The arena stank of blood and dust. Shouts from the crowd blurred into a hollow roar in Zeke's ears as he struggled to stay upright.
His knees dug into the cracked stone floor, legs trembling, ribs screaming with every ragged breath.
One arm hung useless at his side, broken. The other pressed into the ground to keep him from collapsing altogether.
Across from him, his tormentor stood tall—Caleb, the favored son of the sect. Not a scratch on him, smirk curling at his lips as if the fight had never been in question.
But it wasn't Caleb's smile that tore Zeke apart.
It was hers.
Mira. The girl who had sworn herself to him in quiet nights, who had once held his hand like it was something precious. She stood beside Caleb now, her delicate fingers resting lightly on his arm as though they had always belonged there. Her eyes, once soft, now carried a cold judgment.
"Pathetic," she said, loud enough for the arena to hear. "You couldn't protect yourself, let alone me."
The crowd jeered, their voices striking Zeke harder than any of Caleb's blows.
Something hot and raw burned in his chest, deeper than the broken bones, sharper than the gashes across his body. It wasn't the pain of defeat. It was the taste of betrayal.
Zeke lifted his head, blood dripping from his lips, and locked eyes with them both. For a moment, his vision blurred with red, not from blood—but from a promise forming in his heart.
This was not the end.
Not for him.
Zeke's body swayed, every nerve screaming for rest, for surrender. But his pride—what little remained—drove him to his feet. Blood spattered the stone beneath him as he staggered forward, a broken blade in his hand. His gaze fixed on Caleb, the smirk, the mockery.
With a hoarse roar, Zeke launched himself, pouring the last dregs of his strength into one desperate strike.
The blow never landed.
Caleb's palm slammed into his chest, cracking bones like dry twigs. The force lifted Zeke off his feet, hurling him across the arena. He hit the ground with a sickening crunch, coughing up a spray of crimson. His vision flickered.
"Useless trash," Caleb sneered, brushing dust from his robes. Mira stood by his side, her silence sharper than any blade.
The elders didn't even spare Zeke a glance as they passed judgment. "He is crippled. His meridians shattered. He no longer has a place in this sect."
The crowd jeered as two disciples dragged Zeke's broken body to the gates and tossed him down the steps like discarded refuse. The gates slammed shut behind him, the echo sealing his exile.
Zeke lay there for a long while, the cold stone leeching the last warmth from his battered frame. Slowly, with trembling hands, he pushed himself up. His legs carried him in a stumbling shuffle down the mountain path.
Every breath was knives. His ribs ground against his organs. His blood left a trail behind him, a scarlet reminder of what he had lost. His eyes—once burning with stubbornness—were now hollow, reflecting nothing but ruin.
The heavens themselves seemed to mock him. Thunder rolled above, and the skies split open, drenching him in icy rain.
He kept walking. Step after broken step, as if some cruel instinct refused to let him collapse. The mud sucked at his feet, the mountain trails slick and treacherous.
Then the earth gave way.
A deafening crack split the storm's roar as the rain-swollen slope collapsed beneath him. Zeke barely had time to gasp before the mountain itself swallowed him, earth and rock dragging his shattered body into the abyss.
He fell, deeper and deeper, until the world above was swallowed by darkness.
And when he struck the bottom, it was not silence that greeted him.
It was the whisper of a valley long forbidden, a place even the strongest dared not tread—where death lingered, and secrets older than the sects themselves lay buried.
The world went quiet.
Zeke's body lay twisted at the bottom of the forbidden valley, half-buried in mud and stone. Rainwater dripped from the cliffs above, trickling over his pale face, but he didn't stir. His chest rose in shallow, ragged breaths—barely alive, clinging to existence by threads thinner than silk.
Then, in the void of his fading mind, something stirred.
At first, it was nothing but emptiness—an endless black stretching in all directions. Zeke stood there, whole and unbroken, yet surrounded by silence so heavy it threatened to crush him. He felt small, insignificant, like the heavens themselves had erased his name.
But then a sound came.
Ding.
A crisp chime echoed across the void, piercing through the darkness.
[ Overbearing System initializing… ]
Words of light formed in the air before him, burning with authority.
Zeke's brow furrowed. "What…?" His voice sounded weak, swallowed by the void.
[ Host recognized: Ezekiel Cross. ]
[ Cultivation: 3rd Layer, Body Tempering Realm. ]
[ Evaluation: Mediocre. Laughable. Unworthy. ]
The words stabbed deeper than Caleb's strikes, but before Zeke could respond, the message continued:
[ System bound. Host's destiny will now be rewritten. ]
[ Welcome to the Overbearing System. ]
Light surged. The void trembled, and a flood of information filled his mind.
The Overbearing System. A power beyond anything the sects could imagine, but locked away, waiting for him to rise. Its features stretched out like a mountain range hidden in fog—vast, overwhelming, unreachable for now.
But not everything was sealed.
[ Unlocked Features: ]
Infinite Inventory: Store anything. Space without limit. Weight without burden.
Overbearing Shop: Exchange Overbearing Points for any item in existence.
Note: Prices scale with value. Nothing is free.
[ Methods of earning Overbearing Points: ]
Commit actions deemed "Overbearing."
The more shocking, domineering, or absolute the action, the greater the reward.
Zeke's eyes widened as he absorbed the words. The system's voice, cold and commanding, left no room for doubt.
For the first time since the arena, a flicker of light touched his gaze.
Power.
Not pity, not borrowed strength, not fragile affection that could be taken away. This was his.
And with it, he would rise.
The words of light burned brighter, circling Zeke in the void. He clenched his fists, but the system spoke again, its voice colder now, almost disdainful.
[ Current Strength: 3rd Layer, Body Tempering Realm. ]
[ Assessment: Fragile. Average. Ant among dragons. ]
The words struck like whips.
[ Warning: At your level, you are beneath notice. Insects can crush you. Even your peers spit on you. ]
[ Conclusion: Host is unworthy of true power. ]
Zeke's teeth ground together. "Then why choose me?"
For a moment, the void fell silent. Then—another Ding.
[ Because weakness makes the climb… overbearing. ]
Images flashed before his eyes—mountains split with a single fist, seas parted with a shout, armies crumbling before one man's will. His heart pounded, not with despair this time, but with hunger.
Yet just as quickly, the visions shattered.
[ Notice: The majority of the system's functions are sealed. To unlock them, the Host must advance cultivation. ]
[ The stronger you become, the more features awaken. ]
Zeke tried to reach for the power he had seen, but it slipped through his fingers like smoke.
Then another panel appeared, glowing faintly before him.
[ Unlocked Features: ]
Infinite Inventory: Always available.
Overbearing Shop: Requires Overbearing Points.
His gaze dropped lower.
[ Current Overbearing Points: 0. ]
The system's voice rang out once more, every word edged in mockery.
[ To earn points, Host must act with dominance. To force the world to bow. To crush obstacles without hesitation. The more absolute the act, the greater the reward. ]
[ Yet look at you now… broken, bleeding, abandoned. You cannot even overbear your own fate. ]
Zeke's breath hitched. Rage stirred in his chest, bitter and sharp.
The void around him trembled as though daring him to rise.
[ Prove yourself, Ezekiel Cross. Or be forgotten. ]
And with that, the dream fractured, the chime fading into silence.
Zeke's eyes snapped open.
The world above was gone. Only the dark maw of the valley stretched around him, walls jagged like the teeth of some ancient beast. Rain poured down through gaps in the cliffs, splattering cold against his face.
Every inch of his body screamed in agony—bones cracked, muscles torn, organs burning with every breath.
He coughed, blood staining the mud beneath him, but he was alive. Somehow.
And then—
Ding.
The sound returned, clear and unyielding in his mind.
[ System Notice: Host initialization complete. ]
[ Rewarding Starter Pack… ]
Light flared before his eyes, forming translucent panels.
[ Starter Pack Contents: ]
Beginner Overbearing Manual (Fragment): A cultivation method designed to refine the body with ruthless efficiency.
Minor Healing Pill x3: Restores moderate injuries.
Basic Weapon Voucher x1: Redeemable in the Overbearing Shop.
100 Overbearing Points.
Zeke's ragged breath caught. His fingers twitched, reaching toward the glowing words as though he could grasp them.
The system's voice rumbled again, colder than the storm.
[ Do not mistake charity for power. This pack is but a spark. If you wish to burn the heavens, you must fan it into an inferno. ]
The panels dissolved into his body, their contents vanishing into a strange pocket of nothingness. He blinked—and realized he could feel them, there, waiting. The infinite inventory.
Shaking, he whispered, "Inventory."
And like a door opening in his mind, the space revealed itself—vast and endless, a void without weight, where the items hovered in a gentle glow.
Zeke's cracked lips curled faintly, the ghost of a smile. Even at his lowest, broken and cast aside, power had come.
Not borrowed. Not begged. His.
Thunder boomed above the valley, and Zeke's hollow eyes flickered with something new—something dangerous.
His chest convulsed with another cough, the taste of iron thick in his mouth. Just breathing felt like knives. He reached inward again, into that boundless space, and pulled.
A small jade-green pill appeared in his trembling hand. Smooth, fragrant, humming faintly with medicinal energy.
Zeke stared at it for a long moment. Doubt gnawed at him. Would this truly work? Or was it just another cruel trick, another illusion of hope before the end?
He shoved the thought away. Either way, it didn't matter. He had nothing left to lose.
With effort, he pushed the pill past his bloodied lips. It dissolved instantly, a cool rush sliding down his throat and bursting through his body like a tide.
The change was immediate.
Heat surged through his shattered ribs, knitting cracks together with sharp, tingling pain. Torn muscles pulsed as strands of energy sewed them back together. His breath deepened, the stabbing agony in his chest easing into a dull ache.
Zeke gasped, clutching at the mud, eyes wide as the warmth spread. For the first time since the arena, the agony loosened its grip. He could breathe. He could move.
Not healed—not whole—but alive.
He slumped back, rain soaking his face, chest heaving. His lips trembled, not with weakness this time, but with something long buried under despair.
Hope.
A sound rang in his mind once more.
Ding.
[ Overbearing Action Detected. ]
[ Defying death by consuming a healing pill in a forbidden land. ]
[ Reward: +5 Overbearing Points. ]
The corner of Zeke's mouth lifted, faint but sharp. Even survival… even this… counted.
For the first time in his life, the heavens hadn't spat on him. They had acknowledged him.
He clenched his fist, the rain dripping between his knuckles. His path wasn't over. It had just begun.
Zeke sat up slowly, mud sliding from his back as the rain eased into a mist. His breath still rasped, but the pain no longer ruled him.
He reached again into the infinite space, drawing out a thin book bound in rough leather—the Beginner Overbearing Manual (Fragment). Its weight was real in his hands, yet the moment his eyes fell on the first page—
Something ignited.
Words, diagrams, insights—everything in the manual carved itself into his mind like molten steel branding iron. Muscles remembered movements he had never practiced. His breath shifted rhythm without conscious thought, his body moving on instinct, cycling energy exactly as the text described.
In a single heartbeat, he knew the manual. Not just read it—mastered it.
He froze, stunned, and then the system's voice echoed in his head.
[ System Notice: All manuals, techniques, and skills obtained through the Overbearing System come pre-mastered. Host may use them immediately without training. ]
Zeke's breath caught. Years—decades—sect disciples bled and sweated to claw their way through a single technique. And yet he… he simply had it.
The thought struck like lightning: he was no longer bound by the slow crawl of ordinary cultivation.
He clenched his fists. "Then I'll use it."
Settling into the manual's posture, Zeke inhaled deeply. That was when he felt it.
The air around him was thick—denser than anywhere he had ever been. Wisps of pale fog drifted through the valley, luminous under the faint light. It wasn't mist. It was qi.
Not dispersed, not hidden—so abundant it had condensed into fog.
His heart pounded. Even the sect elders whispered of such things as legend, the kind of fortune only ancient sect founders encountered.
He drew in a single breath—and the fog surged into him like a flood. His meridians, once sluggish and battered, flared alive, greedily absorbing the energy.
Crack.
Crack.
One barrier shattered, then another. His cultivation surged upward, climbing with terrifying speed.
[ Cultivation Breakthrough: 4th Layer, Body Tempering Realm. ]
[ Cultivation Breakthrough: 5th Layer, Body Tempering Realm. ]
[ Cultivation Breakthrough: 6th Layer, Body Tempering Realm. ]
Each announcement rang like a war drum in his skull. His body trembled as his flesh hardened, bones ringing with new strength, blood boiling with vigor.
When he finally exhaled, a cloud of white mist burst from his mouth, scattering the qi fog around him. His entire body hummed with power.
Zeke looked at his hands, at the faint glow of qi beneath his skin. Hours ago, he had been crippled, discarded like trash. Now, he had risen three layers in one sitting.
And it was only the beginning.
His lips curled—not into the faint ghost of a smile this time, but into something sharper. Something overbearing.