Morning arrived quietly.
Soft golden light spilled over the distant mountains, breaking through layers of mist and cloud. The rising sun painted the sky with pale orange and faint crimson, as if the heavens themselves were waking from a long sleep. Spiritual birds flew across the horizon, their shadows stretching over ancient land that had witnessed countless rises and falls.
Keil Voss stood beside the window.
He did not move.
He did not breathe deeply in admiration like others would.
He simply watched.
"The morning sun rises above the mountains," he thought calmly,
"just as I rise beyond reality… beyond existence itself."
His reflection in the crystal window was steady. Young, composed, and terrifyingly controlled. The Demonic Phoenix mark on his forehead was faint under the sunlight, yet it felt heavier than ever. It was as if the sun itself avoided shining directly upon it.
This morning was not ordinary.
It was precise.
Exact.
A coincidence so perfect that it could not be called coincidence at all.
This was the day when the Chosen Enlightenment began.
Keil Voss narrowed his eyes slightly.
"The timing is flawless," he thought.
"To return at the exact moment this competition begins…"
The Chosen Enlightenment was not a simple festival.
It was a ritualized trial, a grand event that had continued for generations. Every few decades, it was held to select individuals worthy of carrying the title of Chosen Ones. Those who succeeded gained more than honor—they gained authority, influence, and the attention of powers that ruled from the shadows.
In his previous life, this festival had marked the beginning of his downfall.
Back then, he had been younger.
Sharper than most, but still naïve.
He had gathered a team, trained them, guided them through countless dangers, and carried them to the peak using his intelligence and foresight. He had believed that shared struggle would create loyalty.
That belief had cost him everything.
"At the final moment," Keil Voss remembered coldly,
"my own subordinates betrayed me."
They stole the title.
They stole the glory.
They presented his strategies as their own.
And when he confronted them, they smiled and called it fate.
He never forgot those smiles.
But now—
"This time," he thought,
"the one participating is not a naïve young man."
His eyes sharpened.
"It is a demon with more than two hundred years of experience."
Victory was no longer uncertain.
It was inevitable.
Keil Voss turned away from the window and began walking through the room. His movements were slow, measured, as if every step had already been calculated far in advance.
"This world," he reflected,
"is cruel in a different way."
Here, bloodline mattered more than effort.
More than talent.
More than will.
Most people could not even cultivate.
They were born ordinary, lived ordinary lives, and died without ever touching true power. Cultivation resources were monopolized by great families and ancient clans. Without lineage, one's ceiling was decided at birth.
The Voss Family stood at the top of this system.
Wealth beyond imagination.
Resources flowing like rivers.
Ancient cultivation manuals locked away from the outside world.
Technically, Keil Voss did not need to participate in the Chosen Enlightenment at all.
After all, the festival itself was organized by his family.
If he wanted status, it could be handed to him quietly.
If he wanted authority, it could be arranged behind closed doors.
But—
"So what?" he thought coldly.
Reputation was different.
Reputation could not be given.
It had to be taken.
"This festival will give me something far more valuable than resources," he reasoned.
"It will give me recognition."
Public.
Absolute.
Unavoidable.
Once his name was engraved into the minds of every clan, sect, and hidden power, his future moves would become easier. Allies would hesitate. Enemies would reveal themselves. Opportunities would naturally come to him.
Reputation was leverage.
And leverage was power.
"This is an upper hand I will not ignore," he decided.
Keil Voss stopped before a mirror and adjusted his robe calmly.
The Chosen Enlightenment was not a competition of brute force alone.
That was what made it dangerous.
Strength mattered—but so did intelligence, adaptability, knowledge, and psychological control. Many had failed because they were strong but stupid. Others had died because they were clever but weak.
In his previous life, Keil Voss had mastered every aspect.
And still, he had lost—
Not because of the trials.
But because of betrayal.
He clenched his fingers slowly, then relaxed them.
"This time," he thought,
"I will not share my path."
There would be no team.
No trust.
No room for thieves.
Only tools.
Keil Voss stepped out of his room.
The corridors were still silent. Servants lowered their heads immediately. Guards straightened their posture but did not dare meet his eyes. The fear around him had deepened since yesterday.
He walked through it effortlessly.
The festival would begin in five hours.
More than enough time.
But instead of heading directly toward the festival grounds, Keil Voss changed direction.
His steps turned toward the main clan house.
The Emperor's Palace.
As he walked, something strange happened.
For the first time since his rebirth—
He smiled.
Just slightly.
The smile was faint, almost imperceptible.
But it was enough to chill the air.
It was not joy.
It was not excitement in the ordinary sense.
It was anticipation.
Revenge was not something he rushed.
It was something he prepared.
The path toward the main clan house was long and grand. Stone bridges crossed floating lakes. Ancient trees lined the road, their branches heavy with spiritual energy. Immortal formations hummed softly beneath the ground.
And then—
The palace appeared.
Magnificent.
Overwhelming.
The Emperor's Palace towered like a mountain forged by divine hands. Golden pillars reached into the sky. Walls engraved with dragon and phoenix patterns glowed faintly under the morning sun. The entire structure radiated authority, as if it stood above all laws below the heavens.
Keil Voss stopped briefly.
Even he had to acknowledge its beauty.
"So this is it," he thought.
"The center of power."
As he approached the gates, his gaze shifted.
For a brief moment—
He saw an unclear image.
A woman.
Standing in the distance, partially hidden by light and shadow.
Her figure was blurred, her face indistinct, yet something about her presence stirred a faint reaction within him. A memory surfaced—fragmented, incomplete, painful.
Someone he had once known.
Someone he had once lost.
Keil Voss frowned slightly.
Then he shook his head.
"Distractions," he told himself coldly.
This was not the time.
Not yet.
He turned away from the image and stepped forward.
The palace gates opened slowly.
As Keil Voss entered the Emperor's Palace, the air changed.
He could feel it.
This was the place where the real beginning would occur.
Not the festival.
Not the competition.
But the first true move in rewriting fate.
The ancient demon had returned.
And the game had finally begun.