One day before the system message arrived.
Reginald Asper, a man whose striking resemblance to his grandson Finn was uncanny, sat in the solitude of his forbidden office. Unlike Finn's tousled hair, Reginald's brown locks were always meticulously kempt, reflecting his disciplined nature. At 60, the first signs of aging began to etch themselves into his face, yet his green-hazel eyes remained sharp, shifting from vibrant green to a more subdued hazel depending on the light.
Power was his lifeblood, the very essence of his being. He had built his empire through sheer force of will, cunning, and a willingness to do whatever it took to stay on top. The thought of relinquishing that power was anathema to him.
For the past few years, Reginald had been coming to terms with the reality of aging. Fatigue crept into his bones, stretching his limbs to ease the constant discomfort. Yet, every ache and pain was a reminder of the lengths he had gone to maintain his grip on power. He had manipulated markets, orchestrated hostile takeovers, and crushed rivals with ruthless efficiency. Blackmail, bribery, and even the occasional discreet assassination had been tools in his arsenal. Deals in the shadows, alliances forged and broken, betrayals enacted—all were part of his legacy.
He only had another five years before retirement loomed, a prospect he dreaded. Power was intoxicating, and he wasn't ready to relinquish it. The idea of becoming irrelevant, of fading into obscurity, filled him with a deep, abiding terror.
After his wife Judith passed away, he chose not to remarry. Why settle for one when he could have many? Money and power had a peculiar effect on women. His influence had left him with a dozen or so illegitimate children scattered around the globe, each a testament to his charisma and control.
Just as he was about to call it a night, Reginald felt an odd shift. Suddenly, he was in a room of stark white—white walls, white floor, white ceiling. In the center floated a sphere of light, pulsating gently. He wasn't alone; the room was filled with the world's elites, each as bewildered as he was. Reginald recognized everyone there—he knew them all. They were the titans of industry, the puppet masters behind governments, the secret rulers of the world.
A Japanese man, around 40 years old, with sharp features and an air of authority, broke the silence. Reginald knew him well; he was Hiroshi Tanaka, a tech mogul and one of the richest men in the world. "What is going on?" Hiroshi asked, his usually heavy accent curiously absent. Reginald realized that they all understood each other perfectly, as if the sphere had transcended language barriers.
The sphere of light began to speak, its voice resonating through the room. "Greetings, humans of Earth. Welcome to the cultivation system." It began to explain their impending fate, but was abruptly interrupted by a Middle Eastern man known for his unreasonable demeanor. The man started shouting, his anger palpable.
Without warning, a beam shot out from the sphere, striking the man. He disintegrated before their eyes, his agonized screams lingering in the air. The display was a chilling reminder of the sphere's power.
Undeterred, the sphere continued. It outlined the key elements: the concept of dungeons, the merging of worlds, and the establishment of schools. Initially, the system had planned to send everyone aged 13 and older to the dungeons. However, the assembled elites had negotiated, arguing that 21 would be more appropriate. The system compromised on 17. Those under 13 would be sent to orphanages until the age of 17 where they would be sent to their tutorial dungeon.
The sphere concluded by wishing them well and instructing them to prepare their world. It mentioned that other races would inhabit the newly merged world—three of them, to be precise. The new world would be seven times the size of Earth with about 60% landmass.
Finally, the sphere detailed the process: every person on Earth would receive the system message, and then have 48 hours to prepare.
As the light from the sphere began to fade, Reginald felt another shift. Instead of being transported back to his office, he found himself in a black void, the stark contrast to the white room he had just been in. The darkness was absolute, save for a single figure: a skeleton, illuminated by an eerie, otherworldly glow. Despite its macabre appearance, Reginald knew instinctively that this being was dangerous.
Reginald listened, his heart pounding with anticipation rather than fear. As the patriarch of the most powerful family in the world, he had never known what it meant to be weak. The cold, hollow voice of the skeleton echoed in the void, challenging his authority in a way he had never experienced. "You would not survive a very hard dungeon. You would receive weak rewards. You would be weak."
Reginald's eyes narrowed, his pride flaring at the suggestion. Power was his birthright, his legacy. "I want power," he declared, his voice a commanding boom that reverberated through the void, dispelling any hint of vulnerability.
The skeleton's empty eye sockets seemed to glow with a malevolent light, and though it had no flesh, Reginald could almost imagine it smiling. "There is a way," it intoned, its voice dripping with sinister promise. "But it comes with a price. You need 99 people. The more of your blood descendants, the greater the effect."
Reginald's mind raced as the skeleton detailed what needed to be done. The plan was horrific, the kind of thing that would make most men recoil in horror. But Reginald was not most men. The price was steep, but the reward was power—power he craved deeply.
"Few would dare to pay this price," the skeleton continued, its bony fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air. "But you, Reginald, you have the resolve. Sacrifice these 99 souls, especially those of your bloodline, and the strength you desire will be yours."
Reginald knew there would be a price. Nothing was ever free. "And your price?" he asked, his voice steady.
The skeleton's smile seemed to widen. "You will be my sect's champion, my herald."
The void seemed to close in around him, the weight of the skeleton's words pressing down on him. As the chilling details of the plan crystallized in his mind, Reginald nodded, determination set in his eyes. He would pay the price. Whatever it took, he would achieve the power he so desperately desired.
The skeleton offered him a crystal, dark and ominous. It felt off, radiating a sinister energy, but Reginald accepted it without hesitation. As soon as he touched it, the crystal merged into his palm, sending a jolt of cold energy through his veins. He realized the plan would take years to come to fruition, even after returning to the new world, but the crystal would empower him till then.
Suddenly, he was back in his office, the black void and the skeleton now just a haunting memory. The room felt colder, the shadows deeper. Reginald immediately called the elites of his family, instructing them to gather. Once they were all seated, he told them to wait 45 minutes. As predicted, they all received the system message.
Reginald's mind was a whirlwind of plans and dark resolutions. He knew what he had to do. The merging worlds presented an opportunity, and he would seize it, no matter the cost.