The capital of the Blackthorn Empire never slept. Even at midnight, the wide stone avenues glowed with spirit lamps that floated above the crowds like pale blue moons. Merchants shouted from silk-draped stalls, guards in black armor clanked past on patrol, and cultivators in flowing robes walked with the casual arrogance of people who could kill with a thought. The air carried the faint metallic tang of qi, thick enough that even ordinary people felt it on their skin.
In the eastern wing of the Imperial Palace, far from the glittering main halls, a small courtyard sat forgotten. Weeds pushed through cracked flagstones. A single lantern hung from a crooked post, its flame weak and yellow. This was where they had put Dymas Blackthorn.
He stood in the center of the yard, hands loose at his sides, staring at the ground. Nineteen years old, tall at six feet one, with broad shoulders that had once carried the promise of a warrior prince. Now those shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of a body that refused to heal. His black hair hung messy to his jaw, strands sticking to his sweat-damp forehead. His gray eyes, sharp and storm-like, looked dull tonight. A thin silver scar ran across his left cheek, a souvenir from a public whipping two years earlier. The curse that lived in his veins showed as faint black lines under his pale skin, like cracks in old porcelain. They pulsed slowly, in time with his heartbeat.
Dymas wore what remained of royal clothes: a dark tunic torn at the sleeves, trousers stained with old blood, boots cracked from months of neglect. No cloak, no jewelry, no sword. They had taken everything when they declared him trash.
Tonight the declaration became official.
The heavy wooden doors at the far end of the courtyard creaked open. Four figures stepped through, followed by a squad of armored guards. The first was Prince Eldric Blackthorn, Dymas's older half-brother by three years. Eldric was everything Dymas was supposed to have been: tall, handsome, golden-haired, eyes the bright blue of summer sky. His robes shimmered with embroidered silver threads that caught the lantern light. At his waist hung a sword with a hilt shaped like a coiled dragon. Behind him walked two young masters from allied sects, both smirking, and the Imperial Chancellor, an old man with a long white beard and cold eyes.
Eldric stopped ten paces away. He looked Dymas up and down like he was inspecting a sick horse.
"So this is how the mighty fall," Eldric said. His voice carried the practiced tone of someone who enjoyed public speeches. "The once-proud heir, reduced to a cursed rat hiding in a forgotten corner."
Dymas did not answer. He kept his gaze on the cracked stones between his boots.
One of the young masters, a lanky boy named Harlan Voss from the Frostveil Sect, laughed. "Look at those veins. Still spreading. How long do you think he has left, Your Highness? A month? Two?"
"Less," the other young master said. "The healers gave him six months last year. That was generous."
The Chancellor cleared his throat. "By order of His Imperial Majesty, Prince Dymas Blackthorn is hereby stripped of all titles, lands, and privileges. His cultivation base is declared defective beyond repair. He is banished from the capital and forbidden to return under pain of death. Any sect or family offering him shelter will be considered an enemy of the throne."
The words landed like stones in still water. Dymas felt them settle in his chest, heavy and cold.
Eldric stepped closer. "You know why this happened, brother. You were born wrong. Cursed from the womb. The Blackthorn bloodline cannot carry weakness. Father tried to hide it for years, but the truth always surfaces."
Dymas finally lifted his head. His gray eyes met Eldric's blue ones. "You helped surface it."
Eldric smiled, thin and sharp. "I only spoke the truth. The elders listened. The sects demanded proof. You provided it every time you failed a breakthrough, every time you coughed black blood in the training yard. Don't blame me for your own body."
Harlan Voss stepped forward, smirking. "They say even the lowliest street dog has more qi than you now. Maybe you should beg for scraps outside the city gates."
The guards chuckled. The Chancellor raised a hand and they fell silent.
"Take him to the eastern gate," the Chancellor said. "Give him one horse, one waterskin, and nothing else. If he lingers in the city after dawn, kill him on sight."
Eldric lingered a moment longer. He leaned in so only Dymas could hear. "Enjoy your freedom, little brother. It won't last long."
Then they turned and left. The doors thudded shut behind them. The lantern swayed, throwing long shadows across the yard.
Dymas stood alone.
Pain started in his chest, sharp and familiar. The black veins under his skin flared, spreading like ink in water. He dropped to one knee, hand pressed to his ribs. Blood rose in his throat, thick and bitter. He spat it onto the stones. It was black, flecked with silver, and it steamed faintly in the cool night air.
He stayed there for a long time, breathing hard. Memories flashed behind his eyes: training yards where he had once beaten older disciples, banquets where nobles had bowed to him, his mother's face before she died when he was ten. All gone. All replaced by this.
The pain climbed higher, into his throat, his head. His vision blurred. He tried to stand, failed, and fell onto his side. The stones were cold against his cheek.
"I should have killed you years ago," he whispered to the empty yard. "Should have taken Eldric's throat the first time he smiled at me like that."
No one answered.
His heart stuttered. Once. Twice. Then it stopped.
Darkness rushed in.
He floated in nothing. No sound, no light, no body. Just the slow realization that he was dead.
Then a voice cut through the silence. Flat, mechanical, genderless.
"Host detected. Dymas Blackthorn. Status: clinical death. Soul intact. Conditions met."
A blue screen appeared in front of him, glowing softly in the void.
Infinite Cultivation System – Activation Sequence
Host compatibility: 100%
Core function unlocked: Infinite Grind Points
Current points: 10,847
Source breakdown:
• Lifetime humiliation accumulated: 4,200
• Public disgrace tonight: 3,500
• Family betrayal: 2,000
• Death by curse: 1,147
Body reset in progress. Malfunctioning meridians repaired. Cursed qi reclassified as resource.
Welcome, host. Your path to supremacy begins now.
The screen flickered. New text scrolled across it.
First task: Survive rebirth.
Reward: 5,000 points + Basic Auto-Cultivation Module
Pain slammed back into him, but different this time. Not the burning rot of the curse. This was heat, pressure, like his body was being rebuilt from the inside. Bones shifted. Veins cleared. His heart lurched once, hard, then started beating again.
He gasped.
The courtyard came back into focus. The lantern still hung above him. The stones were still cold. But the black lines under his skin had faded to thin gray traces. His breathing came easier. The metallic taste of blood was gone.
He pushed himself up on shaking arms.
The blue screen hovered in front of his eyes, visible only to him.
Rebirth complete.
Current realm: Qi Condensation Layer 1 (forced entry)
Remaining points: 10,847
Available actions:
• Open Shop
• Assign Points
• View Status
Dymas stared at the screen. His mind raced. He had read stories in old books about heavenly treasures, systems granted by dying gods, chances given to the desperate. He never thought one would fall on him.
He reached out with a trembling finger and tapped the air where "Assign Points" floated.
A new window opened.
Stats:
• Strength: 4
• Agility: 5
• Vitality: 3
• Qi Capacity: 2 (cursed)
• Intelligence: 12
Skills: None
Techniques: None
He had points to spend. Thousands of them.
He looked around the empty courtyard. The eastern gate was a long walk. Dawn was maybe three hours away. If he stayed here, the guards would find him and finish the job.
Dymas stood up slowly. His legs felt stronger already. The curse still lingered in his blood, but it no longer felt like a death sentence. It felt like fuel.
He took one step toward the gate, then another.
Behind him, the lantern flame flickered and died.
The yard fell into darkness.
Dymas kept walking.
He did not look back.