Inside the Pradhab Clan, the central region was reserved for the clan leader, his close blood relatives, and their descendants.
Within one of the estates, inside a beautifully decorated bedroom, a young man lay on the bed. His face was drenched in sweat, his brows tightly furrowed, as if trapped in a terrible nightmare.
Suddenly, his eyes flew open.
He gasped for breath and stared at the surroundings.
Ancient furniture. Elegant wooden carvings. Spiritual symbols carved into the walls.
This was not the hospital room he remembered.
"Someone's playing a prank on me?" he muttered.
But the thought vanished almost instantly.
There was no one who would do such a thing for him and this place was far too real to be a set.
Then a thought struck him like thunder.
Am I dead? Is this heaven?
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
He didn't fear death.
In his previous life on Earth, he was a young professor, living an ordinary yet happy life. That happiness shattered the day the doctor told him he had cancer.
From that day onward, hospitals became his home.
Within two months, he lost everything his job, his savings, and finally, his health. The cancer reached its terminal stage. There was no family to care for him. No one to hold his hand.
Only endless pain and cold hospital nights.
Death might be a relief, he once thought.
Coming back to his senses, he slowly got up and looked around. His gaze landed on a bronze mirror.
He walked toward it.
The moment he saw his reflection, he froze.
"That's not me."
The boy in the mirror had long black hair, fair skin, sharp sword-like eyebrows, a straight nose, and flawless white teeth. His appearance carried a faint villainous charm. He looked about eighteen years old.
Handsome. Too handsome.
A complete lady killer.
Yet it was not his face.
Before he could process it, a violent headache struck him.
Fragments of unknown memories flooded into his mind.
"Ugh!"
A low roar escaped his throat as he collapsed onto the bed. After a while, the pain faded, and clarity returned.
He looked down at his body.
An ancient white robe covered him.
Only then did he understand.
"This isn't heaven."
His soul had crossed space and time.
He had transmigrated into another body.
The original owner of this body shared the same name as him. But this world was nothing like Earth.
Here, strength ruled everything.
Spiritual energy filled the air between heaven and earth. Cultivators absorbed it to strengthen their bodies and souls, breaking the limits of mortals. With every breakthrough, their power soared.
The strong could fly through the skies, shatter mountains with a single punch, control the weather and most importantly, greatly extend their lifespan.
In this world, the strong were respected.
The weak survived only by the mercy of the strong.
This body belonged to someone with an extremely powerful background.
His father was Jogendhra Pradhab, the leader of the Pradhab Clan.
He himself possessed exceptional cultivation talent.
With such backing, he should have lived a glorious life.
Yet
The memories told him one truth.
The original owner of this body had already reached the end of his life.