In the opulent chambers of the Warflow Clan estate in Grand Ridge City, Kaisin was rudely jerked from sleep. Sitting bolt upright, then collapsing back into the plush comforts of his king-size bed, he squinted against the sunlight streaming through his window.
"This dream again, sharper than ever. Great, overslept… again. Who needs plans anyway? Oh wait—plans!" His voice climbed an octave. "Laurell's going to murder me!"
He sighed, a blend of indifference and looming dread, as he shuffled out of bed and stumbled over to the cupboard. His room, a showcase of luxury, seemed indifferent to his growing panic. "Now where did I toss my robes? Not under the—aaargh!"
His complaint was cut off by a sudden, excruciating pain in his chest, as if a thousand fiery needles were boring into his heart. Clutching his chest, he dropped to the floor, groaning in agony.
"Aaaargh, what on earth is this?!"
In a panic, he ripped off his shirt and gaped at his chest. Fine crimson cracks spread across his skin, right over his heart, glowing ominously. His body temperature skyrocketed, sweat beading and rolling off his skin in torrents. Overwhelmed by the heat, he stripped off the rest of his clothes, collapsing to his knees while gasping for air.
As Kaisin writhed in pain on the floor of his lavish bedroom, unbeknownst to him, waves of a potent spiritual aura radiated from his body, cascading over Grand Ridge City like a silent storm. This sudden surge of power did not go unnoticed.
Throughout the city, seasoned spiritual powerhouses snapped their eyes open, each sensing the unmistakable ripple of an awakening. Murmurs filled the air, a shared question on everyone's lips, "Is someone in the city awakening a supreme Dao constitution? Where is this energy emanating from?"
In the shadows, schemes began to hatch as the more calculating among them sensed an opportunity. Thoughts raced — "If it's a young man, I'll marry my daughter to him," one plotted, envisioning alliances. "What if he's a commoner? No matter, I'll claim him as my heir after dealing with his family," another considered, already plotting a darker course. "If it's a girl, we must send engagement gifts immediately — a thousand spirit stones should secure her favor and tie her fate to ours," whispered a third, eager to secure power through marriage.
These old schemers, driven by a relentless pursuit of power, could hardly be faulted for their greed. After all, the emergence of a supreme spiritual constitution was a rare event that could significantly shift the power dynamics within the city — perhaps even the entire Empire.
Constitutions in this world were key to determining one's spiritual path, ranked from the common Mortal up through Adept, Legendary, and the coveted Supreme. Ancient scripts even whispered of Heavenly constitutions, though these were considered more myth than reality, as none had surfaced in a millennium. A Dao constitution, inherent from birth, often ran in families but occasionally surfaced unexpectedly in individuals with no known lineage, shaking the very foundations of societal order.
This system dictated one's potential and influence in the spiritual realm, aligning one's physical and spiritual capabilities with their destined path of cultivation. As the city stirred with whispers and plans, Kaisin remained oblivious.
At the tranquil estate of House Mayrs, an elderly man in green and blue hanfu robes meditated on a bamboo mat within a small lakeside pavilion. His attire lent him an air of wisdom and distinction. Slowly opening his eyes, he sensed the unusual energy pulsating from the north of the city. With a knowing smile, he murmured, "It appears the Warflow clan may soon boast a new prodigy among their ranks. Ah, the vigor of youth—this surge suggests a constitution of at least Legendary caliber, perhaps even Supreme."
Content with his insight, he turned away from the disturbance and resumed his meditation, his thoughts lingering on the promising shift in the city's spiritual landscape.
Meanwhile, in a stark contrast to the old man's calm, Kaisin struggled violently for breath in his luxurious room. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, bulged as if drenched in blood; veins throbbed visibly under his skin, pulsating with an intensity that threatened to tear him apart from within.
"What in God's name is happening to me?!" he gasped between coughs. "Am I poisoned? No, that's ridiculous—nobody would do this to me. Or was it that undercooked pork from yesterday? Damn it, I should have listened to Laurell. She warned that only spiritual cultivators could safely consume such fare…"
As his pain escalated, Kaisin's vision blurred, and he curled into a fetal position on the floor. Desperation clawed at his mind, but just as consciousness began to slip away, a faint, ethereal whisper echoed through the tumult of his thoughts:
"a collapsed house… faded war… and thy divine grace… inherit thy birthright, Oh servant of crimson calamity…"
Five hours after his unsettling ordeal, the rhythmic knocking at his door startled Kaisin awake.
"Young master, are you inside?" The voice, muffled but insistent, drifted through the door.
Rubbing his chest, which, to his surprise, had reverted to normal, Kaisin winced as his vision slowly refocused. His ears, however, still buzzed relentlessly, distorting the sounds around him.
"What in the flying f*ck just happened?! And why does my chest hurt so damn much?" he groaned, bewildered and pained.
Shuffling towards the door, he called out, slightly disoriented, "Did someone call me?"
"Young master, are you feeling well? You didn't join the little lady for dinner, and she's been fretting over your absence for the past hour. To express her displeasure, she even sent those love letters you wrote for Lady Cynthia of House Martell to her personal maids," explained Slade, Kaisin's aide and personal guard, his voice laden with a mix of concern and weariness.
Kaisin's face blanched; this was the second shock of the day, and by far the more terrifying. "She did what!? Those weren't love letters, just… friendly meet-up ba—stuff. Argh, I'm going to throttle that snotty brat!"
As Kaisin's frustration boiled over, Slade's voice became firmer, cutting through the young master's tirade. "The patriarch has also requested your presence in his audience chamber this evening at nine. I'm not sure why, but it seemed urgent."
Kaisin swung open the door in a fit of agitation, only to be met with Slade's unflappable demeanor.
"Young master, maybe you should put on some clothes for this occasion… I feel like the patriarch won't react lightheartedly if you show up like that."
Looking down, Kaisin realized with a jolt that he was utterly naked, having discarded his clothes during his earlier crisis.
"This- uh…" he stuttered, embarrassment coloring his tone.
*BAM* — The door slammed shut as he quickly scrambled for some nearby clothes, hastily dressing himself. Once decent, he paused before the mirror to assess his appearance.
At 20 years old, Kaisin's tall, muscular frame and striking features—black hair and intense red eyes—made him a notable figure. However, despite his physical attributes, he was still only in the Qi condensation state, a reflection of his lackadaisical approach to his spiritual training. Preferring to rely on his father's considerable influence, he had never pushed himself to advance through the spiritual stages that would mark him as a serious cultivator.
The path of spiritual cultivation began with the Initiate body refinement stage, which was segmented into several states: Qi gathering, Qi condensation, Qi path refinement, Flesh refinement, and Bone refinement. Progressing beyond this was the Houtian great stage, marking a practitioner as a true cultivator. This stage was divided further, but Kaisin's knowledge extended only to the first two realms—Martial Body and Foundation Establishment—owing to his disinterest in deepening his martial prowess.
Kaisin stepped out of his room attired in a black robe with elegant white embroidery, a stark contrast to his previous undignified state.
"This suits you much better, young master. Oh, and about the letters…" Slade remarked with a hint of sarcasm.
"What about the letters?" Kaisin responded, his voice edged with a growl.
"Do I send them back before they reach Lady Cynthia?"
"Of course, you send them back before they reach Lady Cynthia!" Kaisin snapped back, his agitation evident. Adjusting his robe firmly, he strode purposefully toward the courtyard. Before him stood the main clan hall, an imposing pagoda constructed of stone and wood, adorned with striking red accents along its walls.
"Greetings, young master!" The guards at the hall entrance announced, swinging open the massive doors with a resonant scrape of stone against stone. Kaisin and Slade proceeded through the hallway, their steps echoing in the vast space until they reached the audience chamber.
The audience chamber was a grand spectacle, dominated by a long red carpet that led to a formidable stone throne. Flanking the carpet, numerous clan elders and members turned their attention to the newcomers, their gazes following the young master's march. Seated on the throne was a middle-aged man with long dark brown hair and penetrating blue eyes that betrayed a deep reservoir of wisdom. His neatly trimmed beard and the regal red robes combined with black armor projected an undeniable aura of authority and strength.
Slade bowed deeply to the stern figure seated on the throne at the end of the room, his movements measured and respectful. Kaisin, feeling the gravity of the moment, quickly followed suit, his earlier playful demeanor vanishing as he mimicked Slade's bow. Together, they intoned, "Greetings, Patriarch."
The patriarch gazed down at them, his expression cool and indifferent, tinged with a discernible hint of scorn. "You may rise," he commanded briskly.
Kaisin straightened slowly, stepping forward hesitantly. "Grandfather, you were looking for me?" His voice, though respectful, carried an undertone of nervousness.
The patriarch's gaze lingered on Kaisin, his eyes narrowing slightly—not with affection but with a barely concealed distaste that Kaisin had grown all too familiar with over the years. "Child, come a bit closer. You've already turned 20."
As he lightly ruffled Kaisin's hair—a gesture more habitual than affectionate—the patriarch's tone took on a grave note. "There is something you need to know… Your father… Ah, his garrison was ambushed at the borders near the Vera Kingdom. As you know, tensions between our Black Sun Empire and the Vera Kingdom have been escalating. The assassination of the Veran delegate near our Grand Ridge City has finally sparked a flame of conflict. The Verans decided to strike first, targeting the outpost your father was overseeing."
Kaisin's eyes widened dramatically as his mind raced. The information was a lot to process, and it came as a brutal blow. His day had already been filled with bizarre and painful episodes, and now, this devastating news compounded his distress.
Before Kaisin could gather his thoughts to speak, the patriarch continued, his voice colder, "It is time you learned to stand on your own, rather than idle away under the protection of your father's name. Consider this a turning point, Kaisin. Go to him, if you must, and see what becomes of men who must actually fight their own battles."