The cold wind stirred the curtains.
Dua Lin opened his eyes to a dim ceiling made of rough-hewn wood. His breath came ragged, shallow—his body heavy as if cast from stone. Pain coursed through his limbs, yet beneath it, a faint pulse throbbed in his dantian, ancient and familiar, whispering of a power that should not exist in this frail body.
For a long while, he lay still, the fragments of two lives swirling within him like opposing storms.
Memories of Earth—smoke, gunfire, coded frequencies, weapon schematics—clashed against visions of another world: mountain sects that pierced the heavens, beasts that devoured the moon, and an Emperor whose roar once shattered stars.
Rebirth Martial Emperor… so that's who you were.
He closed his eyes again, letting the fusion complete. Memories rushed in like a flood—martial techniques carved in jade, incantations whispered in primordial tongues, the rhythm of spiritual veins breathing beneath heaven and earth.
When he opened them again, his gaze was cold, resolute, and utterly still.
"This world is not mine," he murmured, his voice hoarse but steady. "But from today onward, it will remember my name—Dua Lin."
He rose slowly, his joints creaking. The mirror of polished bronze by the bedside reflected a youth's face—seventeen, pale, handsome, yet clearly weakened. Faint scars traced his skin, and his once-clear eyes carried a depth unfitting his age.
He knew this body's story now.
The original Dua Lin was the son of Longwei Mei, a minor elder of the Longwei Clan—once a proud house descended from dragon-blood cultivators, now a decaying branch family mocked by the others. His father had died defending the clan borders three years ago; his mother, though gifted, had been suppressed by rivals.
The young Dua Lin had been bullied, cast aside, his spirit veins called defective. A few days ago, he was ambushed and nearly beaten to death by the favored heir of another branch.
But the heavens played a cruel joke—and a greater fate.
The soul that once commanded satellites, missiles, and nuclear blueprints had descended into this broken vessel.
And within him now resided the Nine Dragons War Sovereign Technique—the supreme art of the Rebirth Martial Emperor.
A soft knock came from the door.
"Lin'er, you're awake?"
The voice was gentle, full of suppressed worry.
Dua Lin turned. A woman entered—robes simple yet dignified, her beauty serene despite the faint lines of exhaustion. This was Longwei Mei, his mother.
Her eyes trembled when she saw him sitting up. "The heavens have blessed us," she whispered. "You've been unconscious for three days. I thought I had lost you again…"
Dua Lin's throat tightened. The warmth in her tone pierced deeper than any weapon could.
"I'm fine, Mother," he said softly. "Just… tired."
She came closer, pressing a cool hand to his forehead. "You were found near the clan's training ground. That wretch Longwei Yan did this, didn't he? I told the elders, but no one would interfere. They said it was a private dispute."
Her hands trembled slightly, but her voice carried a sharp edge.
"Those who mock the fallen blood of dragons have forgotten who we are."
Dua Lin looked into her eyes. Beneath the gentleness, there was fire—unyielding, proud. He remembered from his merged memories that she had once been a top disciple in her youth before marrying into the declining clan.
He clenched his fists beneath the blanket. "They will remember soon enough."
That night, after she left to prepare medicine, Dua Lin sat cross-legged in silence.
He could feel the faint remnants of spiritual energy drifting through the air—thin, but pure. He focused, guiding it with the breathing method engraved in his new soul.
The first layer of the Nine Dragons War Sovereign Technique was simple in concept—Tempering the Mortal Vessel.
Each breath was meant to draw the essence of heaven and earth into the bones, strengthening them beyond mortal limits.
Each heartbeat was to echo with the roar of an ancient beast.
But his meridians were clogged. His dantian was fractured from past injuries.
This body was, by all accounts, useless.
He smiled coldly. "On Earth, I built weapons from dust and flame. In this world, I will forge myself."
He guided the spiritual energy inward. It resisted, splintered against the cracks of his dantian, threatening to tear him apart. Pain erupted through his body like molten iron flowing through veins.
He did not stop.
The Rebirth Martial Emperor's memories taught him one truth—true strength was born in destruction.
He gathered the last of his will and forced the energy through.
A muffled crack echoed within him.
Then silence.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then—boom.
A pulse of power surged from his dantian. The stagnant air in the room twisted.
Golden light flickered faintly across his skin, forming the illusion of a vast shadow—a colossal ancient mammoth roaring beneath storm clouds.
The wooden floor beneath him groaned as faint cracks spread outward.
Sweat streamed down his face, but his lips curved upward.
The Strength of the Ancient Mammoth…
The first threshold of the Nine Dragons Technique—Body Tempering to Perfection.
He opened his palm and clenched his fist. The air trembled slightly. The force in that single motion was enough to shatter solid stone.
He exhaled, long and slow, the faint mist of spiritual essence leaving his body like steam.
The body that once couldn't withstand a single blow now pulsed with the raw power of ten thousand jin—the strength of one ancient mammoth.
The next morning, the courtyard buzzed with whispers.
"Did you hear? The useless branch son, Dua Lin, actually recovered?"
"Hah, so what if he did? Trash will always be trash. Longwei Yan said he'd cripple him again next time they meet."
Dua Lin stepped out of his chamber, his expression calm. His black robe fluttered slightly in the wind. The air around him seemed heavier—subtle, but unmistakable.
A group of young disciples turned to sneer—but the moment his gaze swept across them, their laughter died.
There was something in his eyes—cold, unyielding, a predator's stillness.
"Move," Dua Lin said simply.
They stepped aside unconsciously, their mockery freezing on their tongues.
Later that day, near the training grounds, Longwei Yan appeared again.
Tall, arrogant, with the easy confidence of a favored heir.
"Well, well," he drawled. "The cripple dares to walk again. You should've stayed in bed, Dua Lin."
Dua Lin met his gaze. "And you should've finished the job."
Yan's smile faltered. "What did you say?"
"I said," Dua Lin replied, stepping forward, "you won't get another chance."
Before the words fully left his mouth, he moved.
A blur. A gust of wind.
His foot swept forward—faster than sound.
Yan barely raised his arm before—
Bang!
He flew back three meters, crashing against the training pillar. Dust exploded from the impact.
The watching disciples froze, eyes wide.
That kick… it carried more than brute strength. It was as if the weight of an ancient beast had struck.
Dua Lin lowered his leg slowly, his expression calm.
"So this is the limit of your arrogance?" His voice was cold, measured, but carried an unmistakable authority.
Yan groaned, blood seeping from his lips. "Impossible… you… your meridians were shattered!"
Dua Lin stepped closer. "Shattered?" He raised his hand, fingers curling into a fist. "Then watch closely—how a broken vessel roars louder than dragons."
He struck forward lightly.
The air cracked.
Yan collapsed, unconscious.
Silence fell.
Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Then, faintly, from among the stunned disciples, a whisper rose:
"He's changed…"
"That pressure—it felt like… an ancient beast!"
Dua Lin turned, his gaze sweeping over them all. His voice carried softly, yet each syllable weighed like a hammer.
"Tell the elders. From this day on, the blood of the Longwei will no longer crawl."
He walked away, back straight, robe fluttering in the silent courtyard.
Behind him, whispers grew into murmurs of awe and fear.
In their eyes, the youth once branded as useless now carried a shadow of power none could comprehend.
And in the depths of Dua Lin's soul, the faint roar of a dragon echoed—distant, ancient, and awakening.