"How the fuck did these bastards get here?"
Tae-Won's eyes snapped open at the chorus of high-pitched voices outside his door. For a brief, blissful moment, he had forgotten where—and who—he was. Reality came crashing back as his ribs throbbed in protest when he tried to sit up.
This wasn't his imperial chamber. This was a dilapidated shack in the slums of Murim, where he'd passed out after exhausting his pathetic Qi reserves fighting Jin Clan disciples. The memories of his former life as Emperor Edward Reinhart of Latvaria felt both distant and painfully fresh.
"SAVIOR! SAVIOR! WAKE UP!"
The chanting outside grew louder, piercing through the thin wooden walls of his shelter. Tae-Won groaned. He had outrun them—he was certain of it. He had lost the pack of street urchins in the maze-like alleys of the slum district, found his way back to this hovel, barricaded the door, and collapsed onto his straw mat.
Yet here they were.
"SAVIOR! WE BROUGHT FOOD!"
Food. The word made his stomach growl traitorously. Tae-Won realized he hadn't eaten since arriving in this body about a day ago.
"System," he muttered, his voice rough with sleep. "What time is it? How long was I unconscious?"
[Approximately 14 hours have passed since user lost consciousness. Current time: 8:24 AM]
Fourteen hours. That explained the hunger gnawing at his insides. He'd burned through his minimal energy reserves fighting those disciples with his Meridian Disruptor technique—a skill from his past life that had barely allowed him to survive the encounter.
"SAVIOR! THE PATROLMEN ARE COMING SOON! LET US IN!"
Patrolmen? That didn't sound good. Tae-Won reluctantly dragged himself to his feet, wincing as his body protested every movement. He shuffled to the door and removed the rickety chair he'd propped against it.
The moment he cracked the door open, a flood of dirty faces surged forward. Thirteen children, ranging from perhaps six to sixteen years of age, all wearing rags that made Tae-Won's own shabby clothes look positively regal by comparison.
"You actually came," he said flatly, too exhausted to muster proper imperial disdain.
"Of course we came!" The thin boy—Ho-Jin, if Tae-Won remembered correctly—pushed to the front of the group. "We always come back for our own."
"I'm not 'your own.' I'm not anything to you."
"You saved us from the Jin Clan! That makes you our savior!" A little girl with missing front teeth grinned up at him, holding out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. "Look! We brought bread!"
The smell of the slightly stale bread made Tae-Won's stomach rumble audibly. The children giggled, and he felt his face flush with embarrassment. Emperors did not have growling stomachs. Emperors did not blush. Emperors definitely did not accept charity from filthy street children.
But he wasn't an emperor anymore, was he?
"Fine," he said, snatching the bundle from her hands. "Come in if you must. But only for a moment. Then you're all leaving. Permanently."
The children poured into his tiny shack like water through a broken dam, filling every corner with their energy and chatter. Tae-Won retreated to the far wall, tearing into the bread with as much dignity as he could muster while ravenously hungry.
"So, Savior, what's your name?" Ho-Jin asked, squatting nearby with an expression of undisguised admiration.
Tae-Won swallowed a mouthful of bread. "I'm not your savior."
"But what's your name?"
He considered for a moment. "Tae-Won," he finally said, deciding to use this body's original name. "Just Tae-Won."
A smaller boy tilted his head curiously. "I haven't seen you around the slums before. Where are you from? Judging by your clothing..." he looked at Tae-Won's tattered but distinctly different garments, "are you part of the Beggar Sect?"
"The Beggar what now?" Tae-Won asked, genuinely confused. While he retained his strategic mind and some techniques from his past life, much of this world's specific terminology remained foreign to him.
The children exchanged surprised glances.
"The Beggar Sect," Min-Ji explained. She appeared to be about sixteen, with a long scar running down one cheek. "They're a sect that operates throughout the continent, gathering intelligence and such. They often disguise themselves as beggars and live in the slums." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "But judging by your expression, you're probably not from there."
"Then where are you from?" Ho-Jin pressed. "We know most people in this part of the slums."
Tae-Won paused, a strange realization dawning on him. He had woken up in these slums, in this body, yet none of these children recognized him. Surely in a close-knit community like this, even a loner would be recognized by appearance. Did no one really know this body?
"I move around," he answered vaguely. "I haven't been in this particular area for long."
The children seemed to accept this explanation, though Min-Ji's suspicious gaze lingered a moment longer than the others.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" another boy asked. "Even the Jin Clan disciples couldn't touch you!"
"That's an exaggeration," Tae-Won said, though a small part of him preened at the praise. "They touched me plenty. Hence these." He gestured at his bruised ribs. The fight had been far closer than the children realized—he'd barely survived by exploiting his opponents' overreliance on power rather than technique.
"But you still beat them!" Ho-Jin insisted. "No one beats cultivators! Especially not... well..."
"Especially not slum rats?" Tae-Won finished for him, his voice cold.
The children fell silent, exchanging glances.
"We're not rats," Min-Ji said softly. "We're survivors."
Something about her quiet dignity reminded Tae-Won of the refugees he'd encountered during the Eastern Campaign in Latvaria—those displaced by the demon incursions who had still maintained their pride despite losing everything.
He studied the children more carefully now. Behind the dirt and malnutrition, he saw determination in their eyes. The way they positioned themselves around the room wasn't random—the older ones placed themselves between the younger children and the door. They had organized themselves, created a hierarchy, formed a miniature society within the brutal world of the slums.
Perhaps they weren't entirely useless after all.
"So," Tae-Won said, finishing the last of his bread. "What's this about patrolmen?"
Ho-Jin's face grew serious. "The Jin Clan controls this district. They have patrolmen who collect 'protection money' from all the businesses and residents. After what happened yesterday, they'll be looking for you."
"Let them look," Tae-Won scoffed. "I'm not afraid of a few cultivator brats."
"You should be," Min-Ji said. "What you fought yesterday were just Outer Disciples—still in the early stages of training. The patrolmen are actual Jin Clan members. Core cultivators."
Tae-Won frowned. "How much stronger are these 'core cultivators'?"
[Information: Core Cultivators typically operate at the Foundation Establishment realm or higher, representing a significant power increase over Outer Disciples]
"Much stronger," Ho-Jin answered before the System could elaborate further. "The disciples you fought were probably at the early stages of Body Refinement. Patrolmen are at least at Foundation Establishment, some even at Qi Condensation."
Tae-Won absorbed this information, calculating odds and scenarios as he had countless times on the battlefields of Latvaria. With his current strength—or lack thereof—confronting these patrolmen would be suicide.
"Then I'll have to avoid them," he concluded. "I need time to strengthen my body, to cultivate my Qi, to—"
"We can help!" Ho-Jin exclaimed, eyes bright with excitement. "We know all the hiding places, all the secret paths through the district. No one knows these slums better than we do."
"And why would you help me?"
The children exchanged glances again, some sort of silent communication passing between them.
"Because you're strong," Min-Ji finally said. "Because you stood up to the Jin Clan. Because..." She hesitated.
"Because we need a leader," Ho-Jin finished for her. "Our last protector died three months ago, and we've been struggling ever since."
Tae-Won stared at them, incredulous. "You want me to be your leader? Your protector? I just got to this city. I know nothing about surviving here."
"But you know how to fight," another boy argued. "You know things that even the sect disciples don't know. You can teach us!"
"Teach you?" Tae-Won laughed bitterly. "I barely have enough Qi to keep myself alive, let alone teach a bunch of—"
He stopped abruptly as a thought occurred to him. In Latvaria, he hadn't built his empire alone. He'd started with a small band of loyal followers, then a company, then a regiment, then armies that spanned continents. Every grand conquest began with a single step—with gathering the resources at hand, no matter how meager.
These children knew the slums. They had survival skills he lacked. They had networks, information, perhaps even access to places that might further his cultivation.
"Actually," he said slowly, a calculating glint entering his eyes, "perhaps we can help each other."
The children perked up, hope dawning on their dirty faces.
"I need information, about cultivation, about the sects and clans that control this city. In exchange..." Tae-Won paused, considering his words carefully. "In exchange, I can teach you some basic techniques. Nothing advanced—I doubt any of you have the constitution for serious cultivation—but enough to protect yourselves."
"You'd teach us cultivation?" Ho-Jin whispered, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Basic techniques," Tae-Won corrected firmly. "Don't get your hopes up. Most of you probably don't have the talent for true cultivation. But even the simplest breathing exercises can strengthen your bodies, make you faster, more resilient."
It was a calculated risk. Teaching these street rats even rudimentary techniques might eventually create competitors for resources. But the immediate benefits outweighed the potential long-term risks. Besides, he could always eliminate them later if they became problematic.
The thought should have been comforting—a cold, imperial calculation of assets and liabilities—but something about it felt... off. Uncomfortable in a way it never had in Latvaria. Tae-Won attributed it to this body's youthful hormones and pushed the feeling aside.
"So," he said, rising to his feet despite the pain in his ribs, "do we have an agreement? You help me navigate this place, and I give you the bare minimum of training to survive it."
The children didn't even need to discuss it. "YES, SAVIOR!" they chorused in unison, making Tae-Won wince at both the volume and the title.
"First rule," he said sternly. "Stop calling me 'Savior.' It's ridiculous."
"What should we call you then?" Ho-Jin asked.
Tae-Won considered this. "Emperor" would be presumptuous in his current state. "Master" implied a level of commitment to their training that he wasn't prepared to give. "Sifu" carried similar connotations.
"Tae-Won will do," he said finally. "Or 'sir' if you must be formal."
"Yes, sir!" they chorused again, slightly less loudly this time.
"Second rule: organization. I need to know who you are, what skills you have, and how you can be useful to me." He pointed at Ho-Jin. "You seem to be the de facto leader. Tell me about your group."
Ho-Jin straightened proudly. "We're the children of the Eastern Slums, sir! We stick together to survive."
Tae-Won raised an eyebrow. "How many of you are there?"
"Thirteen here, but twenty-six total. The others are out working or scavenging."
Twenty-six. A small number for an army, but not insignificant for gathering intelligence. "And what do you do, exactly? Besides annoy cultivators and follow strangers home."
Min-Ji stepped forward. "We survive, sir. We scavenge, we run messages, we keep watch, we steal when we have to. Some of us work odd jobs when we can find them."
"And you?" Tae-Won asked her directly. There was something in her bearing that spoke of discipline, of potential.
"I'm Min-Ji. I worked as a servant in the Jin Clan's outer compound until they accused me of theft and gave me this." She traced the scar on her cheek. "I know their schedules, their habits, the layout of their outer complex."
Tae-Won nodded approvingly. This was useful information indeed. "And the rest of you?"
One by one, the children introduced themselves, each offering some skill or knowledge that might be valuable. Sung-Ho could slip through windows too small for adults. Ye-Jin knew which merchants would trade food for information. Li-Na could read and write, having been a scribe's daughter before her parents died. Joon had worked in stables and knew how to handle animals.
"Is it true what they say?" the youngest of the children asked suddenly, her wide eyes fixed on Tae-Won. "That you used special techniques when fighting the Jin disciples?"
The other children hushed her quickly, but Tae-Won noticed how they all leaned forward, eager for his answer.
"I used what I know," he said carefully, not wanting to reveal too much about his capabilities or knowledge. The Meridian Disruptor technique was his ace—a skill from his previous life that few in this world would understand.
Min-Ji spoke up hesitantly. "Some of us have seen cultivators fight before. What you did was different."
"You know about the Six Realms?" another child asked, curious.
Tae-Won realized he needed to be cautious with his knowledge. "I've... heard things. In my travels." While his past life had given him combat experience and some transferable techniques, the specific cultivation systems of this world were still new to him.
"See?" Ho-Jin nudged the others excitedly. "I told you he wasn't just some ordinary person!"
"So," Tae-Won said, changing the subject, "tell me more about the Jin Clan and the other powers in this city. If I'm going to avoid them—or face them—I need to understand what I'm dealing with."
The children exchanged glances, and Min-Ji took the lead. "The Jin Clan is one of the Twelve Noble Families that support the Empire. They control this district and several others within the city."
"Above them are the true cultivation sects," Ho-Jin added. "The Five Great Sects control vast territories and answer to no one but themselves. Some say even the Emperor must treat their Sect Leaders with respect."
"And below them?" Tae-Won prompted.
"Everyone else," Min-Ji said with a bitter smile. "The common folk, merchants, scholars... and us. The forgotten ones."
"There's also the Heavenly Cloud Martial Academy," Sung-Ho offered. "They say they accept students based on talent, not background. But that's probably just another pretty lie to keep the slum children dreaming."
Tae-Won filed this information away. An academy that valued talent over lineage could be useful to his plans.
"And cultivation itself?" he asked. "What are the realms of power?"
"Everyone knows there are six main stages," Ho-Jin said proudly, clearly eager to share knowledge. "Body Refinement is first—that's where most cultivators in the slums get stuck. Then Foundation Establishment, Qi Condensation, Core Formation, Nascent Soul, and finally, Heavenly Ascendant."
"Those who reach Heavenly Ascendant can ascend to the Divine Realm," Min-Ji added, her voice hushed with awe. "But no one from the slums has ever made it past Core Formation. The resources required are beyond our reach."
By the time they finished explaining, Tae-Won had a mental catalog of potential assets. Not impressive by imperial standards, but a start. They reminded him of the refugee children he'd once recruited as scouts during the Eastern Campaign—underestimated, invisible to most, but invaluable for gathering intelligence.
"Very well," he said when they had finished. "I accept your service, provisionally. But understand this—I'm not here to be your friend or your father figure. I'm here to—"
A sharp knock at the door cut him off. The children froze, exchanging panicked glances.
"Patrolmen," Min-Ji whispered, her face pale beneath the dirt.
Ho-Jin moved to a crack in the wall, peering out carefully. "Two of them. Both wearing the blue robes with silver trim. Foundation Establishment, at least."
Tae-Won's mind raced. With his current Qi levels—still depleted from yesterday's fight—he stood no chance against cultivators of that caliber. But running would only delay the inevitable.
"Options?" he asked sharply.
"Back wall," Li-Na whispered, pointing to a section of the shack's rear wall. "The boards are loose. We can slip through to the alley behind."
"They'll just follow us," Tae-Won said, shaking his head. "We need a different strategy." He turned to Ho-Jin. "You said the Jin Clan controls this district. What happens to people who can't pay their protection fees?"
"Beatings, usually. Sometimes they're taken for forced labor in the mines outside the city."
The knocking came again, harder this time. "Open up! Jin Clan Patrol! We know you're in there, street rat!"
Tae-Won made his decision. "Everyone out through the back wall, now. Quietly. Scatter and regroup at..." He looked at Ho-Jin questioningly.
"The abandoned temple near the river," Ho-Jin supplied.
"Go there. Don't wait for me if I'm not there by sundown."
The children hesitated, clearly torn between obeying and staying to help.
"NOW," Tae-Won hissed, his voice taking on the commanding tone that had once directed armies to march to their deaths without question.
The children responded instinctively to the authority in his voice. They moved silently to the back wall, where Min-Ji and Sung-Ho quickly loosened several boards, creating a gap just large enough to squeeze through. One by one, they slipped out into the alley beyond.
Ho-Jin was the last to go. "What about you?" he whispered.
"I'll be right behind you."
The boy looked skeptical but nodded and disappeared through the gap. As soon as he was gone, Tae-Won turned to face the door.
"System," he murmured. "Status report."
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
[Current Realm: Body Refinement Stage 1]
[Cultivation Progress: 2.3%]
[Physical condition: 65% recovered from previous injuries]
[Qi reserves: 40% of maximum capacity]
Not ideal, but better than he'd feared. The fourteen hours of unconsciousness had apparently allowed for some natural recovery. Still, facing Foundation Establishment cultivators with such limited resources was closer to suicide than strategy.
But Edward Reinhart hadn't conquered Latvaria by running from every superior force. Sometimes, the appearance of confidence was more powerful than actual strength.
He took a deep breath, mentally reviewing the techniques he'd acquired from the Jin disciples yesterday. The Azure Flame Barrier and Azure Palm Strike were both offensive techniques that required more Qi than he currently possessed to use effectively. The Golden Step was a movement technique that might be useful for a quick escape. The Twin Serpent Strike was well beyond his current capabilities.
That left his original creation—the Meridian Disruptor. It had worked once; it might work again if he could get close enough.
The door shuddered as someone struck it hard enough to crack the wood. "Last warning! Open up or we break it down!"
Tae-Won smoothed his tattered clothes as best he could and forced his expression into one of imperial calm. Then he opened the door.
Two men stood outside, both wearing the blue robes with silver trim that Ho-Jin had described. They radiated power—not the raw, unrefined Qi of the disciples he'd fought yesterday, but a controlled, concentrated energy that spoke of years of disciplined cultivation. One was tall and lean, with a thin mustache and cold eyes. The other was shorter but broader, with a shaved head and a face marked by old battle scars.
"You're late," Tae-Won said before either could speak, injecting just the right amount of bored disdain into his voice. "I expected the Jin Clan's response twelve hours ago."
The patrolmen exchanged surprised glances.
"You're the one who attacked our disciples?" the tall one asked, clearly caught off guard by Tae-Won's demeanor.
"Attacked?" Tae-Won scoffed. "They insulted me, and I corrected their manners. If the Jin Clan considers that an attack, perhaps they should invest more in etiquette training and less in combat."
The shaved patrolman's face darkened with anger. "Watch your tongue, rat. You're speaking to official representatives of the Jin Clan!"
"And you're speaking to someone who hospitalized five of your disciples with minimal effort," Tae-Won replied coolly. It was a bluff—he'd barely escaped that encounter alive—but they didn't need to know that. "Now, shall we discuss this like civilized people, or do you prefer the language of fists, as your disciples did?"
The tall patrolman studied him with narrowed eyes. "You don't seem afraid."
"Should I be?"
"Most would. The Jin Clan doesn't take kindly to those who harm its members."
Tae-Won shrugged. "I'm not most people."
"Clearly." The patrolman stepped closer, his Qi presence intensifying as he loomed over Tae-Won. "Who are you? No ordinary slum dweller knows the techniques you used. Who trained you?"
"My identity is my own business," Tae-Won replied. "As for my training, let's just say I've lived an... interesting life."
The shaved patrolman snorted. "He's bluffing, Brother Jin. Look at him—he's half-starved and barely standing. The disciples must have exaggerated their defeat to save face. Let's just take him in for questioning."
Tae-Won's mind raced. If they tried to "take him in," his bluff would be exposed instantly. He needed to change tactics.
"Before you make that mistake," he said calmly, "you might want to ask yourselves why someone with my skills would choose to live in the slums. Perhaps I value my privacy. Perhaps I'm hiding from something—or someone—far more dangerous than the Jin Clan."
This gave them pause, exactly as he'd hoped. Cultivators were a superstitious lot, from what little he'd gathered. The idea that he might be connected to some greater power, perhaps in hiding or disgrace, might make them hesitate.
"What sect are you from?" the tall patrolman asked, suspicion clear in his voice.
"I claim no sect," Tae-Won answered truthfully. "Nor would I tell you if I did. Now, I assume you're here about yesterday's... incident. What does the Jin Clan want? Compensation? An apology?" His lip curled slightly at the latter suggestion.
The patrolmen exchanged glances again, a silent communication passing between them. The tall one spoke again.
"Elder Jin has expressed interest in your... unusual skills. He has ordered us to extend an invitation for you to visit the Jin Clan compound."
An invitation. That was unexpected. And suspicious.
"And if I decline this generous offer?" Tae-Won asked, already knowing the answer.
The shaved patrolman smiled unpleasantly. "Then we're instructed to help you reconsider."
Tae-Won weighed his options. Fighting was out of the question. Running might work, but it would expose weakness and complicate his future plans in this district. Accepting the invitation was risky—likely a trap—but it also presented an opportunity to gather information about one of the powerful factions in this city.
"When?" he asked, betraying no emotion.
"Now," the tall patrolman replied. "Elder Jin doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Tae-Won nodded slowly, as if considering a request rather than a thinly veiled threat. "Very well. I'll accompany you. Lead the way."
The patrolmen seemed surprised by his easy acquiescence but quickly recovered. The shaved one stepped aside, gesturing for Tae-Won to walk between them.
As he stepped out of the shack, Tae-Won caught a glimpse of movement on a nearby rooftop—a small figure ducking quickly out of sight. So the children hadn't fully retreated after all. Interesting.
The patrolmen led him through the winding streets of the slum district, their presence causing ordinary citizens to scatter like startled birds. Tae-Won walked with his head high, back straight, ignoring the pain in his ribs and the weakness in his limbs. The posture of an emperor came naturally, even in these reduced circumstances.
"You walk like a noble," the tall patrolman observed as they turned onto a wider street where the buildings began to look marginally less decrepit. "Yet you live in the worst part of the Eastern Slums. Curious."
"Life is full of contradictions," Tae-Won replied vaguely.
"Indeed. Like how a slum dweller managed to defeat five Outer Disciples using techniques that shouldn't be known outside the major sects."
"Perhaps your security isn't as tight as you believe."
The shaved patrolman grunted. "Or perhaps you're a spy from a rival clan."
Tae-Won merely smiled, letting them interpret his silence however they wished. Let them waste time chasing phantoms of their own creation.
As they walked, he took careful note of their surroundings. The city was larger than he'd initially realized, with distinct districts separated by both geography and wealth. They were heading northeast, away from the slums and toward what appeared to be a more affluent area.
"Welcome to the Ninth District," the tall patrolman said as they passed through an ornate gate guarded by blue-robed cultivators. "Domain of the Jin Clan."
The change was immediate and striking. Gone were the muddy, garbage-strewn alleys of the slums. Here, the streets were paved with fitted stone, the buildings constructed of solid timber and tile rather than scrap materials. Citizens moved about in clean, if simple, clothing, and the air smelled of food and incense rather than sewage.
Tae-Won's stomach growled at the scent of cooking meat wafting from a nearby restaurant, reminding him that the bread the children had brought was hardly sufficient after fourteen hours of unconsciousness.
The tall patrolman noticed and smiled thinly. "Hungry? The Jin Clan is known for its hospitality... to friends."
"And to potential recruits?" Tae-Won asked, reading between the lines.
The patrolman's smile widened slightly. "Elder Jin has an eye for talent, regardless of its origin."
So that was their game. They weren't bringing him in for punishment—they wanted to recruit him. Or at least, that's what they wanted him to believe. The Jin Clan had clearly recognized that someone with his skills might be more valuable as an asset than an enemy.
Little did they know that Edward Reinhart had never been anyone's asset. He'd been king, emperor, conqueror—never a servant, never a tool for another's ambition.
But for now, he would play along. The facade of cooperation would gain him access to information, resources, perhaps even cultivation techniques that would accelerate his growth.
"How generous of Elder Jin," he said, infusing his voice with just the right amount of cautious interest. "I look forward to meeting him."
The Jin Clan compound dominated the center of the district—a sprawling complex surrounded by high walls of polished blue stone. Guards stood at regular intervals along the wall, their Qi presence palpable even from a distance. The main gate was a massive structure of carved wood and metal, emblazoned with the clan's emblem: a stylized azure flame.
As they approached, the guards straightened to attention, eyeing Tae-Won with undisguised suspicion. His tattered clothing and obviously low cultivation status marked him as an outsider—someone who didn't belong in these rarefied surroundings.
"Patrol Leader Jin Hwan," the tall patrolman addressed the guard captain. "We bring this individual at Elder Jin's request."
The guard captain frowned. "This... person? Are you certain, Patrol Leader?"
"Elder Jin was most specific," Jin Hwan replied stiffly. "We are to bring him directly to the Outer Court."
After a moment's hesitation, the guard captain nodded and signaled for the gates to be opened. With a low, rumbling sound, the massive doors swung inward, revealing a courtyard paved with blue and white stone tiles arranged in an intricate pattern that subtly guided Qi flow through the compound.
Tae-Won recognized the design principle immediately—it was similar to the mana circuits he'd incorporated into his own palaces in Latvaria, though cruder in execution. This world's understanding of energy manipulation was less advanced than his own, but still sophisticated enough to be impressive.
"This way," Jin Hwan said, leading him across the courtyard toward a multi-tiered building that dominated the eastern side of the compound.
As they walked, Tae-Won observed disciples training in various courtyards and gardens. Some practiced with swords, others with bare hands, all displaying far more skill and power than the disciples he'd encountered the previous day. These were serious cultivators, not the pampered bullies who terrorized slum children.
The skill disparity was concerning. If these were the average disciples of just one clan in one district of this city, how powerful were the true elites of this world? The gulf between his current capabilities and his goals suddenly seemed vast indeed.
"Impressed?" the shaved patrolman asked, noticing Tae-Won's attentive gaze.
"It's adequate," Tae-Won replied with deliberate understatement. "Though their forms could use refinement."
The patrolman's eyes widened in surprise at his audacity, but before he could respond, they arrived at the steps of the eastern building.
"The Hall of Azure Flames," Jin Hwan announced. "Elder Jin awaits within."
Tae-Won paused at the foot of the steps, taking a moment to center himself. Whatever happened next would likely determine his immediate future in this world. He needed to be sharp, calculated, ready to adapt to whatever the Jin Clan had planned for him.
"System," he subvocalized. "Any updates on my status?"
[Current Realm: Body Refinement Stage 1]
[Cultivation Progress: 2.4%]
[Qi reserves: 43% of maximum capacity]
A negligible improvement, but better than nothing. He would need every advantage in the coming encounter.
Drawing himself up to his full height—unimpressive in this adolescent body, but made formidable by his imperial bearing—Tae-Won ascended the steps toward his first true test in this new world.
----------------------------------------
Elder Jin was not what Tae-Won had expected.
Instead of a wizened ancient or imposing warrior, he found himself facing a middle-aged man with an unremarkable appearance and gentle smile. Dressed in simple blue robes with minimal ornamentation, the Elder sat behind a low table in a modestly appointed receiving room, pouring tea with practiced grace.
Only his eyes betrayed his true nature—sharp, calculating, and ancient beyond the apparent age of his face. And his Qi... Tae-Won could sense it now, a vast, deep reservoir of power held in perfect control, like an ocean contained within a teacup.
"Welcome," Elder Jin said, his voice pleasant and measured. "Please, sit. You must be tired after your journey."
Tae-Won remained standing, wary of the casual hospitality. "I prefer to stand until I know why I've been brought here."
Elder Jin's smile widened slightly. "Cautious. Good. That will serve you well." He gestured to the cushion across from him. "But there's no need for such wariness. If I wished you harm, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
The logic was sound, if coldly pragmatic. Tae-Won conceded the point with a slight nod and took the offered seat, maintaining his straight posture and alert demeanor.
Elder Jin poured him a cup of tea, the liquid giving off a subtle aroma that Tae-Won didn't recognize. He didn't touch it.
"You don't trust the tea," Elder Jin observed. "Another wise precaution, though unnecessary. Poison would be an inefficient way to deal with someone of your... unique talents."
"And what talents would those be?" Tae-Won asked, careful to betray no emotion.
"Meridian manipulation beyond your apparent cultivation level. Combat instincts that suggest extensive training. And most interestingly..." Elder Jin leaned forward slightly, his eyes suddenly intense. "A constitution that my disciples described as 'unusual.' Azure-tinged Qi, they said. Most remarkable."
So they had noticed. The Azure Phoenix Meridians were apparently distinctive enough to be visible to trained observers. That could be both an advantage and a liability.
"Your disciples attacked me," Tae-Won stated flatly. "I defended myself. If they saw anything unusual, it was likely a product of their imagination... or their concussions."
Elder Jin laughed, a genuine sound of amusement. "Oh, I like you. Direct and unapologetic. Refreshing, in a world of sycophants and political maneuvering." He sipped his own tea, then continued. "My disciples were indeed in the wrong. They have been disciplined for their behavior."
"How comforting for me," Tae-Won replied dryly.
"Indeed." Elder Jin set down his cup. "Now, to business. Who are you, young man? And more importantly, who trained you?"
"My name is Tae-Won," he answered, seeing no benefit in lying about that. "As for training... let's say I've had many teachers."
"Many teachers," Elder Jin repeated, clearly skeptical. "Including someone versed in the Meridian Sealing Arts, apparently. A rare discipline, known to only a handful of sects. None of which, to my knowledge, would waste such teachings on a slum dweller."
"Perhaps they saw potential where others saw only poverty."
"Perhaps." Elder Jin studied him for a long moment. "Or perhaps you're not what you appear to be at all."
Tae-Won held his gaze steadily. "We're all more than we appear to be, aren't we, Elder Jin? Your own appearance belies your power."
This earned him another smile. "Well observed. But my question remains. Who are you, really?"
"Someone seeking power," Tae-Won answered truthfully. "Someone with ambitions beyond the slums. Beyond this city, eventually."
"Honesty at last." Elder Jin nodded approvingly. "Ambition I understand. Ambition I can work with." He leaned back slightly. "The Jin Clan is always seeking talented individuals to join our ranks. Your background is... unconventional, but your potential is undeniable."
"You're offering me a place in the Jin Clan?" Tae-Won asked, allowing a hint of surprise to color his voice.
"I'm offering you an opportunity," Elder Jin corrected. "A probationary position as an Outer Disciple. Food, shelter, training. The chance to prove your worth and advance based on merit rather than birth."
It was a generous offer on its face—far more than most slum dwellers could ever hope for. But Tae-Won heard the unspoken terms beneath the pleasant words. Loyalty. Obedience. Service to the clan above all else.
"And in return?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Loyalty to the clan. Obedience to your superiors. Service to our collective interests." Elder Jin spread his hands. "The standard commitments expected of any disciple."
"Standard for those born into this life," Tae-Won noted. "Less so for someone accustomed to independence."
Elder Jin's expression sharpened slightly. "Independence is an illusion in Murim. Everyone serves someone or something—a clan, a sect, an ideal. Even the most powerful cultivators are bound by the laws of heaven and earth."
The words struck an unexpected chord in Tae-Won's mind, reminding him of his own rejection of divinity in his past life. He, too, had chosen to remain bound by certain laws rather than transcend them completely. But his reasons had been his own, not imposed by external forces.
"I appreciate the offer," Tae-Won said carefully. "But I would need to know more about what this position entails before making such a commitment."
"A reasonable request." Elder Jin reached into his robe and withdrew a small blue token, placing it on the table between them. "This grants you guest status within the compound for three days. Observe our training, speak with our disciples, consider our offer without pressure." His smile turned slightly predatory. "After all, forcing a decision rarely leads to true loyalty."
Tae-Won eyed the token skeptically. "And after three days?"
"After three days, you either accept our offer formally or return to the slums with our... well, not our blessing, perhaps, but our acknowledgment of your choice." Elder Jin's implication was clear—refusing the offer would mark Tae-Won as neither friend nor recruit, but potential rival.
It was a clever trap, elegantly constructed. By inviting him into the compound, Elder Jin accomplished several goals at once: he kept a potential asset under observation, demonstrated the power and resources that could be Tae-Won's if he joined, and gathered information about his capabilities and character.
In Tae-Won's position, most would be overwhelmed by the opportunity. A street rat offered entry into a prestigious clan? It was the stuff of fairy tales, the dream of every orphan in the slums.
But Edward Reinhart wasn't any street rat.
"Your offer is generous," Tae-Won said, choosing his words carefully. "But I don't make hasty decisions. I would like to request the full three days to consider my options."
A flicker of surprise crossed Elder Jin's face, quickly masked by a diplomatic smile. Most slum dwellers would have jumped at the opportunity without hesitation.
"Of course," Elder Jin replied smoothly. "A wise choice. Deliberation before commitment shows maturity beyond your years." He pushed the blue token closer to Tae-Won. "This will grant you access to the Outer Disciples' training grounds, communal dining hall, and basic accommodations. The inner areas remain restricted, naturally."
Tae-Won picked up the token, examining the intricate azure flame pattern etched into its surface. "Naturally," he echoed, slipping it into his tattered pocket.
"Jin Hwan will show you to your temporary quarters," Elder Jin said, gesturing to the tall patrolman. "Feel free to observe our training sessions and speak with our disciples. Should you have questions, Jin Hwan will be your point of contact."
Tae-Won rose with fluid grace despite his injuries. "I appreciate the hospitality, Elder Jin."
As he turned to leave, Elder Jin spoke again. "One question before you go, young Tae-Won." His voice had lost its warmth, becoming analytical and probing. "Where exactly are you from? Your accent is... unfamiliar."
Tae-Won paused at the threshold. "A far-away land," he said vaguely. "One that would mean little to you by name alone."
"Try me," Elder Jin challenged mildly. "I've traveled extensively in my youth."
"I doubt your travels took you there," Tae-Won replied with the faintest hint of a smile. "It's a story for another time, perhaps. After I've made my decision."
Elder Jin's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "I look forward to hearing it. Three days, young man. Choose wisely."
Jin Hwan led Tae-Won through a series of courtyards and corridors to a modest building near the eastern wall of the compound. "Guest quarters," he explained tersely. "Basic, but better than whatever hole you crawled out of in the slums."
Tae-Won ignored the barb, taking in every detail of the compound's layout. The architectural arrangement wasn't random—the buildings were positioned to create a massive formation that channeled Qi throughout the complex. Clever, if somewhat primitive compared to the arcane constructs he'd designed in Latvaria.
Jin Hwan showed him to a small room with a simple bed, a washing basin, and a meditation mat. "Meals are served in the communal hall at dawn, noon, and dusk. Training grounds are open from first light until evening bell. Don't wander into restricted areas." He pointed at the blue token. "That won't protect you if you're caught where you shouldn't be."
"Understood," Tae-Won replied, already mentally mapping potential escape routes and areas of interest.
Jin Hwan lingered in the doorway. "Elder Jin sees something in you. Can't imagine what." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Whatever game you're playing, boy, be careful. The Jin Clan has stood for eight centuries. Greater talents than yours have broken against our walls."
With that final warning, he departed, sliding the door closed behind him.
Tae-Won waited until the patrolman's footsteps faded before moving to the window. The room overlooked a small garden, beyond which lay the eastern wall of the compound. Three stories high, regularly patrolled, but not impossible to scale with the right techniques.
"System," he murmured. "Status update."
[Current Realm: Body Refinement Stage 1]
[Cultivation Progress: 2.5%]
[Qi reserves: 45% of maximum capacity]
[New environment detected: Jin Clan compound ambient Qi density 312% higher than previous location]
That last bit was interesting. The compound's Qi concentration was significantly higher than the slums—likely due to the formation built into its very architecture. This could accelerate his cultivation dramatically if utilized properly.
Tae-Won sat on the meditation mat, crossing his legs and straightening his spine. Three days. Seventy-two hours to extract maximum benefit from this opportunity while avoiding the trap it represented.
He had no intention of joining the Jin Clan, of course. Becoming an Outer Disciple would mean placing himself at the bottom of their hierarchy, subject to the whims of superiors, bound by rules and traditions he neither respected nor understood. Edward Reinhart had been an emperor, a conqueror—never a follower.
But the Jin Clan compound offered resources he couldn't access in the slums—advanced techniques, knowledge of cultivation paths, and most importantly, this Qi-rich environment that could accelerate his progress exponentially.
Still, he couldn't abandon the slums entirely—not yet. The children he'd met represented a different kind of resource: information, stealth, the ability to move through the city unnoticed. A network of loyal followers who knew the hidden paths of the underworld could prove invaluable in the coming months.
"I'll need to slip out tonight," he decided. "Find the abandoned temple, make contact with Ho-Jin and the others."
It would be risky. Leaving the compound without permission might alert Elder Jin to his duplicitous intentions. But establishing a base of operations beyond the Jin Clan's reach was essential for his long-term plans.
As he plotted his nighttime excursion, Tae-Won's thoughts drifted to the children's faces when he'd promised to teach them basic techniques. Their awe, their hope, their unquestioning acceptance of his leadership. It had been... gratifying, in a way he hadn't expected.
What is this feeling? he wondered. Is this... nostalgia?
Not for the slum children, he realized, but for Latvaria. For his empire, his power, his purpose.
I can't believe I miss that place, he thought with bitter amusement. I thought I would die of boredom there.
In his previous life, Edward Reinhart had conquered his world to its fullest extent. He had been the strongest, the greatest emperor, god-slayer, heaven's chosen. But after the wars ended, after the last resistance crumbled beneath his boots, life had grown... tedious. Ruling an empire that spanned continents offered administrative challenges but few true tests of his abilities.
He had rejected ascension to godhood, turning away from the divine realm that had opened to him after defeating the Celestial Pantheon. Eternity as a deity had seemed like an endless continuation of that same tedium—observing rather than acting, being worshipped rather than tested.
Now, reborn in this weak body, in this unfamiliar world with its rigid hierarchies and mystical arts, he faced challenge again. Danger. The need to scheme, to fight, to conquer anew. There was a certain thrill to starting over, to building from nothing once more.
Perhaps that's why the System chose this world for my reincarnation, he mused. A new conquest. A new test.
With renewed determination, Tae-Won deepened his meditation. His plan was taking shape: spend the days at the Jin Clan compound, absorbing knowledge and cultivating in the Qi-rich environment; spend the nights in the slums, building his network and establishing a power base independent of the Noble Families.
By the end of three days, he needed to be strong enough to refuse Elder Jin's offer without being immediately crushed. It was a gamble, certainly. The Jin Clan might send cultivators far beyond his current capabilities to deal with his defiance.
But deploying powerful figures to handle what appeared to be a minor problem would be both excessive and embarrassing for a Noble Family. It would be like using a siege engine to crush an ant—effective, but revealing a weakness in their regular forces.
Without knowing the political state of this world, what wars or conflicts might be brewing, what alliances and enemies the Jin Clan might have, Tae-Won couldn't predict their response with certainty. But that uncertainty created opportunity. In the gaps between what he knew and what they assumed, he would find his advantage.
"The first rule of conquest," he whispered to himself, "is to secure a base of operations that your enemies cannot easily reach."
In his case, that meant the slums—a territory the Jin Clan controlled officially but never truly mastered. With the street children as his eyes and ears, he could navigate that world far more effectively than the pampered cultivators of the Noble Families.
Three days. Seventy-two hours to strengthen his cultivation, establish his network, and prepare for either integration or escape.
The game had begun.