Settled within the quiet safety of the strange inner space, Scarlett allowed herself something she had deliberately avoided since waking—
She browsed through the memories of the body she now occupied.
Piece by piece, memory after memory unfolded before her, each confirming what she already suspected.
This body had never belonged to someone fortunate.
Scarlett was an orphan.
No mother.
No father.
No relatives.
No one worth mentioning.
At that realization, the woman—who had once lived ninety-five years—released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"…That's a relief."
She truly meant it.
Pretending to be someone else was one thing. Pretending to be someone's child—especially a child who was loved—was another matter entirely. She had no desire to deceive grieving parents or fabricate affection she did not feel.
No family meant no expectations.
No emotional debts.
No past relationships waiting to expose her.
A clean slate.
If transmigration had to happen, then this was perhaps the least cruel version of it.
But relief did not erase the bitterness of what followed.
Without family, Scarlett had lived like a weed growing between cracks in stone.
Poor.
Hungry.
Invisible.
She begged for food when she could. Stole when desperation overcame shame. Slept wherever shelter could be found—alleys, abandoned sheds, the edges of markets once the stalls closed.
She learned early that survival required endurance more than hope.
Then, one day—
An elderly woman noticed her.
Not with pity.
But with calculation.
"She has a good physique for cultivation," the woman had said, eyes sharp and assessing. "A rare foundation for someone so young."
Scarlett watched the memory unfold, her expression unreadable.
The old woman took the girl in, bathed her, clothed her, fed her warm meals. She smiled gently, spoke softly, and treated her with a tenderness that mimicked motherhood.
For a time, Scarlett—the original Scarlett—had believed it.
She had been careful, but not careful enough.
One night, half-awake, she overheard a conversation that shattered the illusion.
The woman planned to harvest her mana core.
Not for herself.
For her daughter.
Scarlett closed her eyes briefly.
So that was the truth.
A vessel.
A replacement.
A disposable foundation.
The irony was sharp enough to cut.
She could forgive ignorance. She could forgive desperation. But calculated betrayal disguised as kindness?
That, she found distasteful.
"And yet…" she muttered quietly, reviewing the memory further.
The girl had stayed.
Even after learning the truth.
Even after knowing she was being fattened for slaughter.
She remained calm. Obedient. Careful.
Scarlett scoffed.
"…Why?"
That question echoed sharply in her mind.
Why would you stay?
Why would you continue eating food meant to strengthen you only so your organs could be stolen later?
What did you expect?
That the woman would suddenly grow a conscience?
That love would override ambition?
She shook her head slowly.
"This girl…" she murmured. "Far too relaxed."
Too passive.
Too trusting.
She pressed her fingers against her temple as frustration welled.
"How can you believe someone will be kind to you without strings attached?" she demanded aloud. "Especially in a world like this?"
Her irritation grew as the memories continued.
She planned to leave, by applying for enrollment to an academy
The Nun's Sect.
One of the top five sects on the continent.
A prestigious cultivation sect revered for discipline, combat prowess, and merciless standards.
Scarlett paused.
"Ambitious," she admitted. "I'll give you that."
The girl passed the first test.
That alone spoke of her potential.
During the second test, her cultivation bottleneck loosened—an early breakthrough on the verge of happening. Overjoyed, she searched for a secluded place to advance safely.
That was when everything went wrong.
She encountered a cultivation deviation.
Panicked.
Reached for the pill she trusted.
The pill that had already been exchanged without her knowledge, she couldn't remember when or how.
Poison.
Death followed swiftly.
Scarlett exhaled sharply.
"So careless," she muttered.
The words escaped her before she could soften them.
This girl had potential—real, undeniable potential—but she lacked the most important quality of all.
Suspicion.
The world was not kind to the naïve.
Scarlett folded her arms, staring into the shimmering nothingness of the space.
"Should I pity you," she asked quietly, "or should I just call you stupid?"
The question lingered.
Then she sighed.
"…Whatever."
Her irritation faded, replaced by something gentler, more restrained.
"You're already gone," she said softly. "There's no point throwing stones at someone who can't hear them."
She clasped her hands together unconsciously—a habit from her former life—and bowed her head slightly.
"May your soul rest in the blossom of the Lord."
As the words left her lips, something strange happened.
Light gathered.
A soft, celestial radiance enveloped her body, descending like falling petals. The glow was gentle, reverent, almost holy, transforming her presence into something serene and otherworldly.
For a brief moment, she looked like a divine being bestowing blessings upon the dead.
Then—
She opened her eyes.
The light vanished.
Gone as though it had never existed, like an illusion nobody noticed.
Scarlett stared silently for several seconds before shaking her head.
She shifted her focus.
Now came the practical matters.
"Cultivation," she said, settling into a more analytical mindset.
The memories she inherited were clear on this subject.
In this world, cultivation revolved around mana cores—condensed manifestations of elemental affinity formed within the body.
There were common types.
Red—for fire.
Green—for earth.
Blue—for water.
Grey—for wind.
These four formed the foundation of most cultivators. They were abundant, well-documented, and had countless cultivation manuals and techniques designed around them.
Any sect could train these.
Any city could support them.
Then there were the rare ones.
Silver—for ice.
Brown—for wood.
Purple—for lightning.
Gold—for metal.
Black—for darkness.
White—for light.
Scarlett's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Especially black and white," she murmured.
Those two were classified as true power.
Not merely rare.
Legendary.
Cultivators born with such cores were called geniuses among geniuses—monsters who distorted balance simply by existing.
They were Protected.
Feared.
Worshipped.
Or eliminated before they could grow.
Scarlett leaned back thoughtfully.
"And of course," she continued, "affinity alone isn't enough."
Mana cores had grades.
Low.
Middle.
High.
Their quality could be gauged by shade—the deeper and purer the color, the higher the potential. Pale cores struggled to advance. Deep, rich cores devoured energy efficiently and broke bottlenecks with terrifying speed. And Scarlett wonders what hers would be.
Though it has been destroyed but she believe she could restore it, she's a protagonist for goodness sake of course something would happen to restore it, though she haven't examine herself, she knew they will be a way.
"What will my core be?" she whispered.
She did not yet have the answer.
But she knew one thing for certain.
She had already lived a lifetime devoted to restraint, discipline, and observation.
Now, reborn in a world where power ruled all—
She would cultivate to be powerful so she can protect herself.
She will be Precise,
Deliberate.
Unforgiving of mistakes.
She was a venerated mother ….not a saint
Scarlett opened her eyes, gaze sharp and steady.
"Survival first," she said quietly. "Power second."
Her lips curved faintly.