The gates of the Academy of Martial Ascension towered above Kaelith like mountains forged from jade and steel. Runes carved into the colossal arch shimmered with ancient power, pulsing faintly as each new disciple crossed the threshold.
Beyond the gates stretched a plaza wide enough to hold armies. Thousands of young cultivators filled the space, their robes marked with the sigils of their clans. The air vibrated with energy — the power of heirs who had been trained since birth to carry their bloodlines' legacies.
Here gathered the top ten clans.
At the very front, standing as though they owned the heavens themselves, was the Zenith Clan, ranked first. Their heirs were cloaked in golden armor, their very presence radiating divine authority. None dared approach them unless summoned.
Beside them, the Drakonis Clan, ranked second. Broad-shouldered youths with scales faintly etched across their skin. Their dragon-blood aura burned hot, and when they exhaled, wisps of smoke curled from their lips.
And at the third position, his family — the Aurelius Clan. The heirs of his bloodline stood proud, with Draven Aurelius at their head, his aura oppressive like a war god's. Selene stood beside him, cold and beautiful, her gaze sweeping the plaza like moonlight over corpses.
Kaelith walked quietly among them, his presence insignificant in their eyes.
Around them, the other clans gathered — Moonveil, Obsidian Fang, Stormborn, Crimson Lotus, and more, filling the ranks from fourth to tenth. Behind them clustered the powerful outer houses, not as prestigious as the top ten but still strong enough to rival armies.
And then there was him — the Withered Branch.
Whispers began as soon as his feet touched the plaza stones.
"Is that him?"
"The Aurelius failure?"
"They say he barely reached Tier 9. Laughable for a son of such a clan."
"No wonder Draven and Selene carry the reputation. The youngest is a disgrace."
Kaelith kept walking.
But memories surged into him — not his own, but those of the body he now inhabited.
The old Kaelith Aurelius.
He saw flashes of humiliation: shoved to the ground by Zenith heirs, beaten bloody by Drakonis disciples, mocked by outer houses who spat at him to earn favor with the top clans. He felt the sting of betrayal when even his clan siblings ignored his pleas, treating him like a shameful burden.
The boy who had lived here before regression had been weak. Broken.
Bullied until he believed he deserved it.
Kaelith stopped walking. His eyes lowered, fists trembling as the memories clawed into him — but not from fear. From fury.
This was the life the gods had given him before. A cycle of humiliation.
But Kaelith Varion was not that boy.
He lifted his head, and for the first time, his gaze swept the plaza with the weight of someone who had stared down gods.
The Zenith heirs sneered, golden light flickering around them. "So the trash of Aurelius dares show his face."
The Drakonis laughed, their voices deep and sharp. "Stay out of our way, branchling. Even insects have their place."
Even outer houses joined in, mocking him as if it were tradition. "Aurelius? You mean Aure-lies."
Draven looked back at him, lips curling into a smirk. "Stay quiet, little brother. Don't embarrass us."
Selene's voice followed, cool as ice. "If you cannot endure their scorn, you should never have come."
Kaelith's lips curved into something faint, something dangerous.
He did not shout. He did not defend himself. He simply looked at them all — Zenith, Drakonis, Aurelius, and every sycophant who laughed at him — and thought:
Mock me. Spit on me. You are not the first. And you will not be the last. But know this — in time, your laughter will be silence, and your silence will be fear.
The plaza continued to jeer, but Kaelith walked on, each step steady, each breath calm.
Because unlike the boy whose body he now wore, Kaelith Varion carried the fire of countless regressions.
And no amount of mockery could shake him.
For the gods themselves had already tried.
And failed.