Chapter 1 — A New World, A Useless Gift
The world faded to black the moment the truck's headlights swallowed Ashen's frail body.
He remembered the cold—the sharp pain of impact—and then... nothing.
When he opened his eyes again, the sky was unfamiliar. Twin suns bathed the landscape in soft golden light, and foreign constellations sprawled across the heavens. A cool breeze brushed his skin, carrying scents he couldn't recognize—floral, metallic, and something faintly bitter.
Ashen lay still for a long moment, disoriented. His black hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. Slowly, he sat up, wincing at the dull ache in his bones. The ground beneath him was soft grass, unlike anything back on Earth.
"Where... am I?" he whispered hoarsely.
A flood of memories not his own invaded his mind. They showed a boy — also named Ashen — growing up in a small town called Liora, on a planet that mirrored Earth but was wilder, harsher. A world where monsters prowled, ancient ruins waited, and humanity survived through cultivation — the art of strengthening body and spirit to defy nature itself.
He wasn't just a visitor. He was Ashen now.
No return. No second chance.
As he processed the truth, another wave hit him — this time information, as if some invisible force were branding it onto his soul:
> Skill Acquired: Soul Merge
(Allows fusion with compatible, dying lifeforms. Caution: High risk of soul instability.)
That was it.
No legendary sword. No godlike physique. No system interface with stats and rewards.
Just... an obscure, dangerous ability that sounded utterly useless.
Ashen laughed bitterly, a short, broken sound.
After dying once, all he had gained was a curse disguised as a "gift."
He looked down at his hands. They were slender, pale — the hands of a sixteen-year-old student.
No sudden surge of strength. No magical energy coursing through his veins. Just the same fragile body, carrying the weight of shattered expectations.
From nearby, he heard footsteps — hurried, concerned.
A woman with kind eyes and familiar features rushed over. His new mother, his memories whispered. She called his name again and again, her voice trembling.
Ashen stood shakily.
A new family. A new world. A new life.
And nothing to show for it except a ticking clock and a useless ability.
---
The house he returned to was modest, nestled at the edge of town.
His parents — loving but stern — ran a small herb shop, selling spiritual plants to wandering cultivators and monster hunters.
His new "siblings" were still young, innocent, and noisy.
Ashen barely spoke during dinner, head bowed, mind racing.
This world was cruel.
Strength ruled everything.
Without power, he would be crushed like an ant beneath the feet of monsters and men alike.
Even children here began cultivation training at the age of five.
Ashen, reborn into a sixteen-year-old body, was already considered "late-blooming" and "ordinary" at best.
At night, lying in a simple bed, he stared at the rough wooden ceiling. His soul still itched from the forced information download earlier.
"Soul Merge..." he thought grimly.
It wasn't just useless. It was dangerous.
If he tried to merge with the wrong creature, he could lose himself completely, becoming nothing but a hollow puppet.
No wonder the universe had offered it to him freely.
He clenched his fists under the thin blanket.
He had no talent.
He had no powerful backing.
He had no golden finger that made gods tremble.
But he was alive.
And so long as he lived, he would fight.
Ashen turned his head slightly.
On the small nightstand, a thick, battered book sat waiting — Cultivation Basics: A Path to Survival.
He picked it up, flipping through its yellowed pages by moonlight.
Breathing techniques, energy circulation, meridian diagrams... The words blurred together at first, but he forced himself to read, and read, and read until his eyes stung.
"If all I have is effort, then effort will be my sword."
"If all I have is patience, then patience will be my shield."
Somewhere deep inside him, a flicker of stubbornness — a tiny ember — began to glow.
---
Morning came with a harsh knock at the door.
Ashen's father stood there, a grim expression on his face.
"Wake up. Time to register for the Outer School," he said.
The Outer School — a local cultivation academy where commoners trained, if they were lucky enough to afford tuition or pass entrance trials.
Ashen nodded silently, heart pounding.
He wasn't ready.
He had no foundation, no experience, no blessings.
And yet... he had no choice.
---
The academy grounds were bustling with hopeful youths.
Banners waved in the wind, each proclaiming bold slogans:
"Only the Strong Ascend!"
"Tread the Path of Stars!"
Ashen watched them all, feeling the weight of countless invisible gazes.
Everywhere he looked, he saw confidence, arrogance, excitement.
He tightened his grip on the simple wooden token they gave him — a candidate's badge.
He didn't know how he would survive here.
He didn't know if he even could survive.
But he would try.
Ashen looked up at the twin suns again, their light burning fiercely overhead.
"Soul Merge or no Soul Merge," he thought grimly, "I will carve a place for myself in this world. Even if I have to crawl through blood and fire to do it."