Mist curled through the shattered pillars of the ancient temple, tendrils of fog weaving between cracked stones like restless spirits. The scent of damp earth and burning incense hung heavy in the air. Once a beacon of power, the sect's heart now lay in ruin—its glory faded into legend. The sky overhead was bruised, smeared with deep crimson streaks, as if the heavens themselves mourned the fall of a dynasty long past.
Amid the silence, a figure stirred on the cold stone floor. A man—limbs trembling, body unfamiliar—opened eyes shimmering with confusion and fading life. The temple whispered of ages past, and the weight of destiny pressed down upon him like a crushing tide.
Zaen's breath came ragged. His fingers brushed against a scarred, muscular arm—a body not his own. His chest burned where a faint, glowing sigil pulsed with ancient runes. Confusion flooded his mind; memories of a distant, simple life flickered like stars behind thick clouds—a world called Earth, now lost forever.
"Where... am I?" His voice was hoarse but firm. The body beneath him belonged to a dying ancestor—a cultivator whose legacy was on the brink of extinction.
Inside his mind, a voice spoke—a calm, ancient presence.
🜂 [⚔️ Legacy of the Dying Ancestor System Activated ⚔️] 🜂
🕰️ Remaining Lifespan: 365 days, 00 hours
📈 Current Realm: Mortal Foundation
🔗 Sect Resonance: 0%
📢 System Message: "Your time is borrowed. Cultivate swiftly, or fade forever."
Zaen's pulse thundered. One year—that was all the time he had left in this borrowed shell.
He forced himself to rise. The temple ruins spoke of battles long ended—the shattered stones etched with scars of war, the banners tattered and faded, flapping weakly in a chilling breeze.
Beyond the temple, distant sounds pierced the crimson twilight—the clash of steel and fierce roars. Rival sects hunted scraps of power, eager to snuff out the last embers of his family's honor.
Zaen clenched his fists, muscles aching but fire sparking within. The cultivation world was brutal—sect politics, ancient bloodlines, and warriors ruthless enough to snatch life itself.
His sect was fallen, his body dying, and time slipping through his fingers like sand.
Yet, something ancient stirred inside—the bloodline's legacy pulsing with life through the sigil on his chest.
The system interface shimmered before his eyes, cryptic yet alive.
🜂 [Cultivation Initiated: Mortal Foundation Stage] 🜂
🕰️ Time to Next Breakthrough: Unknown
📢 System Message: "Absorb spiritual energy, strengthen your foundation, awaken the ancient blood within."
Zaen reached out with trembling hands, willing the world's residual spiritual energy to flow into him. The ruined temple vibrated softly as if responding to his will.
He felt the faint stirrings of power—the slow burn of cultivation igniting his senses.
🜂 [Objective Updated] 🜂
▶️ Survive and Cultivate to Extend Lifespan
▶️ Rebuild the Sect's Glory
▶️ Assist Disciples in Breakthroughs to Gain Sect Resonance
The path was clear, the stakes deadly. Each breakthrough would mean days, months, even years added to his borrowed life.
Suddenly, distant shouts cut through the night. Dark figures emerged at the forest's edge—rival cultivators bearing hostile intent. Their banners bore the mark of the Black Serpent Sect, notorious enemies eager to claim the temple ruins and erase Zaen's bloodline forever.
Zaen's breath caught, muscles coiled with reflexive tension.
I can't afford to die—not yet.
He took a step forward, determination blazing in his eyes.
The legacy of the dying ancestor ends with me. I will rise or fall on this ground.
"Who's there?" Zaen's voice rang out, steady despite the pounding of his heart.
A rough voice replied, "This temple belongs to the Black Serpent Sect now. Leave or die."
Zaen's mind raced. His strength was weak, but his will unbreakable.
One year. One chance.
He flexed his fingers, the sigil on his chest flaring in response.
"I am Zaen. This legacy is not yet dead."
The crimson sky darkened further as Zaen prepared for the first battle of his new life. Time was precious, and every breath a gift borrowed from the dying ancestor within.
His journey had begun.