Darkness. That was the last thing he remembered. The sharp smell of burning insulation, the crackle of electricity arcing through the air, and the deafening roar of an explosion that tore through the factory floor. He had been standing in front of the control panel, shouting at the technicians to shut down the line, that the cooling system was failing, that the regulators were overloaded. No one listened. They never did. He had run the diagnostics a dozen times, checked the circuits, the load distribution, and the safety redundancies. It was all wrong. He had known it would fail. And then it did.
The blast threw him back, the world spinning in a haze of fire and smoke. He remembered the sensation of his body breaking, the helplessness of watching his own warnings ignored, the bitter taste of failure. His last thought had been simple, almost childish. If only I had more time… I could have fixed it.
He had been an engineer, but not just one kind. He had studied electronics and mechanical engineering, a double degree that had made him both versatile and dangerous in the job market. A typical Asian son, pushed by his parents to excel, was sent overseas to an Ivy League university to carry the family's pride.
He had studied hard, worked harder, and built a career that spanned factories, laboratories, and assembly plants. He had designed circuit boards, automated machines, robotic arms, and industrial systems. He had lived by numbers, by logic, by systems.
He had been the man who could debug a microcontroller in the morning and oversee the assembly of a turbine in the afternoon. He had worked in both light and heavy industries, from precision electronics to massive production lines.
And yet, in the end, none of it mattered. Negligence, arrogance, and greed had killed him. Not his own mistakes, but the system's.
And then—darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, he was not in a hospital. He was lying in a rattling carriage, his chest aching, his breath shallow. His hands were thin, trembling, and his body felt like it was leaking from the inside. He blinked, staring at the wooden ceiling above him, the faint smell of dust and old leather filling his nose. His throat was dry, his voice hoarse when he whispered,
"…Where… am I?"
The voice that came out was not his own. It was weaker, younger, trembling. He tried to sit up, but pain shot through his chest, and he fell back with a groan. His body felt wrong. Too light, too fragile, as if it might break at any moment. His muscles were weak, his bones brittle. He clenched his hands, staring at the thin fingers. These were not his hands.
Memories that were not his own surged into his mind. A noble house. A kingdom called Velthavn. A family name—Veyr. A boy born crippled, mocked by his siblings, pitied by his mother, and ignored by his father. A boy who could not cultivate, whose meridians were fractured from birth. A boy who had been branded useless, a shame to his family.
The engineer's mind and the boy's despair collided, twisting together until they were one. Kael clutched his head, groaning.
"Two lives… two sets of memories…"
He saw flashes of his past life: circuit diagrams, robotic arms, machines humming in factories, the explosion, the darkness. He saw flashes of this new life: the Guild's hall, the nobles' sneers, the whispers of "cripple" and "traitor." He saw his mother's tearful eyes, his father's cold silence, and his siblings' contempt. He saw the moment the array collapsed under his touch, the hall erupting in whispers, the nobles seizing the chance to destroy House Veyr.
Slowly, the storm of memories settled. He was Kael Ardyn Veyr now. The body of a crippled noble, the mind of a modern engineer.
The carriage jolted, and he looked around. The wooden walls were rough, the air smelled of dust and old leather. Outside, he could hear the creak of wheels and the steady clop of hooves. A driver's voice called back.
"Young master, are you awake?"
Kael blinked. The voice belonged to an old retainer, his name surfacing from the boy's memories.
"Yes… I'm awake."
The driver hesitated. "We are nearing Kaelvar. The land grows worse the closer we come. Are you sure you want to stay here?"
Kael gave a bitter laugh. His throat was dry, but the sound came out sharp. "Stay? I wasn't given a choice. Exile isn't something you choose."
The driver fell silent.
Kael leaned back, closing his eyes. He let the memories of this world wash over him. A kingdom ruled by the Mage Towers. Nobles who lived and died by their cultivation talent. A society where "affinity" was everything, and those without it were trash. He saw the structure of the continent through the boy's memories.
The Mage Towers, the Martial Orders, the Grand Church, the Assassin's Guild, the Merchant Guilds, the Adventurer's Guild. Six pillars that held up society, independent and powerful, respected by all kingdoms. The Mage Towers regulated mages, issuing ranks and recognition.
The Martial Orders regulated warriors, functioning like mercenary guilds. The Grand Church crowned kings and declared heresy. The Assassin's Guild dealt in shadows and secrets. The Merchant Guilds regulated trade, issuing licenses and credibility. The Adventurer's Guild managed exploration, beast hunts, and dungeons. Together, they were the true rulers of the continent, above kings and nobles.
Kael touched his chest, feeling the strange weakness that spread through his body. The meridians inside him pulsed faintly, leaking energy in uneven bursts. It was painful, but more than that, it was… patterned. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation. The flow of mana wasn't random—it moved along channels, branching, converging, and looping back, like a network.
His breath caught. This… this feels familiar.
Images from his past life surfaced: circuit diagrams, current flowing through wires, voltage regulators, resistors, capacitors. The way mana coursed through the body was almost identical to how electricity traveled through a machine. The meridians were wires, the nodes were junctions, the dantian was a power core.
His eyes snapped open, staring at the wooden ceiling above him. "So that's what cultivation is… a circuit. Mana flows like a current. The body is just the machine that carries it."
For the first time since awakening in this fragile body, Kael felt a spark of clarity. The despair of the boy who had lived here before was real, but to him, this was something else entirely. It wasn't mystical. It wasn't unknowable. It was a system. And systems could be understood.
The driver's voice broke the silence again. "Young master… forgive me for asking, but… do you hate them? The Guild? The nobles who condemned you?"
Kael's lips curled into a thin smile. "Hate? No. Hate is useless. I understand them. They feared embarrassment. They feared losing power. So they buried me." His eyes narrowed. "But when you bury something, sometimes it grows."
The driver shivered at the tone, but said nothing.
Kael closed his eyes again, sinking into the merged memories. He saw the kingdom through the boy's eyes: the capital city of Velthavn, the towering Guild halls, the endless lectures about affinity and talent. He saw the contempt in his siblings' eyes, the pity in his mother's, the cold indifference of his father. He saw the courtroom, the nobles' accusations, the Guildmaster's cold verdict. He saw his mother dragged away, his father stripped of title, his siblings denouncing him. He saw the manor burned, the banners torn down, the name Veyr erased.
And he saw the accident. The array collapsing under his touch, the hall erupting in whispers, the nobles seizing the chance to destroy House Veyr. The engineer's mind analyzed it differently.
It wasn't sabotage. It was resonance. His leaking mana struck the weak point of the array. Even a cripple's accident exposed their flaw. If an accident can dismantle their sacred system, what could deliberate design achieve?
Kael's hand clenched into a fist. "This world thinks me crippled. But I see the truth. Their cultivation is just another machine. And machines can be rebuilt."
The carriage jolted again, and Kael opened his eyes. Through the small window, he saw the land stretching out. Gray soil, cracked fields, lifeless trees. Kaelvar. The cursed fief. The driver muttered a prayer.
"Even the spirits have forsaken this place…"
Kael's eyes narrowed. "No. Not forsaken. Just left to rot. And rot can be cleared away."
He leaned back, his body aching, but his mind sharper.
The carriage rocked steadily, wheels grinding against the uneven stones of the old road. Kael sat in silence, his thin body swaying with each jolt. His eyes were half-lidded, but his mind was far from resting. The storm of memories he had inherited from the body's original owner still lingered, and he let them play out, one after another, like a trial he could not escape.
House Veyr.
Once, the name had carried weight. They were not the oldest noble house, nor the richest, but they had been respected for their craft. For generations, the Veyrs had been master forgers of enchanted steel, their smiths producing weapons and armor prized across the kingdom. Their forges burned hotter, their arrays etched cleaner, their products lasting longer than any rival's. Nobles and generals alike had sought their contracts.
But success breeds envy. And envy festers.
Kael could see it now, through the boy's memories. The way rival houses whispered in the Guild halls. The way Lord Hadrien of House Malvek sneered whenever the Veyr crest was displayed. The way minor nobles muttered that House Veyr had grown arrogant, that their contracts were too many, their influence too wide. Even the Mage Towers had begun to watch with wary eyes, for a noble house that controlled too much of the kingdom's armament was a house that could not be ignored.
And then came the mistake.
It had been during a Guild demonstration. The Veyrs had been tasked with maintaining one of the kingdom's defensive arrays, a formation that powered the barrier protecting the capital. Kael who was crippled and weak but still desperate to prove himself, had been allowed to assist. His father had thought it harmless, a gesture to let the boy feel included. His siblings had mocked him, whispering that he would only embarrass them.
And then, as Kael touched the array, his leaking mana surged. His fractured meridians could not contain it. The energy spilled out, uncontrolled, striking the array at its weakest point. The formation shuddered, cracked, and collapsed in a burst of sparks.
The hall had erupted in chaos.
And soon after, the trial was convened.
The great chamber of the Mage Tower was filled with nobles, their silks rustling as they leaned forward to watch. At the center stood House Veyr. Lord Alaric Veyr, tall and stern, his wife pale with worry, his children lined behind him. And at the very front, trembling in shame, the crippled boy—Kael.
At the dais, the Guildmaster presided, robed in deep blue, the sigil of the Mage Towers gleaming on his chest. To his right sat the scribes, quills poised. To his left, the noble arbiters, chosen to represent the Crown's interest.
The Guildmaster's voice rang out, cold and measured. "This hearing is convened to address the collapse of the capital's defensive array. The incident occurred under the hand of Kael Ardyn Veyr, son of Lord Alaric Veyr. The charge brought forth: sabotage and treason against the kingdom."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Lord Hadrien Malvek rose from the benches, his voice sharp. "The facts are plain. The boy touched the array, and it failed. The barrier protecting our capital fell. What greater proof of treachery is needed? House Veyr has grown too powerful, too arrogant. They sought to weaken the kingdom itself."
The Guildmaster raised a hand. "Lord Veyr, you may answer."
Lord Alaric Veyr stepped forward. His voice was deep, steady, carrying the weight of a noble who still bore the pride of his house.
"My son is no saboteur. He was born crippled, his meridians fractured. His mana leaks without control. What occurred was an accident, nothing more. House Veyr has armed this kingdom for generations. Our steel has defended its borders, our forges have supplied its armies. To accuse us of treason based on a child's misstep is an insult to our legacy."
The arbiters whispered among themselves. One, a gray-haired noble, leaned forward. "And yet the array collapsed. Can you deny that it was under your son's hand?"
Alaric's jaw tightened. "I do not deny it. But intent matters. Treason requires will. My son has no such will. He has suffered mockery and pity all his life, but he has never once raised his hand against his kin or his kingdom. To condemn us for this is to condemn every noble house for the accidents of their children."
Lady Veyr cried out, her voice breaking. "He is only a boy! He doesn't understand the weight of what happened!"
The Guildmaster's gaze was unmoved. "And yet the kingdom's defenses fell. The people demand accountability."
Lord Hadrien's lips curled into a smile. "Accountability, yes. And justice. House Veyr has long hidden behind its forges, growing fat on contracts while others bled. Now their arrogance has undone them. I say strip them of title and land, and let their name be erased."
The hall erupted in murmurs again. Some nobles nodded eagerly, others looked uneasy.
Alaric Veyr's voice thundered over them. "You would erase centuries of loyalty for a single accident? You would brand my house traitors to satisfy envy? If this is justice, then it is justice twisted by greed."
The Guildmaster raised his hand once more, and silence fell. His eyes swept the hall, cold and final. "The evidence is clear. The array collapsed under the hand of Kael Ardyn Veyr. Whether by intent or by weakness, the result is the same: the kingdom was endangered. The Mage Towers cannot overlook this. This seat pronounces House Veyr guilty of treason. Their lands are forfeit, their forges seized, their name struck from the rolls of nobility. The boy, Kael Ardyn Veyr, shall be exiled to Kaelvar, there to live or die as fate decrees."
Lady Veyr screamed, struggling against the guards who seized her. "No! He is innocent! You cannot—"
Alaric Veyr stood tall, though his eyes burned with fury. He did not beg. He did not plead. He looked at the Guildmaster, at the nobles who had whispered and schemed, and his voice was like steel.
"You may strip our name from your records, but you cannot erase our legacy. One day, the truth will burn through your lies."
The sentence was struck, the banners of House Veyr torn down, and the boy's world collapsed into ashes.
Kael opened his eyes in the carriage, the memory fading. His hand trembled as he clenched it into a fist. One mistake. One accident. And they buried an entire house.
The driver's voice broke the silence. "Young master… Kaelvar is not far now. You should prepare yourself."
Kael looked out the small window. The land stretched gray and broken. The soil was cracked, the trees lifeless. Once, Kaelvar had been fertile, but now it was cursed. The Guild had abandoned it, the nobles had stripped it, and the people left behind were thin and hollow-eyed. It was a graveyard of a fief, a place where exiles were sent to be forgotten.
"What kind of place is it?" Kael asked, his voice low.
The driver hesitated. "Kaelvar… it was once rich in iron and coal. The forges burned day and night. But the mines collapsed, the land soured, and beasts began to roam freely. The Guild declared it cursed. No arrays are maintained there. No crops grow. Only the desperate remain."
Kael leaned back, his gaze steady as the ruined land stretched before him. "So this is Kaelvar… abandoned, but not beyond repair. If rot remains, then it can be cleared away."
The driver glanced back, his eyes filled with pity. "Forgive me, young master, but… your body… it is weak. Even without exile, you…" He trailed off.
Kael closed his eyes, focusing inward. He could feel it now, more clearly than before. The meridians inside him were cracked, leaking mana with every pulse. It was like a machine with broken wiring, current spilling out where it should not. His chest ached, his limbs trembled, his breath came shallow.
So this is what the boy lived with, Kael thought. Constant pain. Constant weakness. No wonder he despaired.
But as he focused, more of the boy's memories surfaced. Lessons from tutors, lectures from Guild instructors, whispers from siblings. He saw diagrams of meridians, charts of mana flow, and explanations of cultivation stages. He remembered the words of a stern instructor: "Mana flows through the body like water through channels. The dantian is the
reservoir. The meridians are the rivers. If the rivers are blocked, the flow stagnates. If the rivers are cracked, the flow leaks."
Kael's eyes narrowed. Water through channels… no. Not water. Current.
He recalled his own past life, the hum of machines, the glow of circuit boards. The way electricity flowed through wires, branching, and converging, was regulated by resistors and capacitors. The similarity was undeniable. Mana was current. Meridians were circuits. The body was the machine.
His lips curved into a faint smile. "So that's what cultivation is… a circuit. Mana flows like a current. The body is just the machine that carries it."
The driver glanced back, confused. "Young master?"
Kael shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking aloud."
He leaned back again, his mind racing. The original Kael had seen only despair in his broken meridians. But to him, this was something else entirely. It wasn't mystical. It wasn't unknowable. It was a system. And systems could be understood.
The carriage jolted as it descended a hill, and Kaelvar came into view. The manor was a ruin, its walls crumbling, its banners torn. The village below was half-empty, its people gaunt and weary. The fields were barren, the soil cracked.
The driver muttered a prayer. "Even the spirits have forsaken this place…"
Kael's eyes narrowed. "No. Not forsaken. Just left to rot. And rot can be cleared away."
He pressed a hand to his chest again, feeling the leaking mana. It hurt, but it also gave him clarity. This body is broken. But broken systems can be rebuilt. If mana is current, then there must be a way to reroute it. If cultivation is a circuit, then even a cripple can find a path.
The boy had been exiled to die. The man had died trying to build. Together, they would build again.
The carriage rolled closer to the ruined fief, and Kael let his eyes close once more, sinking deeper into the inherited memories. He saw flashes of his siblings' faces—his elder brother sneering, his younger sister looking away in shame. He remembered the nobles' whispers in the courtroom, the way they had leaned forward like vultures scenting blood. He remembered his father's voice, steady and proud even as the sentence was passed.
"You may strip our name from your records, but you cannot erase our legacy. One day, the truth will burn through your lies."
Those words echoed in Kael's mind, resonating with something deep within him. The boy had been crushed by them, too weak to carry their weight. But the man who now bore those memories felt something else. A challenge. A promise.
Kael opened his eyes, staring at the ruined horizon of Kaelvar. His lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Then let's begin."