Royal Treasure
An icy wind swept across the verdant phantom peak that had changed from paradise to blood-soaked battlefield, carrying the stench of death. The acrid scent of burnt flesh, mingling with the cries of the dying. Corpses littered the broken earth, limbs severed, bodies twisted in grotesque shapes. Blood pooled in the cracks of shattered stone, reflecting the dim light of the lasting sunset.
"You ethereal demon, Sheng! Quietly hand over the royal treasure you've stolen, bastard."
"Stop resisting, old man. Today, we avenge the countless lives you've taken for that treasure. Your death will be a symbol of justice for all Murim!"
"Look at yourself, Sheng. Age has finally caught up with you. See how pitiful you are—on your knees, drenched in blood. If you were still in your prime, not a single one of us, even with all the great factions of justice combined, would dare oppose you."
"You bastard!" a woman in the crowd spat venomously. "I never liked your touch. You might be handsome, but that doesn't give you the right to humiliate me! Today, I'll repay all my suffering and avenge my husband!"
Sheng Cheon, clad in a torn, blood-drenched black robe, stood at the centre of the carnage. His long white hair hung messily over his scarred face, one eye still functional though dim. His surroundings were a sea of death—corpses of warriors he'd slain mingled with the blood-soaked survivors encircling him. Barely standing, Sheng Cheon knew his end was near.
His thoughts drifted. Six thousand and eight years of life passed in his mind, an endless stream of suffering, triumph, and solitude. Twice an orphan, first on Earth and now in this brutal world, he had endured it all alone. Who could have imagined that an eighteen-year-old boy from Earth would rise to defy the heavens themselves? Yet, even now, as death approached, his cold expression betrayed no regret. His pride burned in his remaining eye.
The factions surrounding him were not mere foot soldiers but elites—elders, grandmasters, and warriors who stood at the pinnacle of Murim, their combined strength enough to conquer the heavens. Many lay dead at his feet; the rest clung to life, wary of his next move.
"You old monster," one of the warriors sneered. "That evil brain of yours must be slowing down. Don't let your guard down, everyone! He's still dangerous."
Sheng Cheon chuckled, his laughter a hoarse rasp. "How amusing… to be lectured by children." His grip tightened around the royal treasure in his hand—a relic so coveted that it had plunged the world into chaos. "If only I could use this treasure in my final moment… Perhaps it could offer me a sliver of hope."
The warriors surged forward, their weapons glinting in the dim light. But just as they struck, the treasure glowed fiercely. A golden ray burst forth, enveloping Sheng Cheon and halting the attackers in their tracks.
Then, everything went black.
When Sheng tried to open his eyes the world was blurred and his head pounded as if a thousand knives stabbed into his skull. His instincts screamed at him. His body felt intact—no shattered bones, no bleeding wounds—yet something was wrong. He felt lighter, weaker, smaller.
"Where… am I?" he thought. "Did someone save me?" The notion angered him. Sheng Cheon, the heavenly demon, saved by another? Ridiculous. Yet his mind was too dazed to linger on the humiliation.
Gradually, he forced his body to respond. Every motion sent waves of pain through him, but he persevered until he could finally sit up. "Damn it… My head's killing me," he muttered, clutching his temples.
As his vision cleared, he noticed his surroundings—a modest study. A wooden desk stood before him, a mirror affixed to it. An open diary lay on the desk, its first words catching his eye:
"I am giving my life to the Lord."
The phrase puzzled him. Nearby, an empty bottle with "Toxic" etched on its label lay discarded on the floor. Sheng glanced at the mirror and froze.
Staring back at him was not the bloodied, scarred man he knew but a pale, golden-haired boy with soft, delicate features. He looked no older than twelve.
"Oh, heavens…" Sheng whispered, disbelief creeping into his tone. "I've reincarnated again."
He stood, his gaze darting around the room. A large bed, side lamps, a bookcase filled with tomes, and family portraits adorned the space. One picture caught his attention: seven figures—two humans, a child, two elves, and their offspring. Among them was the boy whose body Sheng now inhabited.
His fists clenched. The presence of mana in the air confirmed his worst fears. "I'm in a mana world?!" he bellowed. "A weak, pitiful mana world? I'd rather be in a third-rate clan in Murim!"
He sighed, forcing himself to calm down. "Focus. First, I need to figure out who this boy was and why he ended his life."
His eyes fell on the diary again. The first page bore an unfamiliar symbol, some kind of ritual marking he couldn't recognize. Flipping to the next, he found the title, "Dear Family."
For a moment, Sheng paused. "Wait… I can understand this language?" His previous reincarnation hadn't granted him that luxury.
But A sudden knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. A woman's voice called, "Alex? Are you awake? I'm coming in."
Sheng flinched, his mind racing. "Alex? Is that my new name? Who is she? And why now?"
Meanwhile, in the grand royal hall, the king sat upon his throne, flanked by generals and advisors. His regal presence radiated authority, his gaze sharp and discerning.
A woman in her forties, clad in a maid's uniform, knelt before him. "Long live the king," she said respectfully.
"Speak," the king commanded.
"My Majesty," the Head Maid began, "as you know, the second prince will soon attend the Oxid Academy to train as a knight. However, his lack of swordsmanship is… troubling. I humbly request that a tutor be assigned to him for the next three months."
The room filled with whispers of disapproval. The generals exchanged glances, their disdain evident.
The king's face darkened. The second prince's incompetence was an embarrassment, but he couldn't ignore the Head Maid's plea. "Very well," he said. "General Viscal, assign an ordinary knight to train him. But hear me clearly—if the boy shows no progress, he will not attend the academy. Instead, he will serve as an ordinary knight in Barran."
The headmaid bowed deeply leaving the hall. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Back in the study, Sheng Cheon—or Alex—scowled as he processed his situation. A frail, mana-weak body, a mysterious death, and now, a woman calling for him.
"Knock, knock!"