Reverence for Divinity
Chapter 1: Strength Above All
In a world where strength is the only law, where the divine stand atop all, where the weak are trampled underfoot without mercy—there exists no such thing as right or wrong. There is no justice, no fairness, no morality that binds the strong to the weak. There is only power, and those who wield it dictate the course of existence.
Mortals, for all their ambitions and struggles, are but insects in the eyes of the immortals. The immortal beings stand above them, their lifespans stretching endlessly, their might unshackled by the limits of the flesh. But even among them, there are higher beings—gods, entities whose very presence warps reality, whose mere breath can set civilizations aflame, whose whims can shift the tides of history. In this brutal hierarchy, strength is the only truth. Kindness is weakness. Mercy is folly. In the end, only those who carve their names into existence with power will be remembered.
Yet, even in this godforsaken world, where cruelty is the natural order and corruption thrives, there are those who defy it. Some still cling to ideals of righteousness, to codes of honor and justice, even if they stand alone against the tide. Saints and martyrs, the last remnants of morality in an unfeeling world, exist as flickering candles in an endless abyss. But how long can their light endure?
Evander Soltair Vale—Vale, for short—was a man who had lived through it all. He had seen the rise and fall of countless men, had witnessed blood-soaked battles where morality was a laughable concept. In his past life, he had been a man named Cedric, an old man who had lived long enough to understand the harsh truths of existence. He had lived, he had fought, and he had died in a world much like this one.
And yet, fate had not let him rest.
For the second time, he had been given life. Once again, his soul had been cast into this ruthless world, as if the heavens themselves were mocking him, forcing him to endure the same suffering, the same trials. But this time, he would not allow himself to be weak. He would not be beaten, discarded like refuse on the side of the road. He had already experienced what it meant to grow old and frail, to have his strength wither away, to be cast aside like a broken tool. He had already been betrayed, already been stripped of everything he had once possessed. He had already suffered the price of kindness.
Never again.
This was his second chance. He would not squander it.
The world was the same, yet different. The cultures were unfamiliar, the people spoke a tongue he could barely understand, but the fundamental law of this world remained unchanged—strength was everything. He had once lived as Evander Soltair Vale, but in this new life, he bore the name Jun Caishen. A name foreign to him, a name that marked him as part of a world that felt Chinese—was it truly Chinese? Or perhaps something similar—Korean? Japanese? He could not be sure. But such trivialities no longer mattered.
Names were insignificant. Identity was a fleeting thing.
Even if he bore the name Jun Caishen, deep in his heart, he remained Vale. The man who had suffered once. The man who had died once.
The man who would never make the same mistakes again.
This world was not a kind one. The seven deadly sins—lust, greed, wrath, envy, pride, gluttony, sloth—were not just concepts, they were laws written into the very fabric of existence. Greed was not condemned; it was encouraged. Wrath was not feared; it was respected. The strong did as they pleased, and the weak existed to serve them—or to perish. There were no gods who cared, no higher beings to deliver justice.
Vale had once tried to walk a different path. He had once believed that power should be tempered with wisdom, that the strong should protect the weak. He had thought himself above the mindless bloodshed, had believed that honor and morality could exist even in a world ruled by force.
And what had that given him?
Nothing.
He had died alone, abandoned, discarded like a useless relic of the past.
But this time, he would not be so foolish. This time, he would embrace the world for what it was. If strength was all that mattered, then he would obtain it. If morality was a weakness, then he would discard it. If the only truth was power, then he would carve his name into the annals of history with it.
Jun Caishen. Evander Soltair Vale. It did not matter what name he bore.
What mattered was that he would never allow himself to be weak again.
This world would not break him a second time.
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Jun Caishen opened his eyes for the first time in this new life, but the world was nothing but an unfocused blur. His newborn vision was weak, unable to properly perceive shapes, faces, or the intricate details of his surroundings. Only light and shadow reached him, dim figures shifting in his limited sight, like ghosts moving in the haze of a dream. But even if his sight failed him, his hearing did not.
The first voice he recognized was soft, gentle—his mother.
She was being called Huáxià. A name foreign to him, yet one that carried an air of grace and quiet strength. He could not see her face, but he could feel her presence. She was warm. The way she held him, the way her voice cooed softly above him, spoke of a tenderness that needed no translation.
And then, there was another voice.
His father.
Deep, firm, and laced with restrained frustration. Even as a newborn, Jun could hear it in his tone—that undercurrent of disappointment, of barely concealed dissatisfaction. The man was muttering something, something about "a weak heir", about the disgrace of having a feeble child.
Jun almost wanted to laugh. Of course, even in this life, even at the very moment of his birth, he was being judged by standards of strength. In this world where might dictated worth, even an infant was not spared from scrutiny. A newborn was supposed to cry, to wail, to thrash about with vitality—but Jun remained still, listening, observing. Perhaps his silence was what led his father to believe he was weak.
"Men and their so-called honor," Jun thought. Having a weak child must be a hard pill to swallow for this man.
The concept of "weakness" was subjective, but for people like his father, it was absolute. Strength determined everything. A son who did not immediately exhibit the raw power expected of an heir was nothing but a disappointment. It was laughable, really. In his past life, Jun had already walked this path, had already endured the weight of expectation and the scorn of those who saw kindness as frailty.
But this time was different.
This time, he would play the role they wanted.
Let them believe he was weak. Let them underestimate him. He would not repeat the same mistakes. Strength was all that mattered in this world, and he would obtain it—not just in body, but in mind, in knowledge, in strategy. His father, this nameless man filled with disappointment, would one day see just how wrong he was.
For now, however, Jun was nothing more than an infant in his mother's arms, his tiny body unable to move, his vocal cords useless. He could do nothing but listen, absorbing every word, every shift in tone, every unspoken expectation.
This was his second life, and it had already begun with judgment.
But that was fine.
He had all the time in the world.