Chapter 2: The Shackles of a Fallen Prince
The stench of mold and iron weighed heavy in the dungeon. A single torch flickered outside the cell, throwing twisted shadows across damp stone.
Mo Tianxie's breathing was shallow. His body was weak, thin like paper soaked in water. Every movement made his bones creak, every breath dragged pain from his chest. The once-feared tyrant who could make galaxies kneel now struggled to lift his wrist against a rusted shackle.
He lowered his head. Long strands of hair, greasy and unkempt, fell across his face. His reflection in the puddle below stared back at him—sunken eyes, pale lips, bruised skin. This was no immortal tyrant. This was a crippled prince cast aside by fate.
A bitter laugh escaped his throat.
"So… this is what I've become. From a being who trampled the realms, to a chained dog in a rotting pit."
His chains rattled as he leaned back against the wall. Pain stabbed through his ribs, but his eyes… his eyes burned with that same cold fire.
"The system thought it broke me. Hah. Fool."
His fingers brushed over the iron cuff biting into his wrist. He could feel it—this body was frail, yes, but not ordinary. Bloodlines ran in it. Royal bloodlines, though suppressed and tarnished. Beneath the weakness, a dormant flame lurked. He could sense the faint pulse of something sealed.
It was at that moment—
The clatter of boots echoed through the corridor.
A guard stopped outside the bars. His armor was dented, his breath stank of wine. He spat on the ground and barked, "Still alive, useless prince? You should've died with your mother."
The words stirred something deep in Mo Tianxie's chest. He raised his head slowly, those abyssal eyes meeting the guard's.
"Say that again," his voice was low, raspy, but carried the faint pressure of a predator.
The guard flinched, then laughed nervously. "Hah, look at you, still acting tough. You're no prince. Just a forgotten bastard left to rot!" He slammed the bars with his spear before walking off, muttering curses.
The insult carved itself into Mo Tianxie's mind. Forgotten bastard. Left to rot.
Fragments of memory bled through his head—memories not his own, but of the body he now inhabited.
The Fourth Prince of the Xuanling Empire. Born to the Empress but disgraced after a false accusation of treason. Betrayed, stripped of cultivation, thrown into the dungeon to await death. His elder brothers schemed for the throne, his allies abandoned him, and even the servants spat at his name.
Mo Tianxie's lips twisted.
"So… I am reborn as the villain they erased. The prince they cursed as traitor."
His fists clenched. The pain of betrayal wasn't foreign to him—it was familiar, almost comforting. Once, he was abandoned by heaven itself. Once, he was thrown into despair by the system's blade.
Now, this empire thought to break him the same way?
A cold chuckle echoed in the dungeon.
"You gave me the perfect stage."
He tilted his head back against the wall, eyes closed. His thoughts drifted—to her.
"Xiao Yue…" he whispered.
Her face, gentle yet stubborn, flickered before him. That smile that once softened even his shameless arrogance. That voice that reminded him he was more than his madness.
For the first time in countless years, Mo Tianxie felt something pierce through the abyss inside him—not power, not rage, but a fragile warmth.
And then the warmth turned to steel.
"For you… I'll climb back. Even if I must drown this world in blood, I'll carve my throne again. And this time…" His voice trembled with venom. "…no system, no realm, no heaven will abandon me."
The dungeon shook faintly as killing intent bled from him, twisting the torchlight. Rats scurried from the shadows, their tiny bodies trembling in fear.
---
Hours passed.
The sound of footsteps returned, but this time steadier, firmer. Two guards dragged a figure down the corridor, her wrists bound in rope.
A young maid, clothes torn, face bruised. She stumbled with every step. Yet when her eyes met Mo Tianxie's through the bars, they widened with shock.
"Your Highness…!" she whispered, her voice hoarse.
Mo Tianxie's eyes sharpened. The body's memories surged again—this maid… she was Lan'er, his last loyal servant. The one who smuggled food to him when all others spat at his name. The one caught by guards and punished for her loyalty.
They shoved her into the neighboring cell. She fell, coughing violently.
The guards sneered. "Rot with your prince. Loyalty to trash deserves only one ending." They laughed and left, their footsteps fading into the distance.
Mo Tianxie pressed against the bars, his gaze locked on her trembling form.
"Lan'er." His voice was soft but commanding.
Her head snapped up, tears in her eyes. "Y-Your Highness… I thought… I thought you…" Her words broke into sobs.
He raised a hand, silencing her. His lips curved into that same cruel, shameless smirk that once shook the heavens.
"Do not cry. You'll see, little maid… soon, this dungeon will tremble under my feet. Those who spat on me will kneel. And those who betrayed me will beg for mercy."
Lan'er's sobs quieted. She stared at him, bewildered. For a moment, she saw not the frail prince chained to stone, but a shadow of something greater. Something monstrous. Something unstoppable.
Mo Tianxie leaned back, eyes burning with fire.
"The system abandoned me. The realms cast me aside. But this world…" His voice dropped to a whisper, sharp and venomous. "…this world will become my stepping stone."
And in that dungeon, with chains biting into his flesh and darkness pressing against his soul, Mo Tianxie's second reign began.