Darkness.
Not the darkness of a closed room, or the darkness of night. This was absolute—a complete absence of light so profound it seemed to press against his very soul. For a long time, there was nothing but this void, and Aljeon drifted within it like a leaf on a still pond, unaware of himself, unaware of anything.
Then came awareness.
It arrived not as a sudden jolt, but as a gradual emergence, like surfacing from deep water. Sensation returned first—the feeling of having a body, of existing within space. Then thought. Then memory.
Aljeon slowly opened his eyes.
He did not gasp. He did not panic. His heart rate remained steady, his breathing calm. Instead, he simply observed, his mind immediately cataloging his surroundings with the detached precision that had defined his previous existence.
A quiet void stretched endlessly around him, like an infinite night sky stripped of every star. No wind stirred against his skin. No sound reached his ears—not the whisper of breath, not the beat of a heart, not even the faint hum of blood rushing through veins. No movement disturbed the perfect stillness. The darkness here was not merely an absence of light; it was a presence, thick and suffocating, pressing against him from all sides.
Only silence.
Aljeon sat up—he had been lying down, though he had no memory of positioning himself—and examined his hands. They looked the same as he remembered: long fingers, pale skin, the faint scar on his left palm from a childhood accident. He was wearing what he had died in—a simple grey sweater and dark trousers, the casual clothes of a man who had never cared much for appearances.
He remembered the accident now. The screech of tires. The impossible physics of the collision. The brief, searing pain, followed by... this.
"…So I'm dead."
His voice emerged into the void and was swallowed immediately, leaving no echo. The words were calm, almost indifferent, carrying none of the terror or denial that most men might feel upon confronting their own mortality. But then, Aljeon had never been most men.
In his previous life on Earth, he had been quietly, forgettably ordinary. A junior analyst at a mid-tier consulting firm, the kind of man who faded into backgrounds and was forgotten by acquaintances. He was intelligent—exceptionally so—but he had learned early that intelligence attracted attention, and attention attracted work. So he had cultivated an aura of benign mediocrity, solving problems efficiently but never brilliantly, contributing enough to be valued but never enough to be promoted to positions of exhausting responsibility.
He disliked unnecessary effort with a passion that bordered on philosophy. Why run when you could walk? Why walk when you could stand still? Why stand when you could sit? Aljeon preferred watching the board like a chess master, letting others exhaust themselves in movement while he planned three moves ahead from a comfortable chair. He never liked doing things personally.
Why work hard when intelligence could do the job better?
The accident had been annoyingly unavoidable—a drunk driver running a red light, physics doing what physics does. His life had ended quietly, without drama or meaning, just another statistic in a city's traffic report.
Yet here he was.
Alive.
Or perhaps... reborn.
As he turned this puzzle over in his mind, examining it from multiple angles as was his habit, a faint mechanical voice suddenly echoed inside his consciousness. It had no gender, no emotion, no location. It simply existed, resonating through his thoughts like a tuning fork struck against bone.
[Dominion Core System initializing...]
Aljeon's eyes narrowed slightly, the only outward sign of his surprise.
Interesting.
[Host detected.]
[Reincarnation confirmed.]
[Binding Dominion Core... Complete.]
A transparent interface materialized before him, floating in the darkness like a holographic projection. Glowing blue text arranged itself into neat panels, accompanied by intricate geometric patterns that pulsed with soft light. It should have been impossible. It should have been terrifying.
But Aljeon simply stared at it with curiosity, his head tilting slightly to one side like a scholar examining an unexpected artifact.
"A system..."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, feeling the familiar scratch of stubble against his palm. The gesture grounded him, reminded him that whatever this was, he still had a body, still had senses.
"So this is one of those things from novels."
He had read them occasionally during his previous life—power fantasies about ordinary men transported to magical worlds, granted impossible abilities by benevolent or capricious systems. He had found them amusing but ultimately tedious, stories about protagonists who worked tirelessly to become strong, who trained and fought and struggled.
Aljeon had always thought such protagonists were fools.
The voice spoke again, cutting through his reminiscence.
[Welcome, Host.]
[You have obtained the Dominion Core.]
"Dominion Core..." Aljeon repeated, testing the weight of the words. "What does it do?"
He asked calmly, his tone that of a man inquiring about the features of a new smartphone rather than a soul negotiating the terms of his continued existence.
The system responded immediately, its voice carrying the efficient precision of a well-designed program.
[Dominion Core is a strategic cultivation system designed to assist the Host in building a cosmic dominion.]
Aljeon tilted his head slightly, processing this.
"A domination system?"
[Yes.]
"That sounds like a lot of work."
He frowned faintly, his first genuine expression of displeasure since awakening. The word "work" left a bitter taste in his mouth, conjuring images of sleepless nights and stressful deadlines, of responsibilities that multiplied like rabbits and expectations that grew like cancer.
"I prefer not doing things myself."
The system paused. It was a small hesitation, barely perceptible—perhaps half a second—but in the context of its otherwise instantaneous responses, it felt significant. Almost... thoughtful.
Then it replied.
[Dominion Core specializes in indirect power.]
[Host may summon units, collect taxes from civilizations, and convert points into cultivation and understanding.]
Aljeon's eyes brightened slightly, the way a predator's might when spotting prey.
Now that... sounded convenient.
"So I can make others do the work for me?"
[Affirmative.]
A small smile appeared on his face, the first genuine expression of pleasure he had allowed himself. It transformed his features, lending his otherwise ordinary face a sharp, calculating quality.
"Good."
---
The void around him changed.
Not gradually, not with warning, but in an instant of reality restructuring itself. The infinite darkness shattered like glass, and through the cracks poured something new—a space that defied geometry and physics.
A massive throne materialized behind him.
It was constructed from black ash and ancient stone, substances that should not have been able to hold form, yet did. The ash drifted and swirled within the stone's matrix like captured smoke, giving the impression that the throne was simultaneously solid and ephemeral. It radiated an ancient, terrifying aura, the weight of countless ages pressing against Aljeon's consciousness like a physical force.
Carvings covered every surface—scenes of conquest and dominion, of armies marching across burning worlds, of figures seated upon similar thrones watching galaxies spin beneath their feet. The artistry was violent and beautiful, terrifying and mesmerizing.
Yet strangely, Aljeon felt completely safe sitting on it.
He rose from his position in the void and approached the throne. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if he were walking through deepening water, but he persisted until he stood before the massive seat. It towered over him, its back rising twenty feet into the non-space above, its arms wide enough to accommodate three men side by side.
[This location is the Ash Throne.]
[An independent dimension belonging exclusively to the Host.]
Aljeon sat down slowly, his body sinking into a cushion of perfect comfort that seemed to mold itself to his exact specifications. The moment he made contact with the throne, he felt something shift fundamentally within reality.
Time seemed to lose meaning here. He could feel it stretching and compressing, moments lasting eternities and eternities passing in moments. His body felt perfectly stable, locked in an optimal state, neither aging nor decaying.
"So I cannot be harmed here?"
[Correct.]
[The Ash Throne is invulnerable even to entities beyond the Rank 10.]
Aljeon blinked, his mind catching on the specific phrasing.
"…Rank 10?"
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the throne's arms, his fingers steepled before his face in a gesture of deep consideration.
"That means the cultivation system goes far beyond Rank 10."
The system did not answer that question directly. Instead, another notification appeared, the text glowing with particular intensity.
---
[Newbie Pack Available.]
Aljeon leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. Free resources were always worth investigating.
"A starter reward?"
[Yes.]
"Open it."
---
[Newbie Pack opened.]
Rewards obtained:
100 Points
Cultivation Upgrade: Rank 1 Elite (Late Stage)
---
Suddenly, a powerful surge of energy erupted inside his consciousness. It did not hurt, precisely, but it was overwhelming—a torrent of cosmic power flooding into a vessel that had never known such forces. A glowing sphere formed within his mental space, condensing from the energy like water vapor becoming droplets.
It floated quietly in the center of his mind, pulsing with gentle light, warm and alive.
The Energy Ball.
Aljeon closed his eyes briefly, allowing his consciousness to sink into this new structure. He could feel cosmic energy flowing into it from... somewhere. Everywhere. The void itself seemed to feed power into the sphere, which in turn radiated strength throughout his being.
His senses became sharper—not just his physical senses, but something deeper, a perception of the world that transcended normal human limitations. He could feel the structure of space around him, the weave of dimensions that formed the Ash Throne's pocket reality.
His mind grew clearer, thoughts processing faster, memories becoming more accessible, patterns becoming more visible.
"So this is cultivation..."
He opened his eyes again, and they gleamed with new light, his pupils seeming to hold faint stars within their depths.
"Explain."
The system immediately responded, ever obedient.
---
The Energy Ball
[The Energy Ball is the core of cultivation.]
Functions:
- Absorbs cosmic energy
- Refines physical and spiritual strength
- Stores techniques and comprehension
- Evolves into a Legacy Core at Rank 10
---
Aljeon listened carefully, his mind constructing mental models, organizing information into useful categories. He did not interrupt. He liked information. Information meant control. Information meant the ability to make optimal decisions without wasting effort on trial and error.
"Interesting."
He shifted in the throne, finding a more comfortable position.
"But what about the summoning you mentioned earlier?"
Another panel appeared, the text crisp and precise.
---
Summoning System
Base Summon Limit: 10
Cost per summon: 10 points
Maximum summon rank: Host Rank +2
---
Aljeon leaned back slightly, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm against the throne's armrest.
"So I can summon fighters stronger than me."
[Correct.]
"And they obey me?"
[Absolute loyalty.]
He tapped the throne's armrest slowly, considering.
"Summons... are they intelligent?"
[Yes.]
"Can they cultivate?"
[Yes.]
"Can they betray me?"
[Impossible.]
Aljeon nodded slowly, satisfied with these parameters. Loyal, intelligent, growing subordinates who could not turn against him. It was the perfect workforce—the ideal tool for a man who wished to build power without personal exertion.
"Good."
Then he asked another question, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
"What level are my summons?"
[Late stage of rank 1 elite.]
"And techniques?"
[Tier 5 – Divine.]
This time, Aljeon was genuinely surprised. His eyebrows rose, and he sat up straighter, his lazy posture momentarily forgotten.
"Divine techniques?"
Even with his limited understanding of whatever cultivation system governed this reality, he understood how ridiculous that sounded. Divine-tier anything suggested capabilities far beyond mortal limits, powers that shaped reality itself.
"If that's true... this system is absurd."
He looked at the interface again, his gaze lingering on the point total.
Points: 100
A small smile appeared, slowly widening into something almost predatory.
"Well then."
"Let's test it."
---
The void trembled.
Aljeon had not moved, had not gestured, had not spoken aloud. But his will, focused through the Dominion Core, was sufficient command.
[10 points consumed.]
Dark mist gathered in the space before the throne, swirling with increasing speed until it formed a vortex of shadow and potential. The void itself seemed to contribute substance to the forming figure, reality bending to accommodate the new existence being pulled into being.
Then a figure slowly emerged from the dissipating mist.
It was a man, or something shaped like a man—tall and lean, wrapped in black armor that seemed to absorb light. The armor was not metal, precisely, but something darker, something that moved slightly with each breath like living shadow. No face was visible behind the helmet's visor, only darkness deeper than the void itself.
The figure knelt immediately, the motion fluid and perfect, without hesitation or awkwardness. His aura was sharp and deadly, cutting through the air like a blade, yet it carried no hostility toward Aljeon. Only readiness. Only service.
Like a perfect assassin.
"Greetings, Master."
The voice was soft, cultured, and utterly devoid of emotion.
Aljeon observed him quietly, his enhanced perception cataloging details. Sharp eyes—visible through the visor's narrow slit—that missed nothing. Perfect posture, balanced for instant movement in any direction. Disciplined breathing, optimized for combat efficiency.
"Rank?" Aljeon asked, his voice carrying the weight of command naturally, as if he had always possessed it.
[Rank 1 Elite – Late Stage]
The summoned warrior spoke calmly, his head remaining bowed.
"I await your command."
Aljeon simply stared at him for a long moment, studying this tool that the system had provided. He felt no excitement, no pride of ownership, no thrill of power. Only curiosity, and the quiet satisfaction of a chess player examining a particularly well-crafted piece.
"So this is my army."
He rested his chin on his hand, his elbow on the throne's arm, assuming the pose of a ruler surveying his domain.
"Interesting."
But something was still missing. A single piece, however excellent, was not a game. One soldier, however capable, was not a dominion. He needed a battlefield. He needed a world. He needed a civilization—a place where this system could actually function, where resources could be extracted, where power could grow through the labor of others rather than his own.
"System."
"Are there inhabited worlds nearby?"
The system responded instantly, as if it had been waiting for this question.
---
Planetary Detection
[Scanning nearby star systems…]
---
A massive holographic star map materialized above Aljeon's throne, expanding until it filled the space before him with impossible geometry. Countless planets appeared like floating lights, each one a potential opportunity, each one a potential resource. The display was overwhelming in its scale—millions of worlds, billions of lives, all reduced to points of light in a cosmic diagram.
Then one of them suddenly glowed brighter, pulsing with golden significance.
[Target located.]
The map zoomed in with dizzying speed, stars streaking past until a single solar system dominated the view. Then a single planet. The image resolved with impossible clarity, as if Aljeon were viewing it from orbit.
A blue planet appeared.
White clouds drifted across its surface, casting shadows on vast blue oceans. Massive continents sprawled across the equator and poles, their geography suggesting tectonic activity and geological age. Cities glittered on the night side, webs of light that spoke of civilization and technology—or perhaps something else, something that mimicked technology through different means.
Billions of people.
Aljeon leaned forward slightly, his interest genuinely engaged for the first time since his awakening.
"How many inhabitants?"
[8.4 billion humans detected.]
His eyes narrowed slightly, calculating.
"Civilization level?"
[Low cultivation world – Tier 1.]
"Strongest cultivator?
There was a brief pause, the system apparently conducting deeper analysis.
Then it spoke.
[Grandmaster – Late Stage.]
The planet map zoomed further, continental outlines becoming visible, then national borders, then individual structures. Five massive territories appeared, each one an empire in its own right, spanning millions of square kilometers.
Empires.
Five powerful human empires ruled the planet, their borders marked by walls and wards, their capitals shining with the accumulated power of centuries.
But the system continued, its voice carrying new weight.
[All five empires are controlled by an external force.]
Aljeon's interest sharpened further, his mind immediately recognizing the implications. A controlled world meant established infrastructure. It meant existing power structures that could be subverted rather than built from nothing. It meant... opportunity.
"What force?"
The system answered, and new images overlaid the planetary view.
[Blue Phoenix Sect.]
Cultivators in flowing blue robes appeared, dozens of them, then hundreds. They flew on swords that left trails of azure flame, their auras powerful enough to distort the air around them. The sect symbol blazed across the display—a flaming phoenix rendered in shades of blue that suggested cold fire, impossible heat.
[Blue Phoenix Sect is an inter-world power expanding across multiple worlds.]
Aljeon's eyes sharpened, his lazy posture forgotten as he absorbed this intelligence. An inter-world power. Multiple worlds. This was larger than he had initially assumed, more complex, more dangerous.
More interesting.
"So this planet is under their control."
[Correct.]
"Who governs it?"
The system highlighted one individual, zooming the display to show a powerful cultivator floating above a mountain palace. He was robed in blue and gold, his long hair floating in a wind that seemed to exist only for him. His aura was vast, dominating the landscape around him, visible even through the system's display as a pressure that made the air itself bow.
[Planetary Overseer: Grandmaster Late Stage.]
[Strongest cultivator on the planet.]
The system continued, providing the crucial detail.
[Primary duty: Guard the planet and collect taxes for the Blue Phoenix Sect.]
Silence filled the Ash Throne.
Aljeon stared at the planet quietly, his mind working with the speed that had always been his greatest asset. Billions of humans. Five empires. A powerful sect controlling everything from the shadows, extracting resources, maintaining order, preventing true independence.
He slowly leaned back on the throne, his posture resuming its lazy comfort, but his eyes remained sharp, calculating, alive with possibility.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
The kind of smile a chess player makes when seeing a perfect board, when all the pieces have been arranged by another's hand, and only the final moves remain to claim victory.
Then he said softly, his voice carrying no urgency, no excitement, only the quiet certainty of a man who has already won:
"…Interesting."