Travis’s face darkened. “Not exactly here, but…a man named Cole Thrumpwood showed up earlier. He’s badly injured, and from what I’ve gathered, your family might be in serious trouble.”

Asmon’s calm demeanor cracked just a little. Cole? Injured? That wasn’t just a red flag—it was a crimson banner waving in the wind. Cole was his father’s trusted aide, a man known for his strength and reliability. If he was in this state, something big was going down.

Without wasting a second, Asmon followed Travis to the third floor, where Cole was recovering. The burly man looked pale but focused, sitting cross-legged as he concentrated on healing his injuries. When Asmon entered, Cole opened his eyes and immediately tried to stand, wincing slightly.

“Master Asmon,” he greeted respectfully.

“Uncle Cole, don’t bother with formalities,” Asmon said, moving closer. “How did this happen? Are you alright?”

Cole let out a tired sigh. “Thanks to the pills Master Xander provided, I’ll be fine. But the situation with the Thrumpwood family…” His voice trailed off, and Asmon’s stomach dropped.

“Spill it,” Asmon demanded, his tone sharp. “What’s going on?”

Cole’s expression turned grim. “It’s Stelter. Ever since you started making waves, he’s felt threatened. He’s convinced that your rise spells the end of his influence. After seeing you in Goldenridge City, he returned to the Thrumpwood household and started eliminating anyone loyal to your father.”

Asmon’s jaw tightened. “And you were his first target.”

Cole nodded. “I barely escaped. He’s moving fast, and if he succeeds, he’ll declare himself the family head.”

Asmon’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “He wants to rule the Thrumpwood family? Over my dead body.”

“Master Asmon,” Cole said cautiously, “you can’t rush into this. He’s powerful, and he’ll be expecting you to confront him.”

Asmon smirked, his confidence returning in full force. “Oh, I’m not rushing. I’m preparing. He made a mistake targeting my family’s loyal followers. Now he’s going to see why people don’t mess with me.”

Turning to Travis, Asmon snapped into action. “Travis, I need a pill room and every second- and third-grade ingredient you can get your hands on.”

For Asmon, this wasn’t just about family. It was about proving once and for all that anyone foolish enough to challenge him would regret it—for however long they lived.

Under Travis’s efficient and borderline obsessive micromanagement, Asmon soon found himself standing in a pristine private alchemy room at Vitalstone Apothecary. The room practically glowed with cleanliness, and the scent of herbs hovered in the air like nature’s perfume. Piles of second- and third-grade medicinal herbs were stacked on the table, ready for refining. It was the alchemist’s equivalent of an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Well,” Asmon muttered to himself, rolling up his sleeves, “time to cook.”

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With his skills as a fourth-rank alchemist and the system backing him with a cheat-code-worthy hundredfold success rate, Asmon dove into the process like a seasoned chef preparing a five-star meal. His movements were swift and precise, and soon, the room was filled with the soft hum of brewing pills.

Asmon smirked. “I’m basically the Gordon Ramsay of alchemy. Just less yelling.”

Hours passed in a blur of grinding, mixing, and pill-conjuring brilliance. By the time the moon peeked through the windows, Asmon had whipped up ten Qi Gathering Pills and three Spirit Pills. The room now carried the delightful aroma of success—or, in this case, medicinal herbs.

He eyed his creations with pride, then decided it was taste-testing time. Swallowing three Qi Gathering Pills and one Spirit Pill, he braced himself for the effects.

[You’ve taken three Qi Gathering Pills. Energy surged, absorption accelerated, progress amplified.]

[You’ve consumed a Spirit Pill. Power expanded, comprehension maximized, breakthrough achieved.]

[You have advanced to the Second Level of the Imperial Qi Realm.]

[You have ascended to the Ninth Level of the Imperial Qi Realm.]

Asmon blinked, a bit stunned. “From zero to hero in one night. Take that, Stelter Thrumpwood.”

The upgrades didn’t just stop with his cultivation. With his system working overtime, Asmon also refined his martial techniques. His basic silver-rank fist skill got a shiny new upgrade, evolving into the much fancier intermediate gold-rank 'Ball Destroyer Punch'.

As dawn broke, Asmon received word: Stelter had gathered the clan to announce himself as the head of the Thrumpwood family. Typical. The man couldn’t resist a dramatic power grab. Asmon rolled his eyes and made up his mind.

When Cole, ever the cautious uncle figure, caught wind of this, he immediately launched into a protest. “Master Asmon, this is a trap! Stelter is baiting you to return so he can eliminate you.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle Cole.” Asmon waved off the concern with a confident grin. “I’ve got a plan. Stelter will wish he’d stuck to stamp collecting or something less ambitious.”

Cole looked skeptical. “A plan, huh? And does this plan involve not getting us all killed?”

“Of course. Probably.”

Unable to dissuade him, Cole sighed dramatically. “Fine. If you insist on walking into the lion’s den, I’m coming with you.”

“Great!” Asmon clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll need someone to cheer me on.”

An hour later, Asmon arrived at the Thrumpwood family estate with Merilyn and a grumbling Cole in tow. As they passed through the gates, the scene before them looked like a village fair—hundreds of people milled about, chatting and laughing, completely unaware of the drama about to unfold.

Up on a grand platform in the courtyard, Stelter stood in full ceremonial garb, looking every bit the smug usurper. A priest beside him droned on about ancestors and blessings, while Stelter performed the rites with the grace of a peacock.

“Let us remember our ancestors and honor their legacy…” Stelter declared, his voice dripping with self-importance. “As I lead the Thrumpwood family into a glorious future—”

“Glorious? More like 'hilarious',” Asmon’s voice cut through the air like a razor.

The crowd gasped and turned as one toward the source of the interruption. Asmon strode into the courtyard with the confidence of someone who had absolutely no regard for social norms. Merilyn followed gracefully, while Cole boiling with anger.

“Who does he think he is?” someone whispered.

“Isn’t that Asmon? The so-called ‘double waste’?” another snickered.

“I heard he’s been playing around with alchemy. Maybe he brewed himself a courage pill.”

Stelter, perched on his ceremonial throne, narrowed his eyes. “Asmon,” he called, his voice laced with condescension, “you’re interrupting an important occasion. Be a good boy and go home.”

“Home?” Asmon quipped. “Funny, I thought this was my home. You know, seeing as my father—Victor Thrumpwood—was the head of the family.”

“That was the past,” Stelter snapped. “Your father is gone, and the family needs strong leadership. Leadership that I provide.”

Asmon tilted his head, pretending to consider this. “Strong leadership, huh? You mean like organizing parties and stealing titles? Yeah, great work.”

The crowd tittered nervously as Stelter’s face flushed. “You dare—”

“Oh, I dare,” Asmon interrupted, stepping forward. “You want to play family head? Fine. Let’s see if you can hold that title after today.”