Another day in the Jade Library Cave.
After his usual routine of teasing and embarrassing Selene, Riven Ashvale stepped outside into the open clearing beyond the stone walls.
The sky above was clear. The sea shimmered in the distance—calm, quiet.
He moved his feet.
Running fast and silent through the woods, dodging trees and ducking under low-hanging branches, he reached the farthest edge of the island. There, he stood barefoot at the shore.
The cold waves touched his feet like icy fingers. He closed his eyes.
And tried to breathe.
The past few months had been a blur—a chaotic mess of emotion, silence, and thoughts he didn't want to admit. They clung to him like a blood-soaked blanket.
He played the part.
To the maid, he was the calm, playful, but mysterious master.
To Selene Virelyn, he was flirty, lighthearted, steady, and confident.
But inside?
Inside, he was still bleeding from the wounds inflicted on him.
Since the moment he was spat into this world, his life had been pain stitched into the marrow of his bones.
No parents.
No guidance.
No one to say, "It's okay, I've got you."
Only a frail old grandmother—tougher than steel—holding him up as the world tried to crush him.
And now this new world…
This savage, feudal world had torn apart whatever remained of his past.
He had never chosen this life. Not once.
And the assassination attempt—
That was when the illusion shattered.
He looked back at the times when he confidently thought 'he got this'. That he adapted to the world.
He thought he understood the rules. But he hadn't.
He still had a roof over his head.
Still had food.
Still had clean clothes.
He had been comfortable. He didn't even know, but this comfort made him soft. The ruthlessness he had when he was a businessman who had to make sure his rivals never got back up again… dimmed.
And he was still thinking like a modern man.
A city man. A fool. This wasn't a fucking fantasy.
This wasn't some grand heroic journey. This wasn't an adventure.
This was feudal reality.
A world where life was cheap. Where murder was mundane.
Where people like him—naïve, unprotected—died without meaning.
And he had just been assassinated.
He had almost died. Again.
And for what?
Nothing. Just power games. Just bloodline scuffles.
Just people who didn't want him breathing.
He wasn't special. He wasn't chosen.
He was just another name on someone's list.
Another dog bleeding in the mud.
And now...
Now, he had to face it.
No more illusions. No more comfort. No more softness.
This was the reality.
And if he wanted to survive—
If he wanted to win—
Then he had to wake the fuck up.
Because no one was coming to save him.
His system was limited to him. No sect. No wise old master hiding in a ring was going to hand him a scroll of destiny.
Scholar? What fucking scholar?
Imperial exam? A joke.
Marry? Settle down? Live quietly?
Like a bitch? Earlier, he wanted to. To live a stable life, different from his previous one.
But… no. No number of lucky encounters or leveling up would ever fill that yawning void in his chest. Ah, the growing insanity.
Not unless he ripped his purpose out of this world with bloodied, clawing hands.
This world—this brutal, lawless, uncaring world—
It didn't care about fairness. It didn't care about your dreams.
It didn't hand out second chances.
It only bowed to strength. It only respected will.
And that truth hit him like a hammer to the skull:
A man with no purpose is just meat waiting to rot.
He remembered his past life's world.
The softness. The comfort. The safety nets.
Social media. Movies. Games.
A world built on distractions. A world that told men to be gentle. To stay quiet. To smile through a life of quiet mediocrity.
"Not everyone has to be great," they said.
"Isn't it noble to be average? Average men build the world."
Yeah? YEAH?
Who the fuck remembers the average man?
Who mourns the forgotten?
There were statistics. Numbers on a screen. One more digit on the yearly death toll.
He had lived in a world where ambition was arrogance, where masculinity was toxic, where discipline was oppression.
A world that buried lions— And raised sheep.
But here? Here, in this savage realm—
The mask was off.
No filters. No fake smiles. No pretending.
Yes, he had a system.
Yes, his cultivation was rising.
But so what? Did he think that made him safe?
That he could coast on cheat codes and luck?
FUCK NO.
This world had no mercy.
If he failed, it wouldn't care.
It would bury him—quietly, coldly—without a sound.
No applause. No safety net. No second chance.
When he was drowning in that lake, he swore…
If he had just one more chance he would never face that despair again.
What despair was he talking about?
Not the fear. Not the cold. Not the blood. It was also never the pain that haunted him.
It was the regret.
Not the sappy kind. Not "unsaid goodbyes."
Fuck that. It was the regret that the world wouldn't even notice he was gone. That he'd be just another body in a ditch.
Forgotten before the flies even came.
He wanted more. He wanted a legacy. He wanted glory. What he so dearly wished in his past life, so much that he signed a deal with the wicked. But was ultimately unable to achieve.
He wanted his name carved so deep into the bones of this world that even the gods would have to whisper it with respect.
He had faced death twice.
Both times—pointless.
Meaningless. Powerless.
"Why the hell should I live a quiet life and die a nameless death?"
"Didn't I already die that way once?"
His past life was not entirely 'average'. He was one of the people who fell onto the dark side and ripped through that path with extreme competence.
You know the companies that own parking lots? Giving out tickets to the cars like they were the city council?
You know the companies that operate mines in third-world countries? Those nameless companies?
Who supplies ammunition to the Third World revolutions? Freedom fighters? You know them?
Yeah… he was one of them. And so… he died just like his company. Nameless.
No funeral worth remembering. No legacy. No story.
Just another cog in the machine who died incognito, who never made a ripple.
He inhaled. The breath that left his lungs stirred the wind around him. The trees rustled. The waves slammed against the rocks with sudden violence.
It was like the world could feel what was rising inside him. His heart beat like thunder in his chest. And something ancient, something primal, awakened.
It wasn't fear. Not anymore. It was worse. It was the terror of dying before ever truly living.
"Purpose…" he muttered, low and guttural. "What is a man without purpose?"
He remembered the books. The stories.
The kings. The generals. The tyrants. The visionaries.
Legends of Ashenvale and foreign empires alike.
He had read them all. Philosophy. Scriptures. Biographies.
As a boy, they were just majestic tales. Just words.
Now, they burned through his veins like lightning.
The system, the Primordial pills, the rise of his cultivation—
All of it had torn apart who he was.
And rebuilt him.
Body. Mind. Soul.
Riven Ashvale was no longer a lost child. He was no longer a man from another world. He was of this world now.
And in that swirling chaos of pain, memory, and fury—
Something feral rose from the ashes. He saw it.
Clear. Unshakable.
A man is not meant to live quiet.
A man is not meant to die in peace.
A man is meant to RISE.
To conquer. To build a legacy that bends time itself.
His jaw locked. His eyes—like steel dipped in midnight—stared into the horizon.
This time… he would become a king. Not in title. Not in robes. Not on some fragile throne.
In essence.
He would live like a king.
He would walk like a king. His shadow would stretch across mountains and rivers. His presence would be:
What the weak pray in their ancestral halls. What bows the heads of the strong? The whisper that silences empires.
His name—Riveron Ashvale—
Would be carved into golden tablets, etched into the roots of history, passed down for endless years.
He would not be remembered as a number.
He would not be remembered as a mistake.
He would be remembered as an anomaly. An anomaly that came once in a thousand years— Or perhaps even longer.
Riveron Ashvale. A man reborn. Not to survive. But to dominate. To shatter thrones, To break chains, To write his name in blood across the skies.
And in that moment— That boiling, silent moment standing barefoot at the edge of the world—
After seventeen years of drifting through this brutal realm... His soul finally settled. The past and the present fused. No more confusion. No more waiting. No more hoping.
Just clarity. Just that growing fire in his heart.
In that chaos, for the first time— He felt free. Liberated.
...…
Riven lived his life with his new found purpose as his mental foundation. He, however, did not let go of his humanity for it. He lived like the man he was to his truest sense.
He still loved to tease that cute little girl who saved him. Teasing her and enjoying her embarrassed moments.
Grandmother's plan proceeded with caution.
Within this period of time, he met with a couple of 'testers' sent by the main Ashvale household.
Every one of them treated him with utmost respect but tested him without a single bit of favoritism.
This made Riven realize that these people were patriotic individuals who came here under the orders of someone.
The 'someone' had clearly ordered them to treat him with respect. He couldn't help but think of his other grandmother. It had been such a long time since he had seen her.
Would she still consider him someone important? A noble woman of such a high standing?
The testers… oh, they were horrified. Noticing his rapid increase in martial prowess from the fourth realm, Bone hardening, to the sixth realm, organ conditioning, in 3 months.
And so time passed. In the blink of an eye, ten months had passed since waking up in that cave.
.....
Jade Library Cave!
In Selene Virelyn's fragrant boudoir, she was regulating her breath and practicing internal skills. Since that day, after listening to Riven Ashvale's words and recalling the significant change in Madam Virelyn's attitude, she couldn't help but be moved.
"A true man must never cease his struggle. In this world, it is no different for women?"
"If I can defeat cousin, will he come to his senses?" Selene Virelyn thought. Therefore, these few months she began to focus on practicing diligently.
At this moment, the door was pushed open with a bang. Youcao rushed in, panicked, "Miss, n - not good!"
Selene Virelyn slowly exhaled, finishing her practice and opening her eyes, "What's worrying you?"
Youcao said, "Riven, Master Riven..." Out of breath, she caught her breath and continued, "Master Riven has left!"
"Huh?" Selene Virelyn was taken aback. She couldn't even register the words in her brain. She felt somewhat dazed. He left?
She quickly rose, lightly tapping her feet, rushed out of the fragrant boudoir, passing through the bookshelves in the stone cave, and arriving at the secret chamber in the blink of an eye.
Kicking open the door, she entered. Inside the secret chamber, there was no one.
Only the four walls of stone remained, each bearing numerous fist holes. Initially, the areas around the fist holes had cracks.
Further on, the holes became smoother, some deep enough to submerge a shoulder. This clearly indicated his profound internal strength, penetrating the stone walls and turning rock into powder.
Selene Virelyn's glance fell on a letter on the stone table. She quickly picked it up and opened the letter. It had three pages.
First page!
"Ten months have passed. Thank you, Miss Virelyn, for saving my life and offering shelter. This humble scholar will take his leave, please do not think of me or miss me!"
"Ten months?" Selene Virelyn was stunned.
So fast? Having a goal, she no longer felt as bored or restless as before. With something to do every day, time seemed to pass quickly.
She glanced again at the last four words and sneered, thinking, "Naughty bad man, who would think of you, miss you? Where is your antidote?"
She turned to the second page.
"Sorry, you were tricked. The Ten-Day Death Pill was a fabrication; it should be called [Primordial pill], so there is no antidote! The 'antidotes' that I fed you were other medicinal pills."
Primordial pill? Selene Virelyn didn't seem surprised. She snorted, thinking, "I suspected you were deceiving me all along, bad man!"
During her idle moments these past few months, she had flipped through numerous pill and medical books but found no mention of the so-called Ten-Day death Pill.
She repeatedly examined her body with her internal strength, finding no discomfort. She had already harbored suspicions.
She looked at the third page. Her cheeks suddenly flushed red, and she huffed, throwing it on the table.
It turned out the paper contained a charcoal and graphite pencil sketch. Had it been an ordinary sketch, Selene Virelyn wouldn't have blushed.
It just so happened that it was when Riven Ashvale caught her when she first used her internal energy.
The scene of the two twirling and embracing each other.
The memory, which had already faded, now vividly resurfaced in her mind.
Selene Virelyn felt flustered, stealing a glance at the sketch. Her and Riven Ashvale's appearances were brought to life with incredible detail.
She herself was skilled in painting, but specialized in meticulous brushwork. This kind of highly textured realistic sketch was something she had never seen before.
After hesitating for a moment, she picked up the drawing again and examined it carefully. Beside the illustration, there was a line from his poetry:
"Though oceans lie between us, may the moonlight bind our souls — and time itself yield to our bond."
Selene Virelyn felt her ears burning, muttering under her breath, "You villain, always bullying me. Who would want to share the moon with you?"
"Miss, has Master Riven really left?" Youcao entered and asked. This little girl seemed more somber than anyone, dazed and on the verge of tears.
It's like she had lost her figure of devotion.
Startled, Selene Virelyn quickly put away the letter, turned around with a stern face, and replied,
"He's gone, and don't ever mention him again!"