Chapter One: Awakening

In the early hours before dawn, the sky was shrouded in misty haze above Xiushui City of Da Ning. A crescent moon hung on the horizon, casting a faint silvery glow.

Just as dawn was about to break, Henry Owen followed a caravan of twelve carriages to the entrance of the Sitong Escort Agency.

At this moment, the many escorts and guards in the caravan all breathed a sigh of relief, completely relaxing their nerves. The group chatted and laughed loudly, the atmosphere cheerful.

Henry Owen also smiled and exchanged a few words with his companions, but declined the invitation to go drink with them at the Hundred Flowers House.

No one minded. An older escort even laughed heartily, patting him on the shoulder and teasing, “Little Owen, are you shy? That won’t do! I already promised the girls at the Hundred Flowers House that I’d bring you over this time. They’re all waiting to try Buddy Owen’s head soup. Such a handsome Buddy—I wonder who’ll get lucky tonight?”

Henry Owen blushed at once and clasped his fists apologetically. “I really don’t have time. Today is the inner sect martial trial at Zhengyang Martial Hall, and I truly can’t get away. Next time, I’ll join you all for some fun when I’m free.”

When the escorts heard the words “Zhengyang Martial Hall,” they all showed understanding.

The older escort slapped his forehead. “Right, the martial trial! Little Owen, you’re an outer disciple of Zhengyang Martial Hall—how could I forget? You’d better hurry, don’t miss your big day.”

They then handed over the goods and settled their wages. To Henry Owen’s delight, the deputy head handed him six taels and two qian of magic silver.

Henry Owen tucked the silver into his chest, then pulled his luggage, a paper umbrella, and a spare single saber from the carriage, and hurried toward the south of the city.

By now, the rising sun had dispelled the darkness, dyeing the clouds at the horizon with brilliant, gorgeous colors.

Warm rays of morning light cascaded from above, bathing the entire Xiushui City in a golden glow.

Yet Henry Owen felt a bit uncomfortable, his skin faintly stinging under the sunlight, mixed with a burning sensation.

This pain, far more intense than usual, made Henry Owen frown slightly, and he began to worry about his health.

He focused his gaze ahead—or more precisely, at a phantom screen in his field of vision.

The screen was at the upper right corner of Henry Owen’s view and could be freely zoomed in or out with a thought.

Character: Henry Owen

Reputation: None

Martial Arts: Wind-Chasing Saber Technique (Fragment) (Level 1)

Vital Energy Technique: Nourishing Vitality Technique (Level 1 / Unranked)

Martial Points: None

Talent: Quick Hands

Status: Six Yin Soul-Returning Curse

Lifespan: 17 days

At the lower right of these lines, there was also a gray icon labeled “Martial Arts Treasury.”

Three months ago, when Henry Owen had just crossed into this world, this phantom screen had already appeared in his vision. At first, he thought it was a system and was quite excited.

Henry Owen had read many web novels and knew that any transmigrator with a system was destined for greatness.

Becoming an immortal or emperor was nothing; slaying gods and Buddhas was child’s play.

With a system “dad,” the road to success was wide open.

But the greater the expectation, the greater the disappointment.

Henry Owen had studied it for a long time but couldn’t figure out anything useful.

Over the past three months, he had tried everything: diligent cultivation, practicing saber techniques, even fighting monsters to level up, but the system panel showed no obvious changes.

Only the martial arts section displayed “Nourishing Vitality Technique (Level 1)” and “Wind-Chasing Saber Technique (Fragment) (Level 1),” but those were results of his own hard work.

The character panel on the screen seemed to be just that—a character panel.

It only had one function: letting him accurately assess his own status and lifespan.

After glancing at it for a moment, Henry Owen felt the burning sensation inside and outside his body intensify, as if he was about to be consumed from within.

He gave a wry smile at the “Six Yin Soul-Returning Curse,” then opened the paper umbrella he always carried and continued briskly toward Zhengyang Martial Hall.

Zhengyang Martial Hall was only three streets away from the Sitong Escort Agency.

It covered three thousand mu, spanning five whole streets. Outside stood a two-zhang-high bluestone wall stretching for miles, looking like a small city. The south gate was seven bays wide, painted entirely in vermilion, with copper inlays on the lintel, and above it, the four bold characters “Zhengyang Martial Hall” were inscribed in seal script.

On either side of the entrance squatted two stone lions, each over a zhang tall, exuding an imposing aura.

When Henry Owen arrived, the place was already packed.

People from all directions were streaming in, pouring into the martial hall. Inside was a bluestone training ground the size of six football fields, with more than a dozen temporary wooden sheds and over thirty wooden platforms.

Beneath the platforms, crowds milled about—not only countless youths participating in the inner sect martial trial, but also many townsfolk there to watch the excitement.

Henry Owen stepped through the gate and was looking around when someone gave his shoulder a heavy pat.

“Little Owen, you’re back?” A clear, bright female voice called out, though her words were a bit slurred.