The servants helped William dress before escorting him out of his residence.
Behind him, Maid Grecia watched his departing figure, her eyes brimming with barely concealed hatred.
This bitch, William thought coldly. What did the original owner of this body ever do to provoke such resentment?
His gaze hardened.
Whatever. If she crosses the line, I'll end her.
He walked along the green stone path, quietly adjusting to his new body. After a brief assessment, his verdict was merciless.
"This body really is trash," he muttered.
Skinny frame.
Weak muscles.
Almost no foundation.
But he wasn't worried.
"I'm only fifteen," William said calmly. "With proper training, I can rebuild this body to my previous condition within three months."
A faint smile appeared.
"And I'm a prince."
Resources, training equipment, rare medicines, proper diet—none of that would be a problem.
"This world doesn't lack opportunity," he concluded.
"It only lacks those who know how to seize it."
Guided by the hazy memories of this body, William followed the familiar stone path. Along the way, he passed through several palace quarters.
One of them caught his attention immediately.
The Meditation Quarter.
Within its boundaries stood artificial mountains and winding streams. Royals—men, women, and even children—sat calmly in meditation, spiritual energy faintly rippling around them. They wore elegant silk robes, their expressions serene.
Only those who had awakened their bloodline were permitted to cultivate here.
William slowed his steps, studying them with keen interest.
Minutes later, he moved on.
Ahead stood another courtyard, its name carved in bold letters upon a stone arch:
Martial Hall
Inside, hundreds of men and women were sparring. Fists collided, weapons clashed, and shouts echoed through the air.
William observed briefly.
"Not impressive," he muttered.
He was about to leave when movement in an adjacent courtyard drew his attention.
Two middle-aged men were engaged in combat.
From his inherited memories, William recognized them instantly—his royal uncles from the third branch of the king's lineage.
Monsoon Drake and Sunny Drake.
Despite appearances suggesting they were barely in their early twenties, William knew better.
Both were over sixty years old.
In this world, youth was meaningless without strength.
And that alone told him how powerful they were.
The moment William stepped into the courtyard, both men sensed him.
Monsoon merely glanced his way, his expression indifferent.
Sunny, however, snorted coldly, open annoyance and disdain flashing across his face.
Neither spoke.
They turned back to their sparring.
With an audience present, their movements grew sharper—more aggressive.
William watched calmly, a faint grin forming.
To them, I'm just a useless boy with crippled cultivation, he thought.
In a world ruled by strength, that makes sense.
They refrained from outright insults only because he was a direct royal prince.
But that protection ends soon.
In six months, he would turn sixteen.
If he failed to awaken his bloodline by then, he would be expelled from the palace—cast into the mundane world as a mortal.
His thoughts were interrupted by Monsoon's mocking voice.
"Why do you keep challenging me?" Monsoon said casually. "I've beaten you in over a hundred spars already. Admit it, Sunny—you'll always be behind me."
Sunny's expression didn't waver.
"We'll see about that," he barked.
He dashed forward.
William's eyes narrowed.
Fast.
Sunny's speed shocked even him. Palm strikes flowed in rapid succession, shifting seamlessly between styles.
Monsoon reacted just as quickly, blocking and countering with similar palm techniques.
"They're using the same martial art," William murmured.
A chill ran through him.
If even one of those strikes landed on me…
Even at the peak of his previous life as an assassin—
I'd die instantly.
He exhaled slowly.
"…Too strong."
Every palm strike they exchanged carried lethal intent, refined to the extreme. The spar continued in a deadlock for several minutes—until Monsoon suddenly changed.
His palm thrust forward again.
This time, William saw it clearly.
A faint glow wrapped around Monsoon's hand.
Sunny reacted instantly, blocking with a similar palm strike—his own hands coated in a yellowish radiance.
"What is that?" William's eyes widened.
He searched through the fragmented memories of this body and finally found an answer.
Qi.
The rudimentary manifestation of Qi intent.
Earlier, in the Meditation Quarter, those cultivators had been drawing this strange energy from the surroundings and storing it within their bodies.
"So Qi is the source of power here," William muttered inwardly.
"But is it tied to bloodline awakening?"
He frowned.
The former owner of this body was too busy indulging himself to know anything useful.
Once Qi was involved, the balance shifted.
Monsoon gradually broke the stalemate, landing three heavy palm strikes on Sunny's chest.
Sunny spat blood but laughed hoarsely. "Is that all you've got? Let's see if you can still be smug after this."
He shifted his stance—arms spreading, left leg rising.
An overbearing aura erupted outward.
The pressure crashed down without warning.
William's vision wavered as his body nearly buckled forward.
But—
He wasn't the William of yesterday.
Years of life-and-death experience screamed at him. His instincts flared, his breathing adjusted, and he barely managed to steady himself—back straight, feet planted.
Sunny noticed.
His expression darkened.
His aura hadn't even forced a crippled prince to kneel.
Monsoon burst out laughing. "Pathetic. You activated your dragon bloodline and still couldn't suppress a child?"
He stepped forward.
"Watch closely. This is how it's done."
His own aura surged as his bloodline awakened.
The pressure doubled.
William felt it immediately.
This one was stronger.
But this time—
He was ready.
He stood unmoving, as if he felt nothing at all.
Sunny stared for a moment—then burst into laughter.
The two uncles had unknowingly turned William into a tool for their sparring.
That thought angered him.
Even in this unfamiliar world—
He was still the man who once made killers tremble. The pride of his last life was still present in him.
William lifted his head.
And glared.
A chill rippled through the courtyard.
Both uncles stiffened.
For an instant, it felt as if death itself had brushed past their spines.
A sensation disturbingly similar to the pressure their own grandfather once radiated.
Sunny swallowed. "That killing intent… am I imagining things?"
Monsoon narrowed his eyes. "No. It came from that brat."
He scoffed. "Only someone who's slaughtered mountains of people could emit something like that. This must be an illusion."
His gaze turned cold.
"Let's teach this cripple his place."
They nodded.
William couldn't hear their conversation—Qi cloaked their voices—but he knew immediately.
Damn it… my mistake.
I leaked killing intent.
The pressure exploded.
It doubled instantly.
William groaned as a crushing force slammed down on him, like a mountain pressing against his body. His legs trembled—then gave way.
But he roared and forced himself upright.
Weak muscles screamed as they contracted violently. Sweat poured down his body in streams.
Still—
He stood.
That only enraged them further.
They increased the pressure again.
This time, even they were shocked.
William's body bent slightly under the weight—yet he was still resisting.
"What the hell?" Sunny snapped. "This brat is too stubborn. I won't hold back anymore."
He poured more Qi into the suppression.
William felt as if the sky had collapsed.
His vision blurred. His strength shattered.
He was forced down onto one knee.
The pressure did not relent.
William groaned, blood spilling from his nose as he glared at the two men.
The blood slid down his chin—
And smeared across the black dragon pendant hanging at his neck.
Something changed.
William felt the world twist violently as his consciousness was dragged into darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself standing inside a vast stone cavern.
The air was heavy—oppressive.
Danger pressed in from every direction.
He had been marked.
Slowly, William turned his head.
Not far from him lay an enormous black creature, its massive body coiled against the cavern floor. A pair of ancient, terrifying eyes locked onto him.
William's breath hitched.
A dragon.
A real one.
His instincts screamed at him to flee, but he forced himself to calm down. Panic was useless here.
The dragon watched him carefully.
Then, unexpectedly, a trace of interest flickered in its eyes.
"Hmph," the creature spoke, its voice sounding like that of an ancient old man.
"Not bad. You regained your composure quickly."
William steadied his breathing. "What are you?" he asked evenly. "And why am I here?"
The black dragon chuckled and slowly rose, its massive form crawling closer.
Only then did William see them.
Chains.
Ten enormous yellowish chains bound the dragon's body—wrapped tightly around its four limbs, one around its neck, two binding each wing, and one piercing through the tip of its tail.
The dragon was imprisoned.
"That bastard…" the dragon growled. "He actually sent me a little mouse to be my master."
Its roar thundered through the cavern.
The sound shattered William's vision—
He snapped back into his body.
The crushing pressure that had pinned him down was gone.
William tried to stand. Every fiber of his muscles screamed in agony, pain surging through his body.
But he had endured far worse in his previous life.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright.
The courtyard was silent.
His uncles were gone.
William straightened slowly and looked toward the empty space where they had stood moments earlier.
A faint, dangerous smile appeared on his face.
"Since you chose me as your target," he murmured,
"I'll be sure to repay this kindness—properly... Soon,"