In a world where cultivation strength reigned supreme, far more than money or status ever could, I was reborn as a helpless baby into a modest middle-class family.
Cultivators strode the earth like gods, their qi drawn from mysterious gates dimensional rifts brimming with spiritual treasures, ancient artifacts, and pure cultivation energies that could elevate mortals to immortals.
But these gates weren't for everyone. They came at a price beyond the wildest dreams of someone like me, a kid from a family scraping by in this chaotic modern era.
Fifty percent of the gates were hoarded by the ancient, powerful clans.clans like the Verons, who treated them as private playgrounds for their heirs.
The rest were split between iron-fisted governments and a handful of cutthroat independent merchants who'd clawed their way to the top.
Wars erupted not from monster outbreaks, but from these very human conflicts: clans clashing with governments, assassinations in the shadows, all to seize control of these priceless resources.
Gates weren't just power-ups; they were the keys to immortality, to defying the heavens.
But me? I didn't care about any of it. Why bother chasing the Dao when I had my family?
Mom's warm smiles over homemade dinners, Dad's stories about his mundane job that somehow always ended with a laugh these were my treasures.
My aptitude test came back as A-grade: solid, average, nothing to write home about on a scale that stretched from F all the way up to SSSR.
Sure, anyone could awaken as a cultivator if they touched a gate's spiritual essence, but who was I kidding? Gates cost fortunes.
Governments auctioned entry rights to the highest bidders, and renowned clans guarded theirs like dragons over gold.
A middle-class nobody like me? Forget it. I'd rather live quietly, safely, with the people I loved.
That's what I thought... until yesterday shattered everything.
The news hit like a thunderbolt: my parents, assassinated. Not in some random accident, but targeted.
They'd stumbled upon a hidden gate during a routine hike and, being the honest folks they were, reported it straight to the government.
But why kill them over that? Reports like theirs happened all the time rewards were given, not death sentences.
No, they must have seen something more, something dangerous. A secret alliance? A forbidden artifact? I didn't know, but the knot in my gut screamed that this was no coincidence. Someone wanted them silenced.
The funeral unfolded under a relentless downpour, the sky weeping gray sheets that soaked through my thin black suit.
I, Jevier, knelt before the twin coffins, my knees sinking into the muddy grass of the cemetery.
Tears streamed down my face, hot and unyielding, mixing with the cold rain that plastered my hair to my forehead.
The air smelled of wet earth and wilted incense, a bitter reminder of life's fragility.
Around me, a sparse crowd of distant relatives and neighbors murmured condolences, their voices hollow echoes against the patter of rain on umbrellas.
"Why... who did this?" I choked out, my voice breaking as I pounded a fist against the slick wood of the coffin.
My chest heaved with sobs, each one ripping through me like a blade.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder firm, almost possessive.
I looked up through blurred vision to see Uncle Harlan, a man in his forties with slicked-back hair and a suit that screamed "connections."
He was no blood relative, just a "family friend" who'd always hovered around my parents like a vulture.
"Calm down, Jevier," he said, his tone laced with false sympathy. "It was a sudden gate instability.
They were normal people how do you expect them to survive something like that?" His lips twitched, fighting back a smile he barely concealed, his eyes glinting with something dark, triumphant.
I froze, rage boiling beneath my grief. You bastard, I thought, clenching my fists until my nails dug into my palms.
I know your type. The Verons paid you off, didn't they? That lie doesn't even make sense gate instabilities haven't happened in years, not since the stabilization treaties.
If only I were a cultivator, if only I had qi pulsing through my meridians like those elite heirs... I'd crush him right here, wipe that smug grin off his face with my bare hands.
But I was nothing just a grieving kid, powerless in a world that devoured the weak.
The ceremony dragged on, prayers droning like distant thunder.
One by one, the attendees trickled away, their umbrellas bobbing like retreating shadows. Soon, it was just me, alone in the rain, staring at the graves as workers shoveled dirt over what remained of my world.
The act was over; the curtain had fallen on my old life.
Three months blurred by in a haze of isolation and despair.
High school, that mundane anchor, finally ended.not with fanfare, but with a brutal punctuation mark.
I trudged through the days, avoiding eyes, burying myself in books that offered fleeting escapes from reality.
But the Veron clan hadn't forgotten me. Young Master Kamora, heir to their empire, had made it his personal mission to turn my existence into hell.
Whispers followed me: "Orphan trash," "Useless A-grader." It started with taunts, escalated to shoves, and now...
In the shadowed back alley behind the academy, the air thick with the stench of garbage and sweat, a gang of Kamora's lackeys circled me like hyenas.
I was already on the ground, curled up, bruises blooming across my ribs like ugly flowers.
A burly thug with a shaved head grinned wickedly, winding up for another kick.
His boot slammed into my stomach, forcing the air from my lungs in a guttural wheeze. Pain exploded, white-hot, making my vision swim.
"Young Master Kamora, how was my punch?" the thug asked, puffing out his chest like a peacock, seeking approval from the lanky figure leaning against the wall.
Kamora's face twisted in disgust, his sharp features high cheekbones, piercing green eyes framed by perfectly styled black hair.
He was the epitome of privilege: S-grade aptitude, gate access from birth, and a clan that owned half the city's portals. He glanced down at me as if I were scum on his shoe.
"What was his name again?" he drawled, boredom dripping from every word.
Another lackey, a skinny kid with acne scars, piped up eagerly. "It's Jevier, Young Master."
"Jevier, huh?" Kamora sneered, stepping forward. His polished shoe connected with my side in a vicious kick, sending fresh waves of agony through my battered body.
I gasped, tasting blood on my tongue, my arms too weak to shield myself anymore. Bruises throbbed everywhere purple welts on my arms, a split lip swelling shut one eye.
"Let's go. This is the end of high school, after all. But if I see that shitty face again, I'll beat it to a pulp myself."
With a chorus of mocking laughter, they sauntered off, leaving me in the dirt.
The alley spun around me as I pushed myself up on trembling arms, every muscle screaming in protest.
I barely hung on, leaning against the cold brick wall for support.
Shit... if only I had strength like those guys, it wouldn't have been like this.
Ever since my parents' death, everything had flipped upside down.
The Verons had pulled strings evicted me from our home, frozen our assets under "investigation," and turned the academy into my personal torture chamber.
I slumped back to the ground, not even having the energy to stand. My clothes were torn, mud-streaked, and soaked from earlier rain.
"Fuck... what's the use of having an A-rank aptitude?" I muttered through gritted teeth, frustration burning hotter than the pain.
In this world, aptitude was everything.F to SSSR, a lottery ticket to power. A-rank was average, sure, but it meant I could awaken, could become a cultivator.
All it took was contact with a gate's core spiritual energy. But gates? They were locked behind paywalls only the elite could afford.
Governments charged exorbitant fees for "public access," and clans like the Verons monopolized the rest. A normal guy like me? I'd need a miracle.
Then, as if the heavens had heard my despair, a golden panel shimmered into existence before my eyes, hovering like an ancient jade talisman inscribed with glowing runes.
It pulsed with ethereal light, words materializing in elegant, flowing script.
Host detected.
Unlimited funds transferring...
Transfer complete.
Transferred: 999,999,999,999... Dollars
Black Diamond Credit Card has been stored in the inventory.
"Huh?" I blinked, wiping blood from my lip, staring at the panel in disbelief. Was this a hallucination? A trick of a broken mind? Or... the miracle I'd just wished for?
The world of cultivation had just handed me a new weapon not fists or qi, but infinite wealth.
And in a realm where gates could be bought, clans toppled, and strength acquired... I was about to turn the tables.