Chapter 1
The first light of dawn crept above the horizon, casting a gentle glow across the sky. Yet the morning cold still clung to the air, and the distant chime of bells from a lakeside temple drifted faintly over the quiet of Silverlake.
Deep within the royal palace of Silverdale, in a forgotten cellar, a single oil lamp burned weakly atop a table. Sitting there was "Tyler Windrider ", gazing in despair at an old, tattered book held together by thread.
At just sixteen, Tyler was slender, his features fair and striking, his blue eyes shining bright even in the dim glow. He squinted once more at the book, trying desperately to find answers in its faded pages. This book was the last gift left to him by his father.
When he received it, his father had told him, "This book is an heirloom of our ancestors. It will help revive the honor of our house."
Tyler whispered softly, "I've read this 'Secrets of Life' a dozen times. The teachings are fine, but I can never agree with those five words—'Humanity is the greatest virtue!'"
He watched the lamp's flickering flame with a saddened look. "If my father hadn't been so kind and forgiving, we wouldn't have lost our kingdom, or… he wouldn't have lost his life."
Lost in thought for a long while, Tyler was suddenly jerked back by the sound of a door creaking open. He quickly snuffed out the lamp and crawled under his ragged blanket on the cold stone bed.
Moments later, footsteps entered the cellar. One of the visitors strode forward and kicked Tyler, shouting sharply, "Sleeping, are you? This isn't a palace, but a jail. Here you'll live by our rules. You're not the prince of Silverdale anymore!"
This was Drake Harlan, Silverdale's prison warden. His face was scarred and several of his teeth broken.
Tyler slowly tossed off the blanket, his eyes still closed. With a sigh of resignation, he rose from his stone bed and quietly put on his worn-out clothes—garments that looked as though they had been used for years.
The warden looked at him and barked, "He's getting lazier by the day. Get him out of here, fast!"
With a wave of his hand, the guards came forward, shackled Tyler's hands and feet in iron, and strapped a thick leather vest onto him.
Then, the servants led him out of the dungeon, making their way toward Silverdale's main training ground.
The northern region was home to hundreds of small city-states, some quite powerful. Silverdale was a small kingdom among them.
As he walked with the guards, Tyler soon arrived at the training grounds.
The grounds were vast, reserved for the training of Silverdale's elite disciples. On either side of the entrance rose white marble columns topped with lion statues. **Inside, more than thirty disciples, clad in green tunics, trained fiercely in martial arts under their chief instructor's watchful eyes.**
They were Silverdale's best-selected trainees, all over the age of ten. Each had endured rigorous trials to become an elite disciple, honed and prepared to join the kingdom's army.
On the far side of the arena, over twenty men stood in battered leather armor—their hands and feet shackled just like Tyler's, faces marked by exhaustion, injury, and scars.
When Tyler reached the arena, the guards placed him among the other prisoners.
Most of these men were death-row inmates or lifelong convicts, now forced to serve as "training assistants"—little better than slaves.
In truth, their main purpose was as punching bags for the disciples. The trainees would test their techniques and strength upon these men, who weren't even allowed to fight back. No one wept for them—many died or ended up crippled each year.
As for Tyler, he wasn't a criminal. He was Silverdale's former crown prince. But three years ago, a calamity had struck. Tyler's father—then the king of Silverdale—had been poisoned by his own half-brothers.
King Viren Windrider was accused of betraying Silverdale, and his son Tyler branded a traitor by association. Thus, he became a slave, now living the same fate as the rest.
For three years, Tyler had endured endless abuse and humiliation as a training assistant. He had lost count of the wounds he had suffered during these years.
"Training ends here for today. Now, each of you elite trainees, select a training assistant. By striking real flesh and bone you'll learn both their weaknesses and construction."
At the chief instructor's signal, the trainees eagerly picked their targets. Soon, the arena echoed with the groans and screams of the battered assistants.
Many of them rushed to Tyler—they saw beating the former prince as a badge of honor. One after another, they took their turns on him.
Tyler stayed silent, hiding his emotions. He focused on protecting his vital parts—it was routine now.
Suddenly, a youth appeared in the arena, dressed in fine silk, several attendants trailing behind him.
"The Crown Prince has arrived!"
"Your Highness, you've finally come out from your seclusion. You look full of energy! You must have advanced greatly!"
"Our prince is a natural genius. He is the pride of Silverdale! Surely, he has awakened his Sacral Core, and is now a True Warrior!"
The disciples stopped their training and fawned upon the newcomer.
Tyler's gaze fell on the young man in silk—a blaze of hatred flickered in his eyes. This so-called "Crown Prince" was David Windrider, the eldest son of Tyler's father's half-brother, and Tyler's own age.
After Tyler had been made a slave, David was named Crown Prince in his place.
Not long ago, David had withdrawn into solitary training. Now, seeing him, it was clear his seclusion had made him even stronger.
David, sensing someone's glare, turned his head. When his eyes met Tyler's, he sneered, then strode over to mock him.
"Tyler, I'm honestly surprised you're still breathing after all this time."
Tyler replied in a gentle tone, "True. I'm not dead yet. Thanks for the concern."
"How dare you speak that way to the Crown Prince?"
"You're nothing but a slave now. Bow and beg his pardon, or you'll regret you were ever born!"
A group of trainees began to yell, acting as if Tyler had committed some grave crime.
David waved his hand for silence, smiled arrogantly, and asked, "Tyler, do you know why I went into seclusion?"
Tyler did not respond, simply giving David a forlorn look.
"You know that the sage Master Brigham blessed Silverdale with two Divine Elixirs, don't you? Some time ago, I consumed one."
David's voice was taunting, as he continued, "That elixir is simply extraordinary. The divine energy within completely cleansed my body. I felt reborn! Now I've awakened my second Core. And there's still eighty percent of its power yet to be absorbed. Soon, I'll awaken my Purity Core and become a Grand Warrior!"
"Divine Elixirs blessed by Master Brigham!"
The two elixirs were Silverdale's greatest treasures. Legend said they were kept in a hidden sanctuary.
According to their ancestors' rules, only royal family members who awakened their Sacral Core before age fourteen could have one.
No one in Silverdale had achieved this in over twelve centuries. Thus, the elixirs lay untouched all these years.
Tyler had reached the peak of his Root Core at just thirteen. People began to see him as Silverdale's destined savior—someone who could, perhaps, someday unite the North again after twelve long centuries.
But fate was unkind. Betrayal within the family claimed his father. Tyler, now a slave, found his cultivation stunted and forced into servitude.
His cousin David, on the other hand, was mediocre at best. He barely reached his Root Core at sixteen. He was never worthy of those divine elixirs, but somehow, they went to him anyway.
When Parker, one of the other assistants, heard this, his eyes filled with rage. "David, how could you? Do you have no respect for our ancestors?"
"Hmph. You have no right to question me," David scoffed. "Now I've reached the Sacral Core—I could best even an enraged bull! But you… you're just a pathetic slave. I could crush you on a whim. But since I've just completed my seclusion, I'll use a training assistant to test my full strength!"
David regarded Tyler's indignation with not a hint of shame. With a lazy gesture, he said, "I choose… you!"
Surprisingly, it wasn't Tyler he picked, but a middle-aged man in the line. At David's nod, the man began to tremble in terror. Even with thick leather armor, the thought of facing David's new power made his legs shake.
David took a deep breath and clenched his fist, eager to show off "Oxen's Thousand Fists," Silverdale's secret art. A faint blue energy flickered over his body.
"C- Crown Prince, please show mercy!"
Despair gleamed in the assistant's eyes as he pleaded. He knew David's punch meant death. Falling to his knees, he begged for his life.
"Boom!"
But David paid the man's pleas no mind. His punch landed square in the man's chest with brutal force—a crack sounded as the armor shattered, every rib within breaking. The man's body was thrown clear across the field, crumpling against the far wall.
Just like that, David had killed a training assistant with a single blow.
"You're incredible, Your Highness! No one in Silverdale can match you!"
"I doubt even the heirs of any ten nearby kingdoms could compare!"
The praising chorus began anew.
David, satisfied, smirked down at Tyler, who instinctively stepped back. For all his strength, he couldn't challenge David's new power.
David laughed, clapped Tyler on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't kill you just yet. I want you to see for yourself how far beneath me you've truly fallen!"
As he turned to leave, David suddenly paused, as if remembering something. He spun around, and with malicious glee, sneered, "Oh, and by the way—I heard your brilliant cousin sister's in trouble at Seven Rivers Abbey. Looks like she's been locked away in Blackrock Mountain!"
"Jessica's been imprisoned?"
The news struck Tyler like a thunderbolt.
So what happens next? What sort of place is Blackrock Mountain, where Jessica's been taken? Will Tyler risk everything to save his sister, or will the once proud prince remain a slave forever?
Find out in the coming chapters…