Wang Ming's breath hitched the moment the voice echoed again in his mind.
"Do you wish to inherit the Inheritance of Primordial Consciousness?"
His eyes widened in astonishment, pupils trembling.
Inheritance…? That word alone carried an immense weight.
Wang Ming stood rooted in place, his back straight as a spear, mind blank for a heartbeat until the full meaning crashed down upon him like a tidal wave.
"Transcendence Path…" he muttered under his breath, as the implications unfurled in his memory like a long-forgotten scroll.
In the galaxy-conquering era he came from, Transcendence Paths were the dividing line between ordinary mortals and those who wielded power vast enough to move entire worlds.
Even among the trillions of people spread across the colonized star systems, a single transcendent being was one in a million. And even that was only the lowest tier—Level One Transcendents, existences capable of annihilating armies and surviving vacuum breaches with ease. They were the true elites, feared and revered across space.
For commoners like him—born into the modest middle class, raised in overpopulated megacities crammed between spaceports and gravity wells—the idea of acquiring a transcendence path was a far-off dream, the kind only fools and lunatics dared to pursue.
Sure, they were technically available for purchase. The galaxy's black markets and hidden databanks offered countless transcendence manuals. But the cost? Astronomical. Not just in credits—but in compatibility.
It didn't matter how much you paid if the path wasn't compatible with your body or soul. Incompatible cultivation could maim you, or worse, drive you insane. Many who tried—especially desperate soldiers and corporate freelancers—died in agony, their dreams of power reduced to mutating flesh and howling madness.
That's why most legitimate Transcendence Paths were monopolized by ancient noble families, passed down in secrecy from generation to generation. Every heir was carefully bred, cultivated, and conditioned to walk those paths.
Even in his base camp, where elite personnel were stationed, only one man possessed a transcendence level and that was merely a Level One Transcendent.
And yet, despite that power, even he had fallen to the Zerg.
Wang Ming's lips tightened.
If I had been a Transcendent… maybe I wouldn't have died. Maybe my team would still be alive…
His fists clenched slightly as the weight of the past pressed against his chest. To say he wasn't tempted would be a blatant lie. The allure of such a power was overwhelming.
But at the same time, suspicion crept in like a shadow.
This was no structured academy offering a safe path. This inheritance had come from an unknown door, one that appeared in the moment of his death. A door wreathed in purple light, humming with otherworldly energy, and bearing no name, no explanation.
What exactly is this so-called "Door of the Myriad Realms"…?
Just as that unease bubbled to the surface, a voice returned—calm, vast, impossible to ignore:
"The process of inheritance is being initiated. Top-tier comprehension authority has been activated."
At once, a wave of heat surged through Wang Ming's mind, and his eyes snapped open wide.
A flood of foreign experience streamed into him not chaotic memories this time, but a singular, cohesive sequence.
He was sitting cross-legged in vast, empty voids.
Mountaintops bathed in moonlight.
Silent caves where ancient symbols floated midair.
Forests of celestial energy. Deserts of silence.
And always, always, he sat motionless—meditating.
Seconds passed. Then minutes. Then hours. Then decades.
In the span of a heartbeat, Wang Ming lived through a lifetime of cultivation. It was not just knowledge—it was realization, insight forged from endless solitude and eternal stillness.
And then—
He opened his eyes.
A spark of divine clarity shimmered within them. The room around him seemed crisper, sharper. The very air seemed to slow around him, as if time had acknowledged his shift in perception.
Ding.
A new translucent screen appeared before his eyes, glowing softly with violet runes:
[Transcendence Path Activated]
Name: Pathway of Primordial Consciousness
Authorities: Top-tier Comprehension, Photographic Memory
Total Volumes: 12
Current Unlocked Volume: Volume 1
Chapters in Volume 1:
Chapter One: Host can control anything within a radius of 1 meter and weighing under 100 kilograms.
Locked Chapters: 9
Progress: 1%
Wang Ming stared at the screen, stunned.
Control… within one meter? Up to 100 kilograms?
It didn't sound much at first glance, but the implications were massive.
He extended his hand toward a nearby object an old wooden pot, sitting by the table.
With nothing but a thought, the pot slowly lifted off the ground, its base scraping softly against the floor. It hovered in midair like an obedient beast, drifting gently toward him under invisible command.
Wang Ming's eyes gleamed with excitement. He clenched his fist, and the pot stopped midair. Another thought and it rotated. Another and it flew into his hand.
"So this… is the power of a Transcendent?" he murmured in awe.
A grin spread across his face as exhilaration surged through his veins.
"It's not yet at the exaggerated level I've heard legends about… but even this… this is amazing," he said, voice trembling with restrained glee. "And this is only Volume One. Just the first chapter."
His eyes darted back to the floating screen, reading again the line: Total Volumes: 12.
"What kind of power would I wield by Volume Twelve?" he whispered, unable to suppress the anticipation in his voice.
But just as the thrill rose to its peak, his expression sobered.
Power never comes free.
Indeed, the final line from the previous screen still echoed in his mind:
Goal: Eliminate Lin Fan, the Son of Luck of this world.
A chill ran down his spine.
"This isn't just about power. There's a cost. A mission. A target."
He looked out the window, eyes narrowing as he gathered his thoughts.
This world… the Jiang Dynasty… the memories confirmed it. This was a martial world, one ruled by strength and iron law.
Here, people practiced a cultivation path based on martial arts, separated into nine levels. Even the weakest—Level Nine Martial Artists—could easily overpower and kill five or six grown men barehanded.
This world wasn't peaceful.
It was cruel, dangerous, and filled with hidden threats.
Wang Ming exhaled slowly, tension leaving his shoulders.
"No matter what, I need to survive first. Let's forget Lin Fan for now. If I don't pass the test today, I'll be thrown out before I even take my first step."
His eyes drifted toward the cluttered desk in the corner.
There, sitting atop a stack of tattered scrolls and ink-stained pages, lay a book—Miaoshou Garden's Apprentice Test Primer.
A thin smile curved his lips.
"Photographic memory, huh…?"
He walked to the desk, picked up the book, and flipped it open.
The words danced before his eyes, and as they entered his mind, they stayed—perfectly.
A new era had begun.