“Wait… how do you know about that?” His voice was lower now, his skepticism replaced by a trace of doubt.

  Li’s eyes sparkled with a knowing look, the subtle traces of an unspoken truth. “You may have been raised far away from home,” he said softly, “but we never forgot you. The Amulet is what led me to you, Your Highness. It is the one thing that could bring the clan together.”

  A strange sensation twisted within him, something he couldn’t quite place. His heart thundered in his chest as images flickered at the edges of his mind—glimpses of a young baby boy in a magnificent palace, a darkened figure, a fierce fire. Each image felt both foreign and painfully familiar, as though they were pieces of someone else’s memory, yet somehow belonged to him as well.

  “Fine. So, let’s say, for the sake of progress,” Tian said, tilting his head, his expression indifferent. “Pretend you’re here to take me back to some so-called ‘destiny.’ Why should I believe you? You’re awfully tight-lipped for someone who claims to be my guide.”

  But even as he said the words, the memories continued to claw their way to the surface, relentless and unforgiving. Each one brought a wave of pain that reverberated through his skull, a throbbing ache that threatened to split his mind apart.

  Li inclined his head slightly. “Belief isn’t always necessary at the start. Truth has a way of revealing itself… regardless of what we choose to believe, Your Highness.”

  “Truth?” Tian echoed, voice low, his amusement tinged with irritation. “Let me guess. You’re here to enlighten me about my ‘heritage,’ the long-lost heir to a forgotten clan?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “If I had a silver coin for every time someone tried to spin that tale, I’d be a rich man.”

  Li Jinan watched him calmly, his expression unmoved. “Your Highness, you don’t have to believe me,” he replied softly. “But perhaps time only could be of significance, and family always has a way of coming together...”

  The words hung heavy in the air. For a moment, Tian’s face froze, his eyes narrowing as he studied Li’s face, searching for any sign of deception. He would tolerate all pranks, but not one about family.

  A wide grin appeared on Tian’s face with a sinister edge to it. “You must have done your research. If so then you should know when to call yourself to order.”

  “Perhaps not,” Li said, a faint note of patience in his tone. “After all, you were separated at a very tender age, for reasons best known to the Empress.”

  Tian’s gaze hardened, suspicion flashing in his eyes. “And what makes you think bringing some family bullshit would convince me? If you think I’ll fall for your theatrics, you’re mistaken.”

  Li’s expression softened slightly as if he expected this response. “I understand your skepticism, Your Highness. I cannot force you to believe me. But you must sense it—the truth within you.”

  Tian stared at him, his fingers twitching slightly as he considered the man’s words. Despite his nonchalant dismissal, there was an undeniable pull in Li’s presence, an echo that seemed to resonate with something buried deep inside him.

  “You are an interesting fellow,” he said finally, his voice laced with mock impatience. “Let’s say I’m interested. Just how far are you willing to go to prove yourself?”

  Li’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “As far as you demand, Your Highness. My life is yours, bound by the will of the Sacred Clan. All that I know, all that I am, belongs to you.”

  The weight of Li’s words struck Tian in a way he couldn’t fully hide. He felt his usual bravado falter for just a heartbeat, replaced by a mixture of intrigue and disbelief.

  He shook his head, forcing a grin. “You’re committed, I’ll give you that. But you still sound like you’re hiding something. So go on—what exactly is this ‘duty’ you’ve been clinging to for sixteen years?”

  Li hesitated for the first time, his eyes flickering with a hint of something unreadable. “There are things that cannot be revealed all at once. Some truths… must come in their own time.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Tian scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, spare me the mysterious sage routine. If you’ve really waited this long, then surely you have more to say than that.”

  Li’s smile faded, and he took a step closer, his expression unwavering. “Your Highness,” he said quietly, his tone unyielding, “I’m sure the Monks who raised you must have told you something about my arrival.”

  A flicker of something passed over Tian’s face—a brief lapse of his otherwise playful demeanor. “Mistress’s son?” he repeated, his voice almost too soft as if tasting the words for the first time. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, faint images stirred, like distant echoes in a forgotten memory. He saw fleeting glimpses of faces, and fragments of stories, and heard the old men who raised him whispering strange words when they thought he was in deep slumber. A sudden pain surged through his head before falling unconscious.

  ‘…when the time is right, they will come for you.’

  Tian’s body lay still, but within his mind, a flicker of memory stirred. Dark lashes trembled over his closed eyes as visions swept him away into fragments of the past, vivid and alive, as if each memory had been waiting patiently for this moment to reveal itself.

  The fragrance of ancient incense filled the air. White-robed monks, their faces lined with eternity, sat in quiet meditation. Towering pillars carved with forgotten scriptures reached into the sky—A young boy, no more than three, sat cross-legged on a marble floor. His silver hair, though shorter than the wild mane he would one day have, still gleamed under the temple's golden light.

  Before him, an ancient tome lay open—its pages humming with a quiet, unfathomable power. The Creation Manual.

  "All martial knowledge…"

  It was said that whoever could comprehend this manual could trace back the origin of all techniques, unraveling the very fabric of power itself.

  Yet the boy did not struggle, as if he had always known, the words and diagrams flowed into his mind effortlessly.

  Back in the present, the edges of Tian’s consciousness wavered, his awareness flickering between memory and reality. A nagging sense of incompleteness gnawed at him as he drifted deeper, each memory pulling him further back, unraveling like threads of a forgotten tapestry.

  Another vision took form. Tian, slightly older now, around six, was walking the temple grounds, his gaze thoughtful as he observed the monks engaged in sparring. Their movements were precise, their stances flawless, but the young boy’s brow furrowed, as if dissatisfied. Finally, unable to hold back, he approached one of the older monks.

  “Teacher,” he murmured, his voice small but clear, “your stance looks funny. You’re leaving your right side open.”

  The monk turned, startled by the child’s observation. He adjusted his stance, testing the weight on his feet, then looked down at Tian with an expression somewhere between astonishment and respect. “You see much for one so young,” he said with a faint smile, patting Tian’s head. “Perhaps one day, you’ll teach us.”

  The boy’s lips curved into a subtle smile, though his eyes remained focused, absorbing the techniques like a sponge. Already, he was surpassing expectations, and though the monks didn’t say it aloud, the whispers of awe grew louder with each passing day. Tian’s connection to martial arts was more than talent; it was instinct as if he were born into it.

  The flicker of images shifted again, this time to a high mountain peak under a bruised, stormy sky. Tian, now barely eight years old, stood before an ancient text, The Creation Manual. This was no ordinary tome but a relic of forgotten wisdom, said to be the origin of all martial arts and thought to be the only copy in existence. Its pages whispered of secrets even the gods had forgotten, techniques capable of bending the very essence of reality.

  Tian’s young fingers traced the intricate characters on the brittle pages, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that belied his age. As he read, the world around him faded, his mind opening to the vast ocean of knowledge before him. Time held no meaning; hours passed like minutes as he absorbed the ancient wisdom with uncanny ease.

  Around him, six figures loomed, their divine auras burning like miniature suns. Their faces twisted in disdain. "You do not belong here."

  "Your very existence is an insult to the heavens."

  The eight-year-old Tian did not flinch, instead he raised a single finger.

  Rumble!

  Suddenly, the air shook violently and the fabric of the world split with spatial cracks appearing and disappearing from nowhere.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  The next moment, the six gods were on their knees, coughing blood. Their divine bodies trembled, cracks forming as if their own existence was rejecting them.

  "Did you think…" Tian’s voice was calm, terrifyingly calm for a child. "That I would not understand?"

  Crack!

  He took one step forward, and in that instant—their immortal bodies shattered. Tian’s movements were fluid yet lethal, each step imbued with the knowledge he had just absorbed. Within moments, he was a whirlwind of motion, his tiny form appearing and disappearing at will. And one by one, they fell, their ethereal forms scattered to the winds.

  Gods.

  Erased.

  With a whisper—the memories fragmented, shifting again, taking him further into a realm he didn’t even understand. The sky was painted in crimson, entire palaces reduced to ruin, their once-pristine walls blackened by fire. Screams tore through the air. The scent of blood and ashes clung to everything.

  Figures clad in black armor descended from the heavens, their blades dripping with divine energy. They moved with one purpose—to slaughter.

  Amidst the destruction, a woman held a swaddled infant tightly against her chest. Her body riddled with wounds, but her golden fiery eyes still burned with defiance.

  "You will not have him."