"To add a little motivation," Teacher Thoran announced from the stage, his voice carrying a playful tone, "the first among you to reach the fifth stage of the Body Refining Realm will be rewarded with a full bottle of Body Strengthening Pills."The statement detonated in the quiet hall. A wave of chaotic, excited chatter erupted among the disciples."A full bottle! That's twelve pills!" one disciple exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief."One pill costs ten silver coins at the market!" another chimed in, doing the math aloud. "That's one hundred and twenty silver coins! That's more than I've seen in my entire life!"To these outer disciples, most of whom came from common or impoverished backgrounds, 120 silver coins was a fortune. It was the difference between struggling for scraps and having the resources to truly advance. It was a ticket to a better future."Hmph! A bunch of fools," a voice laced with arrogance cut through the excitement. "Getting excited over a prize none of you will ever touch."Damian sighed. 'Another arrogant noble.' The thought was laced with irony. He, too, was technically a noble, the last scion of the Ashborn family. But his title was a hollow one. His family was at rock bottom, his parents were long gone, and he was utterly alone—the last Ashborn in this world, for all he knew.As he was lost in thought, he noticed the energy in the room had already deflated. The initial blaze of excitement had dwindled to the embers of resignation. Most of the disciples knew the truth: a prize like this wasn't for them. It was for the truly talented, for someone like Raven Hazelwood, whose High-Grade spirit root made his cultivation speed a distant dream for the rest of them.Thoran cleared his throat, sensing his plan was backfiring. "As I said, don't focus on talent alone. With enough hard work, breaking through is not as difficult as you imagine!" he tried, attempting to rekindle their motivation.But his words were drowned out when a loud, impossibly confident voice boomed through the lecture hall, silencing every other conversation."I will surely win those pills!"The voice was familiar, chillingly so. Damian's head whipped around, trying to find its source, but his body felt strangely stiff. He looked at the other disciples and his stomach plummeted. Everyone—Thoran, Raven, the hundreds of outer disciples—was staring directly at him, their eyes a mixture of shock, amusement, and pity.Panic seized him. He tried to move, to shrink back, to do anything, but his limbs wouldn't obey. He was a prisoner in his own body. Then the voice came again, and this time, he felt the vibration in his own chest, the movement of his own lips forming words he wasn't thinking."Yes, I will win for sure! If you don't believe me, I'll bet my life on it!"It was his own voice.'What the f—' Damian cursed internally, a wave of pure terror washing over him. Something was controlling him. It was the same sinister influence he'd felt earlier, the one that seemed to be subtly nudging him toward death. Now, it had dispensed with subtlety and was using him like a puppet to paint a massive target on his back."That's the spirit, Damian!" Thoran replied, a broad, encouraging smile on his face. This was exactly what he wanted. If a disciple with average talent possessed such unshakeable confidence, it could inspire everyone. Even if he failed, his declaration alone had reignited the competitive fire in the room.From beside him, Raven Hazelwood turned and gave a slow, deliberate nod. It wasn't a threat, but an acknowledgement—the kind a warrior gives to a worthy rival.Just as suddenly as it had left, control of his body flooded back to Damian. He gasped, the sensation of being his own master again both a relief and a source of profound dread. The arrow had already been fired; hundreds of eyes were on him, waiting. There was no taking it back. To show fear now would be to invite ridicule and contempt.He took a deep breath, stood up, and owned the moment. Since one arrow was already in the air, he might as well fire another. "To all the disciples here," he declared, his voice ringing with a conviction he didn't feel, "I challenge you all! A challenge to see who can reach the fifth stage first!"The declaration pierced the souls of every student in the hall. It was no longer just a boast; it was a war cry. On the stage, Thoran gave Damian an enthusiastic 'thumbs up'.'What kind of curse is this?' Damian thought, his mind reeling. The time rewind was a blessing, but this... this force that hijacked his body and drove him headfirst into danger was a terrifying mystery. 'Was that the soul of the previous owner? No, he was never this confident. I need to find out what this thing is, and soon.'Miles away, in the opulent dining room of a grand mansion, a middle-aged man sat across from a young, beautiful girl. Had Damian seen her, he would have recognized her instantly and fled. She was Naia Hazelwood, and the man was her father, Tiberius, the fearsome patriarch of the Hazelwood clan."Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have that boy's head on a spike," Tiberius said, his voice calm but carrying a lethal edge."Father, it was an accident," Naia replied, her tone pleading. "It wasn't as if he bumped into me with malicious intent. He's just an outer disciple.""An accident?" Tiberius set down his cutlery. "Naia, you know your own body's constitution, do you not?""Father, I..." Her face paled. She possessed the Divine Wave Constitution, a legendary physique that amplified any sound-based ability by an order of magnitude. It gave her unparalleled talent for sound-based techniques, but it was also a terrible curse."If you had screamed, or even cried out in surprise," Tiberius stated, his voice flat and cold, "your voice would have liquefied the brains of every new disciple in that market square. They would all be dead." Though known for his brutality, he did not want that reputation for his daughter. He wanted better for her."I will be more careful, I promise," Naia said, her voice trembling slightly. "Please, just don't kill him. He's innocent."Tiberius sighed, a long, weary sound. "If you say so," he relented. "But those fawning suitors of yours will not be so easily dissuaded. They will see him as a man who has touched their goddess." He stood and left the dining room with a dry chuckle."I will take care of that, Father," Naia whispered, her jaw set with a new resolve. She would not allow someone to die over a simple mistake. She walked out of the mansion and called for a horse. She had to get to the sect."And so, today's class ends here," Thoran announced. "If you have any questions, you may ask them now."Silence. The disciples began to gather their things, many of them shooting wary, speculative glances at Damian. As Thoran stepped off the stage, Damian moved, pushing through the crowd."Wait, Teacher!" he shouted.Thoran stopped and turned, looking at Damian closely. "Do you have a question, Damian?" he asked, his tone still polite.Damian glanced around, then leaned in closer. "Teacher," he said quietly, so only Thoran could hear, "I need to make a report. About assassins."Thoran's friendly expression vanished, replaced by one of shock and alarm. "Assassins?" he whispered back, his eyes sharp. He quickly scanned the hall. "Say no more. Follow me." He led Damian away from the dispersing crowd, his pace urgent, taking him straight toward the imposing residence of the Green Valley Sect's Outer Sect Elder.
