Pain arrived before awareness.
It was not the sharp, sudden agony that forced a cry from the throat, but a deep, lingering ache that seemed woven into flesh and bone alike, as though this body had long grown accustomed to discomfort and had learned to endure it in silence. The sensation pressed down on Ethan's senses, dragging him upward from darkness with reluctant persistence.
When his eyes finally opened, the first thing he noticed was the ceiling.
Dark wooden beams crossed overhead, engraved with faded patterns of coiling dragons and drifting clouds. Once, they must have gleamed beneath layers of gold lacquer, polished daily by attentive servants. Now, the gilding had dulled, the carvings worn smooth by time and neglect, as if the room itself had been forgotten by the palace it belonged to.
A faint trace of incense lingered in the air, thin and inexpensive, failing to fully conceal the musty scent of a chamber that rarely saw use.
This was not a hospital.
That realization surfaced slowly, accompanied by a dull pressure behind his eyes. His thoughts felt heavy, sluggish, as though his mind had been submerged in water and was only now beginning to rise.
The last thing he remembered belonged to another life entirely: the glow of a computer screen in a darkened room, hours slipping away unnoticed as exhaustion weighed down his limbs. He had told himself he would stop after the next chapter, then the next, until the words blurred and consciousness finally gave way.
Then there had been darkness.
And now—
Memories surged forward with overwhelming force, crashing into his awareness like a flood breaching a dam. They were not his memories, yet they carried emotions so vivid and intimate that his chest tightened as if they were.
A vast imperial palace unfolded before him. Endless courtyards paved in pale stone reflected sunlight so brightly it hurt the eyes. Servants moved through the halls with lowered heads and measured steps, their expressions carefully neutral. Laughter echoed from distant pavilions, light and carefree, yet it always seemed to falter whenever a certain figure appeared at the edge of the scene.
A name surfaced, heavy with resignation.
Leon Ashford
The Ninth Prince of the Silver Moon Empire.
Son of a low-ranking concubine.
A prince in title alone.
Ethan's breath caught as the memories stitched themselves together, forming a life defined not by grandeur, but by quiet humiliation. This body—Leon's body—had been tested for cultivation aptitude at the age of six, just like every other child born within the empire's borders. In this world, cultivation was not merely a path to strength; it was the foundation upon which status, privilege, and even survival were built.
Leon remembered standing barefoot upon the cold marble platform in the imperial testing courtyard, his small hands trembling as he faced the towering Spirit Stone. Around him, instructors watched with expressions that barely concealed their boredom, having already seen countless displays of talent that day.
One by one, children stepped forward and placed their palms against the stone. It responded eagerly to them, glowing with brilliant light—golden hues signifying noble talent, azure flares indicating elemental affinity, and even rare crimson pulses that drew murmurs of approval from the gathered elders.
Applause followed each successful test.
Then it had been Leon's turn.
He had stepped forward with a heart pounding so loudly he was certain others could hear it, hope clutched desperately in his chest. His palm pressed against the cool surface of the stone, and he waited, barely daring to breathe.
Nothing happened.
No warmth spread beneath his skin. No light answered his touch. The Spirit Stone remained dull and lifeless, reflecting only his own pale, frightened face.
The silence that followed was worse than mockery.
The examiner had not even attempted to soften the blow.
"No cultivation talent detected."
That single sentence had sealed his fate.
From that day onward, the word Prince lost all meaning where Leon was concerned. His monthly allowance was quietly reduced, then slashed entirely. Tutors stopped arriving at his quarters, offering vague excuses before ceasing their visits altogether while eunuchs spoke with smiles that never quite hid their disdain.
His brothers treated him like a stain upon the imperial name, an embarrassment that should have been erased long ago. Their cruelty ranged from careless mockery to deliberate humiliation, carried out with the confidence of those who knew no one would ever reprimand them for it.
And his mother…
A dull ache settled in Ethan's chest as the memory surfaced. She had once been beautiful, her features soft and gentle, but years of neglect had faded her into a shadow of what she had been. Still, she had smiled at him, even when her own eyes were tired and her hands trembled.
"Endure," she had whispered, stroking his hair on nights when the palace felt especially cold. "As long as you're alive, there is hope."
Endure.
Ethan clenched his fists against the thin bedding, nails digging into his palms.
So this was the life he had inherited.
A prince without power, without backing, and without a future.
In the Silver Moon Empire, blood alone meant nothing. Without cultivation, even royal lineage was disposable.
A soft rustle near the door drew his attention.
He turned his head just as it creaked open slightly, revealing a young maid standing hesitantly at the threshold. She could not have been older than twenty, her dark hair tied neatly behind her head, her plain servant's dress clean but faded from repeated washing. She kept her eyes lowered, hands clasped nervously before her.
"Your Highness," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, "the Third Prince has summoned you to the West Court."
The words sent a chill through Ethan's spine as Leon's memories reacted instantly.
The West Court.
An isolated part of the palace, far from the main halls and bustling pavilions. A place where accidents were common and witnesses scarce, where servants slipped on wet stone and lesser princes were reminded of their place.
Ethan pushed himself upright, ignoring the weakness that protested in his limbs.
"Tell him," he said after a brief pause, his voice hoarse but steady, "that I am unwell."
The maid hesitated, fear flickering across her face—not fear of him, but of what refusing the Third Prince's summons might bring.
"I… I will inform him," she replied at last, bowing quickly before retreating down the corridor.
The door closed softly behind her.
Silence returned to the room.
Ethan exhaled and swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet against the cold floor. His knees nearly buckled, forcing him to grab the nearby table for support. This body was painfully weak, its muscles underdeveloped, its posture fragile. There was no hidden strength waiting to awaken, no dormant talent suppressed by circumstance.
Just a shell that had been starved of opportunity.
As he steadied himself, a sharp pressure flared behind his eyes, sending a brief wave of dizziness through him.
Then a voice echoed within his mind.
It was not sound in the conventional sense, nor did it resemble a hallucination. It was precise, emotionless, and unmistakably artificial.
[System Binding Detected.]
[Soul Compatibility: 100%.]
[Initializing…]
Ethan froze, his breath catching in his throat.
"A system…?" he murmured.
Another wave of information surged forward, structured and unmistakable.
[Milf Conquest System successfully activated.]
[Host Identified: Leon Ashford.]
[Current Status: Mortal Tempering — Incomplete.]
[Cultivation Talent: None.]
[Alternate Ascension Path Unlocked.]
His heart began to pound.
He had read enough stories—spent enough sleepless nights indulging in escapism—to recognize what this meant. A cheat. A second chance. A path that defied the rules of the world he had been reborn into.
"Explain," Ethan whispered, steadying his breathing.
The response came without hesitation.
[This system enables rapid ascension through Desire, lust, conquest of women.]
[Primary Method: Successful conquest of adult female.]
[Emotional Attachment: Not required.]
[Consent: Mandatory.]
[Rewards scale according to target value.]
Ethan stared at the wall across from him, thoughts racing as he processed the words.
Sex, as a means of cultivation.
It sounded absurd on the surface, yet the more he considered it, the more a bitter amusement surfaced.
In a world that had discarded him for lacking talent, the system offered a different currency entirely.