Memories of a Past Life
The Weight of Humiliation
Ron walked through the empty academy corridors, his footsteps echoing in the silence. The once-bustling halls, filled with students boasting about their awakenings, were now deserted. The night sky stretched above him through the grand windows, moonlight spilling onto the marble floors like silver ink.
His dormitory was at the farthest edge of the academy—a small, isolated room meant for scholarship students.
A reminder that he didn't belong.
The door creaked open as he stepped inside, revealing a modest space. A plain wooden bed. A rickety desk covered in old textbooks. A cracked mirror hung on the wall, reflecting the face of a boy who had just been rejected by fate.
For the first time since the ceremony, he let out a breath.
His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the small lamp beside his bed, turning it on. Dim yellow light flickered, barely illuminating the worn-out wallpaper peeling at the edges.
He sat down on the bed, his mind replaying everything that had happened.
The laughter.
The sneers.
Leo's mocking voice.
"You're worthless."
His hands clenched into fists.
For as long as he could remember, he had accepted the academy's hierarchy. He had lived quietly, doing his best to survive. The only reason he even had a place here was because of his scholarship. He was nothing compared to the elites.
But today was different.
Today, he had been declared a failure in front of everyone.
No power. No system.
Not even a sliver of hope.
The Fragments of Another Life
As exhaustion weighed on him, Ron lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His body ached—not from any physical injury, but from something deeper. A sense of wrongness.
"I refuse to accept this."
The thought echoed in his mind, louder than it should have.
And then—
It happened.
A sudden flash of pain shot through his skull, like a hammer slamming into his consciousness.
His vision blurred.
The world around him shattered.
And then—
A flood of memories surged through his mind.
He wasn't just Ron.
He had lived before.
He had been someone else.
No—he had been something else.
A cultivator.
The Life of an Immortal
Scenes unfolded in his mind, as vivid as if he were experiencing them all over again.
He remembered standing atop a mountain peak, the clouds swirling beneath his feet.
A single stroke of his brush painting an entire landscape into existence.
The sensation of breaking through realms, defying the heavens themselves.
His past self had once soared through the skies, fought divine beings, and painted entire worlds into existence.
He had been invincible.
A being of unfathomable power.
And then—
Darkness.
A single moment of arrogance.
A shining light in the sky.
And then… nothing.
Until now.
The memories surged back like a tidal wave, threatening to consume him.
Ron's breathing grew ragged as his vision snapped back to the present.
He was shaking.
His heart pounded violently in his chest, as if trying to break free from his ribs.
It was too much. Too overwhelming.
He clutched his forehead, his fingers digging into his skin.
"This… This can't be real."
But it was.
He knew it was.
He could feel it—the memories weren't just images in his mind. They were real.
He had lived that life.
And now… he had a second chance.
The Path of Cultivation
Ron slowly sat up, his mind still spinning.
His breath was unsteady, but there was something else beneath the chaos.
A realization.
A truth.
He didn't need the system.
The so-called "awakeners" relied on external gifts—power handed to them by fate.
But cultivators?
They forged their own power.
Through sheer will. Through relentless effort.
And Ron already had the knowledge.
He closed his eyes.
Focus.
For the first time since regaining his memories, he tried to sense the energy around him.
And there it was—Qi.
It was faint, nearly imperceptible, but it was there.
The academy taught that awakening was the only path to power.
But they were wrong.
There was an older, forgotten path.
And he would walk it.
He pressed a hand to his chest, steadying his heartbeat.
His past life techniques…
He could feel them, lingering at the edge of his consciousness.
Martial arts.
Cultivation methods.
And…
Painting.
He remembered the ink.
How it flowed beneath his fingertips, how his brush could create life itself.
It wasn't just art. It was a weapon.
A power beyond anything this world had ever seen.
He let out a slow exhale, his fingers twitching.
"Then I'll start from the beginning."
A faint grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
The Dawn of Something Greater
The moonlight outside his window felt different now—brighter, as if acknowledging the shift in fate.
Ron stood up, rolling his shoulders. His body was weak, but he would change that.
The academy had rejected him.
The students had laughed at him.
Even fate itself had denied him.
But he would prove them all wrong.
Because unlike them, he wasn't bound by a system.
He was free.
And freedom was the first step to true power.
His fingers itched for a brush, for ink, for the tools that had once shaped worlds.
"Let's see who really has no future."
And with that, he stepped into the unknown—onto the path of cultivation, onto the path that would change everything.
The world had no idea what was coming.
But soon…
These mortals would regret.