‘Another boring day,’ thought a boy in his late teens as he completed his daily cultivation routine. He couldn’t fathom how those so-called protagonists managed to deal with such tedium—sitting in one place, unmoving, for days, months, even years. The very idea of cultivating for more than a few hours every day made him feel as if he would go mad.

At least he had decent talent, with middle-grade spiritual roots—not the best, but certainly not the worst. Because of that, he wasn’t overly worried despite having only three years left on his deadline.

The Qinglian Sect accepted thousands of disciples every five years, regardless of their spiritual roots. Even those with inferior spiritual roots were taken in. But the sect wasn’t being benevolent by doing so. They knew that without some miraculous encounter, reaching even the fourth stage of Qi Refining in a lifetime was an insurmountable task for these disciples. Most would never advance beyond the third stage.

So, why did the sect bother accepting disciples with such poor aptitude? The answer was simple: they needed servants. The sect "generously" provided a basic cultivation technique that could be practiced up to the fourth stage, though, as he had learned from overhearing some senior disciples, it was the lowest-grade technique available.

Disciples were required to reach the fourth stage of the Qi Refining realm within ten years; only then would they be promoted to outer disciples. Until then, they were merely preparatory disciples—a nicer way of saying "servant disciples in training."

And those who failed to meet the requirement? They were demoted to servant disciples. As for returning home after ten years? Hah, fat chance. The sect had "invested" so much in these preparatory disciples; there was no way they would just let them leave after failing.

No, they had to stay in the sect to repay their "debt," a debt that, in truth, would likely never be paid off in their lifetimes. The sect would end up with thousands of free laborers, paid mere pennies to do all the dirty work. After all, you couldn't expect the high and mighty immortal cultivators to stoop to such tasks, could you?

‘Fucking capitalists… No, they’re worse than capitalists,’ he fumed inwardly. ‘At least capitalists pay their employees, even if they work them to the bone. But the sect? Sometimes even future generations are forced to pay off the “debt” of their ancestors. And what does this debt include? Ten years of food and lodging, a broken cultivation technique, and one miserable spirit stone a year, barely containing any spiritual power. Not even a single bit of guidance is offered. It’s a complete scam!’

The sect intentionally distributed such a flawed cultivation technique, ensuring that many disciples would fail and be demoted to servant status. It was a calculated move to filter out those with inferior roots and many with low-grade spiritual roots with limited talent.

Those with better roots like middle-grade spiritual roots could complete the test as long as they worked harder. High-grade roots had it easier; some with such aptitude were even accepted directly into the outer sect, especially if they had the right connections. And for those with exceptional roots? They were taken in as personal disciples by Golden Core peak masters or other esteemed elders.

Ling Tian had been a preparatory disciple of the Qinglian Sect for seven years. Or more accurately, his predecessor had been. Two years ago, Ling Tian's body had been taken over by a soul from another world, leaving him in a strange, new life. Before that, he had been nothing more than a plain orphan, with nothing remarkable about him—even the name Ling Tian wasn’t originally his.

When the sect was scouting for potential disciples, checking kids for spiritual roots, his predecessor had been lucky enough to have middle-grade roots. Believing himself to be destined for greatness, he had changed his name to Ling Tian, thinking it sounded more heroic, and registered with the sect under that name.

As for how he was replaced… it was still debatable whether it was a tragic accident or just plain foolishness. With his aptitude, he could have easily passed the test to become an outer sect disciple. But he was impatient, eager to climb the ranks as fast as possible.

He had cultivated like a man possessed, day and night, isolating himself from others—though in hindsight, that isolation had its benefits. It meant no one noticed when a new soul took over his body.

Two years ago, in his reckless pursuit of power, he had suffered from qi deviation due to improper cultivation, a fatal mistake. Unable to recover, he had perished, leaving the body vacant for a wandering soul from another world to inhabit. At the time of his death, he had already reached the third stage of Qi Refining, and with his frantic pace, he likely would have reached the fourth stage within a year and a half.

Ironically, that tragedy worked in favor of the new Ling Tian. Despite having two years to get used to this new life, he still wasn’t particularly fond of cultivation. But thanks to the head start his predecessor had given him, he was confident he could reach the fourth stage within another two years, avoiding the fate of becoming a servant disciple. That assurance was one of the two reasons for his current laziness.

As for the other reason for his laziness, it was his system. It hadn’t activated when he first transmigrated, instead showing a timer that counted down the days. And now, after two long years, that timer was about to hit zero.

00:03

00:02

00:01

00:00

[Ding]

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

[The Primordial Genesis System is activated]

[Hello, Host]

A genderless, monotone voice echoed in his mind.

‘You better be good enough to justify my laziness,’ Ling Tian thought, feeling a mix of anticipation and impatience as the system's information was forcibly crammed into his brain.

As he sifted through the flood of data, his initial skepticism gave way to a growing sense of satisfaction. ‘Not exactly a conventional system, but you’ve exceeded my expectations. Now, I can be lazy without any guilt—though, to be honest, I never felt guilty before.’ A smirk played on his lips as he mentally communicated with the system. Speaking aloud was unnecessary; the connection was purely telepathic.

[Thank you, Host.]

The system's capabilities were impressive. It allowed him to create any organization of his design, offering functions to build something truly formidable from the ground up. Whether it was a guild of warriors, a network of spies, a trade empire, or something entirely unique, the system would support every decision he made.

And that wasn’t all. One of its most enticing features was the system shop, filled with a vast array of goods—techniques, spells, weapons, artifacts, heavenly treasures, and more. However, these items came at a price, requiring a special currency called points.

[Please decide what type of organization you want to create.]

‘Hmm, what type of organization?’ Ling Tian mused, tapping his fingers rhythmically as he considered his options. If he could create any type of organization, it had to be something special, something that had always intrigued him. The idea of a hidden organization, one that operated in the shadows, had fascinated him from the beginning. His decision was clear.

‘That’s it. A hidden organization will be my choice.’

[Accepted. Calibrating System.]

[Calibration Complete.]

The hidden organization Ling Tian envisioned was far from conventional. He didn’t just want a simple guild; he wanted something more versatile, a shadowy network where clients could request any type of service—from hiring mercenaries to orchestrating assassinations, or even something as mundane as tutoring.

Working with his system, Ling Tian began drafting the basic functions and rules of his organization. It would remain hidden in the truest sense of the word: no one, not even the members, would know he was the one pulling the strings—unless he chose to reveal himself. Clients could submit any request as a mission, attaching a reward to it. Members would join the organization in much the same way as a guild, gaining the freedom to accept any mission they wished.

Upon successful completion of a mission, the member would receive half of the client’s reward, while the other half would go to him. In addition to their share of the reward, members would also earn mission points—points awarded by the system for completing missions. These points were crucial, as they could be spent in the system’s shop to purchase a wide range of items.

Ling Tian decided to share these mission points with his members, allowing them access to a limited selection of items in the shop. The availability of these items would be determined by their rank within the organization, ensuring that only the most dedicated members would have access to the more powerful or valuable items.

‘The more people work for me, the richer I’ll become,’ Ling Tian thought gleefully, envisioning the vast network of loyal members generating wealth and resources for him.

‘What’s that? You say I hate capitalists? Please, I’m a certified hypocrite,’ he added with a smirk, fully embracing the irony of his situation.

Ling Tian reviewed the final draft of the rules for his organization, a sense of satisfaction settling in as he confirmed each detail.

Confidentiality: The details of every mission and the identity of every client must be kept strictly confidential. Violating this rule would result in severe sanctions—no exceptions. Trust was the foundation of the organization, and he couldn’t afford any cracks.

Commitment: Once a mission is accepted, it must be completed unless there are extreme, unavoidable circumstances. Abandoning a mission without a valid reason would lead to penalties. Ling Tian valued reliability, and so would his clients.

Internal Harmony: Internal conflicts between members must never spill into missions or become public. Any disputes should be resolved through sanctioned channels within the organization. The last thing he needed was infighting disrupting the organization’s operations.

Quality of Work: Every mission must be executed to the highest possible standard. Sloppy work was unacceptable. Ling Tian demanded excellence, and so would his clients.

Loyalty: Betrayal or any actions that compromised the safety or reputation of the organization would be met with the harshest consequences—expulsion or worse. Ling Tian had no tolerance for traitors.

Integrity: Members were strictly prohibited from demanding, coercing, or accepting rewards beyond what was agreed upon in the original mission contract. Any attempt to extract additional rewards or manipulate a client for personal gain would be considered a severe violation of organizational ethics. Greed had its place, but not at the expense of the organization’s integrity.

Mission Ethics: The organization would accept all types of missions, regardless of whether they were considered good or evil. Members were free to undertake any mission that aligned with their capabilities and rank. However, the final authority to reject any mission, for any reason, rested solely with the Eclipse Lord—his chosen title for interacting with the organization’s members.

Ling Tian had chosen the title "Eclipse Lord" with care. It carried an air of mystery and authority, perfectly suited for the shadowy figure he intended to be within the organization. The Eclipse Lord would be a name whispered in both fear and reverence, a leader unseen yet always present.

[Please name your organization.]

Ling Tian pondered for a moment before responding, ‘Eclipse Syndicate.’

[Congratulations on naming your organization. You have received one Member Token and five Client Tokens.]

[Member Tokens can be used to recruit members. Currently, you can only obtain them by completing various achievements. After completing 1,000 missions, you will be able to purchase additional Member Tokens from the shop.]

[Client Tokens can be used to acquire clients. You can purchase more from the shop. For every successful mission completed until you reach 1,000 completions, you will earn a Client Token.]

‘Nice,’ Ling Tian thought, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He carefully considered his next move. The tokens offered flexibility—he could assign them manually or allow them to find their users independently. After a moment’s thought, he decided to let three of the Client Tokens and the Member Token find their users on their own. With a flicker of intent, the tokens vanished from in front of him, dispersing into the world to seek out their new owners. Currently, the search radius for the tokens was within a few hundred kilometers of the sect, which would increase with more mission completions.

He held onto the remaining two Client Tokens, stowing them away for future use. In this world of uncertainty, it was always wise to keep a few cards close to the chest.