Valdrian Empire. Ashford Estate.
Cael Ashford watched the courtyard from his usual spot against the eastern wall.
Young disciples moved in clusters across the stone pathways. Cousins, mostly. Children of branch families and servants' offspring who'd shown enough talent to receive basic training. They laughed and sparred and gossiped, full of the easy confidence that came from never having questioned their place in the world.
Cael stood apart. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable.
He'd always been apart.
Seventeen years.
That's how long it had been since he'd opened his eyes in this body. Seventeen years since a man from another world woke up as an infant in a declining noble house, memories intact, fully aware of what he was.
A transmigrator.
In the stories, that meant something. Transmigrators were chosen. Special. They arrived with golden fingers and cheat systems, with supreme physiques and heaven-defying talents. They crushed young masters, collected beauties, and ascended to godhood before their twenties.
Cael had waited for his turn.
He was still waiting.
The power structure of Aetheron was straightforward enough.
Foundation. Resonance. Calamity. Monarch. Sovereign. Paragon. Overlord. Saint.
Those were the eight major realms of cultivation. There were ranks beyond Saint—whispered about in ancient texts—but they existed so far beyond mortal reach that contemplating them was pointless.
In the Valdrian Empire, reaching the Calamity realm meant you were somebody. Most sect elders and clan pillars hovered around that level. As for Monarchs? Those were the ancestors. The old monsters who'd lived for centuries and accumulated power that could reshape landscapes.
The Ashford family's sole Monarch had died three generations ago.
Now they had Marcus Ashford. Cael's father. Sixth-stage Calamity. The only thing keeping the family from being swallowed by their neighbors.
And Cael himself?
First-stage Resonance.
He'd started cultivating at five. Never slacked. Never made excuses. While other children played, he meditated. While his cousins chased girls and got drunk on stolen wine, he refined his foundation over and over until it was flawless.
Among the Ashford family's younger generation, no one matched his dedication.
And yet.
First-stage Resonance at seventeen.
It wasn't bad. By normal standards, it was actually impressive. He was the most talented youth the Ashfords had produced in decades.
But Cael didn't measure himself by normal standards.
He measured himself against the monsters. The protagonists. The chosen ones who populated every story about transmigrators and reincarnators.
By that metric, he was pathetic.
Seventeen years, he thought, watching a group of younger cousins practice sword forms nearby. Seventeen years, and not a single golden finger. No system. No mysterious inheritance. No old grandpa sealed in a ring.
Just... nothing.
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
What a joke.
Other transmigrators got Chaos Physiques and Supreme Bones. They stumbled into ancient ruins filled with treasures. They accidentally offended young masters who conveniently had beautiful sisters in need of rescue.
Cael got a declining family, average talent, and the constant awareness that he should have been more.
That was the cruelest part. The awareness.
A normal person wouldn't know what they were missing. They'd cultivate at their natural pace, content with whatever heights they achieved. But Cael knew. He knew that somewhere out there, systems existed. Cheat-like abilities existed. Shortcuts to power that could turn a mortal into a god.
And none of them had chosen him.
"Seventeen years," he murmured. "I've given you seventeen years. Nothing to show for it but patience and a body that cultivates like a regular human being."
He pushed off the wall, stretching muscles that had grown stiff from standing too long.
Forget it.
Bitterness was unproductive. If the universe refused to give him advantages, he'd carve his path with his own hands. It would be slower. Harder. He might never reach the heights he'd dreamed of.
But he refused to break.
"A peaceful life isn't the worst outcome," he said aloud, testing the words.
They tasted like ash.
"Young Master."
A servant appeared at his side, bowing low. One of the household staff—an older man named Garrett who'd served the family since before Cael's birth.
"The Master requests your presence. Visitors have arrived from the Sterling family."
Cael's eyebrows rose slightly.
Sterling family.
Right. He'd almost forgotten.
Among the many things Cael lacked—system, cheat ability, supreme physique—there was one asset he did possess.
A fiancée.
The Sterling family was everything the Ashfords weren't.
Where the Ashfords clung to survival in a border town at the edge of the empire, the Sterlings stood as one of the Valdrian Empire's three great powers. Their compound sprawled across an entire mountain range. Their treasury held resources that could buy small nations.
And their ancestor, Lord Aldric Sterling, was a Gold-stage Monarch known as the Heavenly Monarch—a half-step from the Sovereign realm, and widely considered the strongest cultivator the empire had produced in five hundred years.
The Monarch realm was divided into three stages: Bronze, Silver, and Gold. Each stage represented a qualitative leap in power.
A Gold Monarch like Lord Aldric stood at the absolute peak of the Valdrian Empire. Only the royal family's ancestors could match him. Once he broke through to Sovereign, even the imperial clan would have to treat the Sterlings as equals.
One family ruled as a continental pillar.
The other struggled to maintain relevance in a town most maps didn't bother labeling.
On paper, these two families had no business being connected.
But history was rarely that simple.
Ten thousand years ago, the Ashfords had been glorious.
Not merely respected. Legendary.
In that era, the Ashford name commanded reverence across the entire Spirit Domain. They were counted among the Holy Clans—bloodlines so powerful that Overlords were born from their ranks like fruit from ancient trees. Their vaults held Divine-grade techniques. Their armies crushed nations.
The Sterling family? They'd been vassals. Servants. One of dozens of minor houses that existed solely to support Ashford interests.
Then came the Fall.
Eight thousand years ago, a catastrophe struck. The details had been lost to time, but the results were clear: every Ashford powerhouse above the Sovereign realm perished in a single night. Their techniques were destroyed. Their treasures scattered or stolen. Their bloodline—once capable of producing Overlords—began to fade.
Generation after generation, the decline continued. No Ashford had reached Sovereign in eight millennia. The power that once flowed through their veins grew thinner with each passing century until it became barely detectable.
Now, the Ashford bloodline existed in name only.
The only way to reignite it was for someone to break through to Sovereign and reawaken the dormant potential in their lineage.
For a family that couldn't even produce Monarchs anymore, that was a fantasy.
The Sterlings, meanwhile, had thrived.
Free from their vassalage after the Ashford collapse, they'd built their own legacy. Talent emerged from their bloodline with startling regularity. A century ago, Lord Aldric's rise to Gold Monarch marked their ascension to the empire's upper echelon.
Now they stood on the verge of even greater heights.
As for their former masters?
The Sterlings hadn't bothered maintaining contact for generations. Why would they? The Ashfords had nothing to offer. No resources. No connections. No power worth respecting.
There was only one reason the two families remained linked at all.
A debt.
Eight hundred years ago, an Ashford ancestor had saved a Sterling patriarch's life during a beast tide. The favor had never been called in. It sat there, accumulating weight across the centuries, an uncomfortable reminder of where the Sterling family had come from.
Cael's father had finally cashed it in.
"The future of our family rests on your shoulders."
Those had been Marcus Ashford's words when he'd announced the arrangement.
"I've secured you a bride from the Sterling family. The patriarch's own daughter. For this, I spent the favor our ancestors held over them for eight centuries."
Cael had listened without expression.
"Your task is simple," his father continued, eyes burning with desperate hope. "Have children. Strong children. Many children. If even one of them inherits enough Sterling talent to reach Sovereign, our bloodline can be restored."
Then came the part that nearly made Cael choke.
"Don't hold back, son. Give me grandchildren. Dozens of them if you can manage it."
Dozens.
As if Cael were a breeding stallion whose only value lay in his reproductive capacity.
He hadn't argued. What would be the point? His father wasn't wrong about the family's situation. Without an infusion of external talent, the Ashfords would fade into extinction within a few generations.
A political marriage was the most practical solution available.
Cael simply wished it didn't make him feel like livestock.
"Young Master?" Garrett's voice pulled him back. "Shall I inform the Master you're coming?"
Cael nodded. "Tell him I'll be there shortly."
The servant bowed and departed.
Cael remained still for a moment, gazing across the courtyard.
Lyra Sterling.
That was his fiancée's name. The eldest daughter of the Sterling patriarch. By all accounts, a beauty with respectable talent—nothing extraordinary, but solid enough. A safe match for a minor noble house.
Could be worse.
Could be a lot better, too, a treacherous part of his mind whispered. Could have a system. Could have a supreme physique. Could be something other than a glorified sperm donor for a dying family.
He crushed the thought.
Self-pity was weakness. Whatever cards he'd been dealt, he'd play them to the best of his ability. That was all anyone could do.
Cael took a step toward the main hall.
And the world shifted.
Pain lanced through his skull.
It wasn't physical—or rather, it wasn't only physical. Something was happening inside his mind, in a space he hadn't known existed. Like a door that had been sealed his entire life was suddenly being wrenched open.
「Ding.」
A sound rang through his consciousness. Clear as crystal. Unmistakable.
「Congratulations, Host. The "Blessed Bloodline System" has been successfully awakened.」
Cael froze.
The courtyard continued around him. Disciples laughed. Servants hurried past. The world moved on, oblivious to the fact that everything had just changed.
...System?
He didn't dare breathe.
「Blessed Bloodline System initialized. Binding to Host... complete.」
「Welcome, Host. This system exists to elevate your lineage to unprecedented heights.」
Seventeen years.
Seventeen years he'd waited for this moment. Through childhood and adolescence, through countless hours of meditation and training, through every bitter thought and swallowed complaint—he'd never stopped hoping.
And now, finally, finally—
Cael exhaled slowly.
Calm. Stay calm.
He wasn't going to become a giddy fool just because his golden finger had arrived. He'd waited too long and grown too controlled for that.
But beneath the composure, something fierce and hungry stirred.
It's about time.
"System," he said internally, keeping his external expression neutral. "Explain your function."
「The Blessed Bloodline System rewards the Host based on the innate talent of their offspring. Higher talent yields greater rewards.」
「Additionally, achievement milestones exist. The Host's tenth child, hundredth child, thousandth child, and beyond will each trigger unique rewards.」
Cael processed this.
A system based on... having children?
Suddenly, his father's obsession with grandchildren seemed less like desperation and more like prophecy.
「The System has detected that the Host is approaching a marriage arrangement. This triggered the awakening sequence.」
So that's why you waited until now.
If the system's rewards depended on offspring, activating before he was in a position to have children would have been pointless. The timing, annoying as it was, made a certain logical sense.
Still.
You could have given me a heads up, Cael thought dryly. A hint. A whisper. Something to let me know I wasn't wasting my time.
The system, predictably, did not respond to complaints.
"System. Most systems offer some kind of starter benefit. Do you?"
「Affirmative.」
「The Host has three unopened Starter Packs available.」
A slow smile crossed Cael's face.
Now we're talking.
"Open—"
"Young Master?"
Garrett had returned, looking mildly concerned. "Forgive me, but the Master is growing impatient. The Sterling representatives are waiting."
Cael blinked, pulling himself back to reality.
Right. The marriage discussion. That took priority—for now.
The Starter Packs weren't going anywhere. He could open them after dealing with the Sterlings.
"I'm coming."
He straightened his robes, composed his expression, and walked toward the main hall.
But inside, his mind was racing.
A system that rewards me for having talented children.
A fiancée from a family with strong bloodlines.
And three Starter Packs waiting to be opened.
The pieces were falling into place.
Cael didn't know exactly what the future held, but for the first time in seventeen years, he felt something other than resignation.
He felt anticipation.