The world trembled.
Years did not pass but reversed. Trees became seeds beneath the soil, deserts went back to becoming seas, and cities full of people reverted back into forests, full of wild beasts. Time reversed, and only one soul remained to remember the suffering, the loneliness of a thousand years of hell that he had lived.
With this, the golden finger Wang Hao had heard of in his past life—was this a gift the heavens bestowed upon him in pity? Or was it one of fate's tricks? No matter what it was, the source of the regression of the world came from a shard, known as the Fragment of Heavenly Dao, embodied with astral temporal energy, or known as the Essence of Time.
A reincarnator from Earth, who happened to be reborn in a realm of demons and gods, had to strive and fight for a place in that world—a world so unfamiliar to him, from the prejudice and injustice he had seen and witnessed, to the worst that the realm had to offer. Betrayed by his companions and left to die, he stumbled upon that lost fragment.
But what he did not know was that it attracted calamity upon calamity to him, for the heavens could never allow a mortal to wield such power.
As time went back, his soul was unaffected, his memories were not erased, but strengthened and engraved into the deepest parts of his soul.
Wang Hao jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest. The unmistakable scent of burning wood filled his nose, and distant screams echoed in his ears. His mind raced, and for a brief, disorienting moment, he thought he was still living his final moments—those agonizing minutes when his body had been torn apart by demonic beasts and his soul dragged into oblivion. But this was different.
His hands gripped the edge of the wooden bed frame beneath him. Smooth, unscarred hands. His body, once weakened by age and war, was young again, pulsing with strength. He sat up, taking in his surroundings—familiar yet distant. This was his room, the one he had lived in years before, tucked away deep within the Wang Clan's mountain fortress.
He had returned.
Wang Hao's eyes narrowed as the memories of his past life surged through him, sharp and bitter. The siege—the moment when the Wang Clan faced its greatest crisis—was upon them. In his previous life, it was here that everything began to unravel. The internal power struggles, the petty rivalries, the ambition that blinded those who should have been united. And in the end, all had been lost: the clan, the fortress, and his life.
But this time would be different.
Wang Hao stood up, moving to the window. Beyond the stone walls of the fortress, the mountains stretched out, dark and ominous. In the valley below, shadows moved—grotesque, monstrous shapes surging toward the gates. Demon beasts. Their howls pierced the air, savage and unrelenting. They were coming.
The timing was perfect. He had been thrown back to the most crucial point in his life, the moment when the clan's fate was still undecided. But Wang Hao wasn't here to save anyone. He wasn't the hero his father hoped for, nor the loyal son the clan revered. No, this time he would seize everything for himself. The chaos of the siege would be his weapon, and the clan would be the foundation of his ascent to power.
The door to his room burst open, and a servant stumbled in, his face pale with fear. "Young Master Wang Hao! The beasts are attacking! The patriarch has called for all able-bodied men to the walls!"
Wang Hao's father, the patriarch, would be at the forefront, trying in vain to hold the clan together. Wang Hao could already picture him, his once noble face twisted in desperation as he tried to maintain order among the panicked warriors and scheming elders. A noble effort, but ultimately futile.
"Get out," Wang Hao said coldly, his eyes never leaving the window.
The servant hesitated, confused by Wang Hao's calm demeanor, but he quickly bowed and fled. Wang Hao turned from the window, his mind racing. The siege had begun just as he remembered. The Wang Clan was woefully unprepared, both for the external threat of the demon beasts and the internal rot that was already festering within.
In his past life, he had been a pawn—dragged along by the tides of others' ambitions, by the whims of his father and the deceit of the elders. But this time, he would be the one pulling the strings.
Wang Hao moved methodically, shedding his nightclothes and donning the armor of his station. As he tightened the straps, the memories of his past life flowed through him with cruel clarity. He remembered every face, every betrayal, every moment of weakness that had led to the clan's ruin. His father had tried to stand strong, but the clan had been riddled with division. The elders were more interested in protecting their own power than the survival of the Wang bloodline. His father's trusted general had grown disillusioned and had abandoned the clan at the moment they needed him most. And Wang Hao himself? He had been powerless, a foolish boy who had believed in the righteousness of his father's cause.
Not again.
The clan's downfall had never been inevitable—it had been orchestrated by the very people sworn to protect it. They had failed, blinded by greed and ambition. Wang Hao had watched it all crumble, had died knowing he could have stopped it, if only he had seen the truth earlier. Now, he did.
"I won't be the same man twice," he whispered to himself, as he strapped his sword to his side.
He would not save the Wang Clan. He would break it, twist it to his will, and forge it into something far more useful. The siege, the internal strife, the fear of impending death—all of it was an opportunity. The chaos would give him the leverage he needed to rise above the rest, to become more than just another player in the clan's political game.
Wang Hao allowed himself a smile. This time, he would be the one controlling the board.
As Wang Hao stepped outside, the chill of the mountain air hit him. The fortress was alive with frantic activity. Clan members ran to and fro, warriors preparing for battle, servants carrying supplies, and elders huddling in desperate conversation. The massive walls that surrounded the fortress trembled as demon beasts hurled themselves against them, their monstrous forms battering the stone with reckless fury.
The night sky was filled with smoke and the flickering light of flames. Shouts of orders and cries of pain mixed with the guttural roars of the beasts below. Wang Hao moved through the chaos, unnoticed at first, just another body in the tumult.
His father, the patriarch, stood at the center of the defensive line, barking orders. The once-proud man, whose presence had commanded respect and loyalty, now looked haggard, his eyes bloodshot, his face lined with exhaustion. Wang Hao's gaze swept over him, pity momentarily rising in his chest. The man had always done his best, but best wasn't good enough. The Wang Clan needed more than honor and tradition to survive what was coming.
"Get those archers in position! We need more men on the east wall!" the patriarch shouted, his voice raw with strain. His hands gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly that his knuckles were white.
But it was no use. Wang Hao could already see it—the disorganization, the fractures in command. The general, his father's most trusted ally, was issuing conflicting orders to a different section of the wall, unaware of the larger strategy. Warriors were hesitating, caught between the patriarch's authority and the general's commands. The elders stood back, their faces tight with fear, unwilling to commit their personal guards to the defense.
Wang Hao's eyes flickered over the scene, already forming plans within plans. This chaos was not just a symptom of the siege—it was the perfect opportunity.
The first wave of demon beasts breached the outer gates, their massive bodies slamming into the defenses. Warriors screamed as they were dragged into the fray. Blood splattered across the stone walls. The siege had begun in earnest.
Wang Hao watched, his heart calm, as the chaos unfolded. This was the moment that had destroyed them all before. But not this time. This time, Wang Hao would rise above the rest.
And nothing—not his father, not the clan, not even the beasts themselves—would stand in his way.