, heading toward the north gate.
Elsewhere, Riven stood silently before a tall mirror in his private chamber.
He had just changed into a sleek, matte-black outfit he'd found tucked away in a drawer. The fabric clung to his form lightly, designed for movement and silence. In the corner of the drawer, a dagger rested atop black silk. It was clean, sharp, and engraved with strange runes that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
A middle-tier Mortal-grade weapon.
Riven picked it up, turning it in his hand with a faint smile.
"So the previous owner of this body had good taste... Were you planning to become an assassin someday?"
He attached the sheath to his waist, concealed beneath the folds of his tunic. Then he pulled on a thin black mask, one that covered the lower half of his face.
The transformation was complete. He no longer looked like a prince.
He looked like a shadow with purpose.
Using an advanced concealment technique from his past life, Riven blurred. His presence vanished entirely, even his spiritual signature suppressed to a near-zero state. The only ones who might sense him now were cultivators far above Veinroot Realm.
"Let's see what our Institute prodigies are really made of."
With a single step, he was gone.
Minutes later, he arrived near the northern gate.
The guards stood straight, scanning the area idly. But Riven passed by them like wind.
Not a single one noticed.
He perched himself near a large cedar tree just outside the gate, hiding in its long shadow. His eyes narrowed as he watched Lucien and his group walk out, packs slung over their shoulders. Once clear of the gate, the group suddenly picked up speed, activating movement techniques as they dashed northward.
"Huh," Riven murmured. "At least they're not completely useless."
He gave them a generous head start. Then, with a low breath, he followed. His movement was fluid, like a phantom sliding through twilight.
He matched their pace with ease—no, even less effort, to him they were slow.
But he paused to remind himself. "Their techniques are average. Mine... are not. Don't measure them by my scale."
Still, he couldn't help but feel the disappointment trickling in.
These were the so-called elites of the Crimson Vale Institute? He expected more.
After two hours of travel, the forest came into view. A vast expanse of green and red-tinted foliage, thick with mist. The air grew heavier, colder.
Towering trees blocked out chunks of sunlight. Roots sprawled like skeletal hands over mossy rocks. Faint howls echoed from within.
"Red Lotus Forest..." Jordan murmured, slowing his pace.
Lucien stepped forward, pulling a folded parchment from his cloak. A map.
"This is it. We head straight to the inner region. The map should keep us from getting lost, but stay sharp. This place doesn't like strangers."
The others nodded, their expressions tense. They knew what kind of beasts and traps could lurk here.
Lucien took the first step past the tree line.
One by one, they followed.
A few dozen meters behind them, Riven leaned against a tree trunk.
He gazed into the dark woods.
The same forest where the original Riven had died. The place his Veinroot had been broken.
He clenched his hand lightly.
"So this is where it happened... Hmph. Let's see what the forest holds this time."
He entered without hesitation. Each step silent. Each breath measured.
And thus, the game began.