Three years passed faster than Wharton had imagined.
Each day followed the same routine: training early in the morning, learning to read and studying history in the morning, meditation and physical conditioning in the afternoon, and reviewing his progress in the evening. The numbers on the panel grew slowly but steadily, like grains of sand in an hourglass, accumulating one by one until, when he looked back one day, they had formed a small mound.
[Overall basic physical conditioning proficiency: 42.7%] [Strength increase: +186%] [Endurance increase: +172%] [Coordination: +155%] [Total fire-element magic power: 3.2 standard units] [Purity: high] [Requirements for casting first-rank magic met. Learning specific spell models after age six is recommended] [Dragonblood bloodline activity: significantly increased] [Current effects: recovery speed +38%, fatigue accumulation -31%, basal metabolic rate +24%]
On the morning of his sixth birthday, Wharton finished his usual training, bathed, and changed into new clothes that Hiri had prepared especially for him: a linen shirt and dark trousers. The fabric was ordinary, but the stitching was tight.
When he went downstairs, Hogg was already in the dining room. A small plate of honey cake sat on the table, with six thin candles stuck in it.
"Happy birthday," Hogg said.
Wharton sat down. "Thank you, Father."
Hiri brought breakfast, with fried eggs and smoked meat added for the occasion. Wharton ate quietly, and so did Hogg. Neither said much. But there was a tension in the air, like the stillness before a bowstring was drawn taut.
After the meal, Hogg set down his knife and fork. "Come to the ancestral hall."
The moment had come.
Wharton got up and followed him. As they passed through the corridor, he saw Hiri standing in the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on his apron over and over, worry and anticipation in his eyes.
The ancestral hall was a separate old building at the deepest end of the estate. Its heavy wooden door creaked dully when pushed open. Inside, the light was dim. Only a few high windows let in daylight, illuminating dust floating in the air.
Directly ahead stood rows of spirit tablets, made of black wood and rising tier upon tier. The writing on the uppermost few had already grown indistinct. The air smelled of old wood and incense ash.
Hogg walked up to the tablets and stood for a while before turning to Wharton. "Three years ago, your brother had his bloodline tested here. Today, it's your turn."
Wharton nodded. He knew the procedure: prick a finger with the Dragonblood Needle and watch for a change in color.
"Before that, there are some things you need to know." Hogg gestured at the tablets. "The Baruch Clan has endured for five thousand years. The three at the very top were the clan's first Dragonblood Warriors."
He named them one by one. "Baruch, the first generation, slew a Frost Dragon, a black dragon, and the Nine-Headed Serpent Emperor. Ryan Baruch, the second generation, subdued a Saint-level Golden Dragon and became a dragon rider. Hazard Baruch, the third generation, defeated the Saint-level magical beast, the Blood-Eyed Mane Lion."
Each name carried weight, striking the silent air of the ancestral hall.
Wharton looked up at the tablets. In the original story, these had been mere background details. But standing here now, smelling the incense ash and seeing the taut lines of his father's profile, he felt the weight of that legacy for the first time.
"The Dragonblood Warrior bloodline is special," Hogg continued. "Those with a high enough concentration can cultivate the Dragonblood Secret Codex and transform into Dragonblood Warriors, with power comparable to a Saint's. Those whose concentration isn't high enough can still use their bloodline to strengthen their bodies and follow the path of ordinary warriors, but their potential is limited."
He paused. "When your brother was tested, his concentration wasn't high enough."
Wharton knew. Linley's was actually high enough; it just needed dragon blood to activate it. But he couldn't say that.
"Yours might not be high enough either." Hogg looked at him. "In more than a thousand years, the clan has produced only two Dragonblood Warriors. The most recent was thirteen hundred years ago. The chances are slim."
"I understand," Wharton said.
Hogg looked at him for a few seconds, then turned and went into a hidden chamber behind the tablets. He came out holding a wooden box and opened it. Inside was a transparent needle, about twenty centimeters long and as thin as a strand of hair, almost invisible in the dim light.
"The Dragonblood Needle," Hogg said. "Prick your finger, and if your bloodline concentration is high enough, the needle will absorb the dragonblood factors in your blood and turn red. The darker the color, the higher the concentration."
Wharton held out his right hand. His fingers trembled slightly, so he clenched them hard to steady them.
Hogg picked up the Dragonblood Needle, its tip flashing coldly in the light. He took Wharton's index finger and moved quickly: the tip pierced the skin, causing a slight sting, and then he pulled it out.
Wharton watched the needle.
Inside its transparent body, a thread of blood spread along the core. At first it moved slowly, like a drop of water creeping across glass. Then it suddenly sped up, the thread of blood swelling and spreading. In an instant, the entire needle turned dark red, so red it was almost black, like a red-hot iron skewer in the dim ancestral hall.
Hogg's hand froze.
He stared at the needle without blinking, his breath stopped. A few seconds later, he jerked his head up to look at Wharton, then looked down at the needle, then up again. His expression was as if he had been struck by lightning, a mixture of shock, wild joy, and disbelief.
"This..." Hogg's throat tightened, and his voice turned hoarse. "This is..."
Wharton looked at him calmly. "Is it enough?"
Hogg didn't answer. He put down the needle and gripped Wharton's shoulders with both hands, hard enough to hurt. He stared at Wharton's face, as if searching the six-year-old's features for some proof.
"You..." Hogg drew a breath. "Do you know what this means?"
"It means I can cultivate the Dragonblood Secret Codex and become a Dragonblood Warrior."
"Yes!" Hogg raised his voice, and it echoed through the spacious ancestral hall. "It means that after thirteen hundred years, the Baruch Clan is going to have another Dragonblood Warrior!"
He released Wharton and turned to face the tablets, his shoulders shaking. Wharton saw him raise a hand and wipe his face. The movement was quick, but moisture glinted between his fingers.
It took quite a while for Hogg to calm down. He turned around, his expression as stern as usual, but he couldn't hide the fire in his eyes.
"Starting today, your training will have to change," he said. "Ordinary training isn't enough for a Dragonblood Warrior. You need specialized methods to temper your body. I'll teach you, but..."
He paused. Wharton knew what came after the "but": money.
Cultivating as a Dragonblood Warrior required a great deal of nutritional supplementation, medicinal ingredients, and specialized training equipment. All of it cost money. And the Baruch Clan's finances hadn't improved much over the past three years.
"I'll find a way to get the money," Hogg said. "For now, keep training according to your current plan. Once I've gathered enough, I'll send you to a warrior academy in the O'Brien Empire. They have the best system for training warriors there."
Wharton nodded. That was what happened in the original story: Hogg sold the family's property to send Wharton to the O'Brien Empire, and then Linley sent money home to help them through the crisis.
"Father," Wharton said, "if there isn't enough money, I can go a few years later."
"No." Hogg was adamant. "The years from six to twelve are crucial for building your foundation. We can't delay." He looked at Wharton. "Don't tell anyone outside the family about this yet, especially your brother."
"Why?"
"He..." Hogg weighed his words. "He'll be happy for you, but he'll also feel hurt. You took the same test. He didn't pass, and you did. Even though he's your older brother, he's bound to feel the difference."
Wharton understood. Linley didn't actually feel that way; he later followed the path of a mage and achieved even more. But the present Linley didn't know that yet, so Hogg's concern made sense.
"I understand," Wharton said.
Hogg put away the Dragonblood Needle and returned the wooden box to the hidden chamber. When he came out, he was holding a thin booklet, its paper yellowed and its edges worn.
"A handwritten copy of the first two levels of the Dragonblood Secret Codex." Hogg handed it over. "The original is too precious to bring out. Study the theory first, and start practicing once your body is ready."
Wharton took the booklet. It was light, but it felt heavy in his hands.
The sunlight was dazzling when they left the ancestral hall. Wharton narrowed his eyes and heard Hogg take a deep breath behind him, then slowly let it out.
Hiri was waiting around the corner of the corridor. As soon as he saw them emerge, he hurried over. "Master, Young Master Wharton, how did it go?"
Hogg said nothing, only nodded.
Hiri froze for a moment, then covered his mouth, his eyes instantly reddening. "Really... it really worked?"
"It did," Hogg said. "Go prepare lunch. Today... make something extra."
"Yes! Right away!" Hiri wiped the corners of his eyes and hurried toward the kitchen, his steps so light he seemed like a different person.
Lunch was lavish: stewed meat, roast chicken, fried fish, and a plate of fresh fruit they usually couldn't bear to buy. Hogg even opened another bottle of wine, filling his own glass and pouring Wharton a small one.
"An exception for today," Hogg said. "To celebrate."
Wharton took a sip. It still tasted bitter, but he kept himself from making a face.
Hogg talked a little more during the meal, sharing stories about the clan's past-not the glorious exploits recorded on the spirit tablets, but smaller things: an ancestor who liked collecting stones, one who married a commoner, and one who had never left Wushan Town in his entire life.
Wharton listened quietly. These details hadn't appeared in the original story; they belonged to this world alone.
After the meal, Hogg went to his study, saying he needed to go over the accounts. Wharton returned to his room and opened the Dragonblood Secret Codex.
The handwriting was old, and the text had been copied by hand, with the ink blurred in places. It was divided into two parts: theory and cultivation. The theory covered the properties of the Dragonblood bloodline, the conditions for awakening it, and the principles behind transformation. The cultivation section contained specific breathing methods, instructions for the movements, and formulas for medicinal baths.
Wharton quickly read through it, and a notification immediately appeared on the panel:
[Inherited knowledge acquired: Dragonblood Secret Codex (incomplete handwritten copy)] [Theoretical comprehension: preliminary analysis in progress] [Cultivation prerequisites: physical foundation meets standard (currently met), bloodline concentration meets standard (currently met), supplementary medicinal ingredients (not met)]
The medicinal ingredients section listed more than a dozen items: Dragonblood Grass, Ironbone Flower, Body-Tempering Root... names he had never heard before. Approximate prices were marked after each one, and even the cheapest cost several dozen gold coins per portion.
Money really was a problem.
Wharton closed the booklet and walked to the window. The cluster of old houses in the backyard stood silent in the sunlight. No other animals had appeared there since Bebe left. It had been three years; Linley should already be a fourth-rank mage at the Ernst Institute by now, shouldn't he? A letter came every month, describing academy life and his progress in magic, and occasionally mentioning whatever trouble Bebe had gotten into again.
Over the next month, the rhythm of Wharton's life changed.
His morning training shifted from basic physical conditioning to the specialized movements in the Dragonblood Secret Codex: a twelve-form guidance technique paired with a special breathing method. The movements looked simple, but performing them was immensely taxing. After a full set, his whole body felt as though it had been taken apart.
The panel recorded the changes:
[Dragonblood Warrior Basic Guidance Technique] [Proficiency: 0.5% (first practice)] [Effect: mildly stimulates bloodline activity and promotes the body's absorption of energy] [Note: must be accompanied by a highly nutritious diet, or it may damage the foundation]
His nutrition really couldn't keep up. The Baruch family ate better than ordinary commoners, but it was nowhere near enough for a Dragonblood Warrior's cultivation needs. Wharton could feel a hollow hunger deep within his body after every session of the guidance technique. It wasn't hunger in his stomach, but a deficiency at the cellular level.
Hogg had evidently realized it too. He had been going into town more often lately, and every time he returned, his expression was grim. Wharton overheard him speaking quietly with Hiri in the kitchen:
"...How much did Philip offer for that set of silverware?"
"Eight hundred gold coins. Master, the old madam left those behind..."
"Sell it."
"But..."
"Wharton's needs are more important."
Wharton quietly walked away. He knew Hogg was selling the family's property, and he also knew that the family's finances would reach their lowest point at this stage in the original story, until Linley sent money home.
But when would Linley send it? In the original story, it was shortly after Wharton's test. Now, however, the timeline had changed subtly because of his transmigration: he had started systematic training earlier, for instance, and had a deeper theoretical understanding of Dragonblood Warriors. Would those butterfly effects affect Linley's progress?
Another week passed, and Wharton could clearly feel his strength giving out during training. By the eighth form of the guidance technique, his vision darkened, and he had to stop and rest. A warning appeared on the panel:
[Energy intake severely insufficient] [Recommendation: immediately consume high-calorie food and suspend high-intensity training until the body recovers] [Failure to do so may cause bloodline activity to decline]
That evening, Wharton went to see Hogg.
In the study, Hogg was frowning over a stack of account books. In the candlelight, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were much deeper than they had been three years ago.
"Father." Wharton stood in the doorway.
Hogg looked up. "What is it?"
"I can cut back on training," Wharton said directly. "I'm not getting enough nutrition right now. Training too much will only harm my body."
Hogg was silent for a while, then put down his pen. "I know. Wait a few more days. Once that batch of silverware is sold, we'll have money to work with again."
"What if it doesn't sell?"
"It will." Hogg's voice was steady. "There's always a way."
Wharton asked no more. He knew Hogg was forcing himself to hold on, just as he had in the original story, willing to sell off all the family's ancestral property for his children's future.
Three more days passed. At lunch, the food Hiri served was noticeably simpler: only stew and black bread, with very little meat. She averted her eyes, not daring to look at Hogg or Wharton.
After lunch, Hogg went out again. Wharton returned to his room and continued reading the theoretical section of the Dragonblood Secret Codex, trying to find a way to save money between the lines. Were there substitute herbs? Any materials he could gather himself?
No. The Dragonblood Warrior cultivation system was well established but expensive, and every step depended on resources.
Toward evening, the sound of hoofbeats came from outside.
Wharton went to the window and saw Hillman jump down from his horse, dusty from travel but smiling. He strode into the main house, and soon Hogg's voice came from downstairs-surprise, followed by wild joy.
When Wharton went downstairs, he saw Hogg holding a dark blue card, its magical markings glowing faintly.
A Magic Crystal Card.
"Young Master Linley won it in a competition at the academy," Hillman explained to Wharton. "There are nine thousand nine hundred gold coins in all, deposited in this card. He asked me to bring it back and said it was for you to use, Young Master Wharton."
Hogg stared at the card, his hand trembling. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came out. In the end, he only patted Hillman's shoulder hard, then turned and walked toward the study, his steps somewhat unsteady.
Hiri stood nearby, wiping away tears and murmuring, "That child... that child..."
Wharton looked at the Magic Crystal Card. Its blue sheen stood out in the dim sitting room, like a small piece of the deep sea.
Linley had sent the money home. The timing was perfect, not a moment off.
In the original story, this was a turning point for the family, and it was now as well. The financial crisis was over, Wharton could go to the O'Brien Empire, and Linley could continue cultivating at the Ernst Institute without worry.
Everything was back on track-or rather, moving onto a new track.
By dinner, Hogg had recovered his spirits and even brought up his plan to send Wharton to the O'Brien Empire. "I've already made inquiries. The empire's highest warrior academy, O'Brien Academy, has specialized classes for training warriors. Tuition is five thousand gold coins a year. With living expenses and materials, the money Linley sent will be enough for two years."
"What about after two years?" Wharton asked.
"By then, you should have shown some results," Hogg said. "The academy provides subsidies for talented students. If you perform well, the later expenses can be reduced or waived."
Wharton nodded. The arrangement was the same as in the original story.
"When will he leave?" Hiri asked.
"Next month," Hogg said. "The O'Brien Empire is to the north, and the journey takes more than a month. He'll arrive before classes begin."
One month. Wharton calculated it in his head. That was enough time for him to thoroughly master the theory in the Dragonblood Secret Codex and get his body into its best condition.
After dinner, Hogg asked Wharton to come to the study. He took a letter from a drawer. The handwriting on the envelope was neat, and it was Linley's.
"Your brother wrote this to you." Hogg handed it over.
Wharton opened the letter. It wasn't long. In simple words, Linley described life at the academy, said Bebe had grown a little bigger, and talked about his progress in magic cultivation. The final paragraph read:
"Wharton, I heard your bloodline concentration met the standard. That's wonderful. Train hard and don't be afraid of hardship. Don't worry about money; I'll keep earning more. Once we've both grown strong, we'll find the family's saber together."
It was signed, "Your brother, Linley."
Wharton folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Hogg looked at him. "Your brother cares about you very much."
"I know."
"Once you're in the O'Brien Empire, write home often." Hogg paused. "Write to your brother too. He's out there alone, and he'll miss home."
"I will."
It was completely dark by the time Wharton left the study. He returned to his room and sat down in the darkness without lighting a lamp.
The panel unfolded before his eyes, its various figures lined up quietly. He stared at it for a long time, then closed it and lay down on the bed.
In one month, he would leave Wushan Town for an utterly unfamiliar empire and enter an utterly unfamiliar academy. At six, he would still have been in elementary school in his previous life. Here, he was about to begin living independently.
It would have been a lie to say he wasn't afraid. But more than that, he was looking forward to it.