The world spun.
Bright light swallowed everything—cities, cars, and the glowing computer screen where a perfectly square pixelated world stretched endlessly. A ringing sound echoed in his ears, then—
Silence.
A cool breeze brushed past his face.
Grass.
Real grass.
Ethan blinked.
Instead of the soft glow of his gaming monitor, he saw endless plains beneath a pale jade sky. Floating islands drifted lazily overhead, waterfalls pouring from their edges yet never reaching the ground—as though gravity itself bent to the rules of a higher world.
This isn't Earth.
He tried to stand, but his body felt weak—foreign.
His hands were slender, calloused, and trembling. His clothing was ruined noble silk, stained with dried blood. A sharp pain pierced his head, and memories not his own flooded in like a tidal wave.
Leonel Aetherbane — Third Son of the Aetherbane Marquisate.
Betrayed.
Stripped of title.
Exiled.
A cold, emotionless voice echoed in his mind.
"Your new life has begun.
Survival is yours to decide."
Ethan—Leonel—exhaled shakily.
Transmigration. Classic.
But the next voice was not ethereal.
"Young master—you're awake!"
A girl rushed toward him. Long obsidian hair fluttered behind her, and her eyes—amethyst and sharp—glistened with relief. She knelt beside him, gripping his hand as though afraid he'd vanish.
"Liora…" His inherited memories whispered her identity.
His fiancée.
Daughter of a once-great clan that declined after political enemies devoured their resources and honor. She, unlike everyone else, had refused to abandon him.
"You had us worried," she murmured softly, brushing dirt from his cheek with gentle fingertips. "If you had not woken…" Her voice trembled.
Leonel forced a smile. "I'm not that easy to get rid of."
Behind her stood five servants—old retainers, loyal enough to follow exile over comfort. Their expressions were filled with hope and fear.
"We… have nothing left, young master," the eldest servant whispered. "The estate gifted to you is a barren borderland. Bandits roam freely. Cultivators avoid it. Even wild spirit beasts…"
"Good," Leonel murmured, surprising everyone.
"Good…?" Liora blinked.
He stood slowly, ignoring his frail cultivation base—Body Tempering, Rank One. A joke, considering his enemies were likely at Nascent Soul or higher.
But he had one thing this world didn't expect.
He closed his eyes.
Inventory.
A faint hum answered.
A translucent UI screen flickered into existence.
Minecraft Pocket World: Stable — Accessible
Coordinates hovered beneath.
Resources:✔ Basic tools✔ Seeds✔ Wood✔ Iron gear✔ Enchanted diamond pickaxe (Unbreaking III, Efficiency IV)✔ Millions of possibilities.
Leonel's lips curved into a calm, confident smile.
This world was built on strength, cultivation, and ancient tradition.
But he?
He had automation, engineering, redstone logic, tactical thinking… and infinite renewable resources from another dimension.
"We are not surviving," Leonel said quietly.
Everyone looked up.
"We are rebuilding. From exile… to kingdom."
His gaze hardened.
"Follow me."
He stepped forward and mentally activated the portal.
Blue particles swirled, forming a rectangular doorway—unmistakably Minecraft-like, yet infused with ethereal qi. The mist hummed with power.
Liora gasped, mana swirling reflexively around her fingertips.
"What… what is this?"
Leonel turned toward her, eyes calm with unshakeable confidence.
"This," he said, "is our foundation. Our mine, our farm, our fortress… our future."
He extended his hand.
"Liora, will you walk beside me?"
Her eyes widened—hope, love, and fierce determination shining in them.
"Always," she whispered.
Together, they stepped forward.
Into the glowing portal.
Into the blocky world where unlimited resources, modern logic, and cultivation ambition would reshape destiny.
And beyond them, the untouched land of exile waited—unaware that a forgotten noble now possessed the means to rise higher than any empire ever dreamed.