Everyone of those beings stared at the sudden slang.
They weren’t used to such low-level words, their refined ears unaccustod to the crude bite of mortal vernacular.
Whispers spread like wildfire, shock etching their flawless features.
"What did you say? How dare you say such filthy words in the presence of the supre tower, and which clan do you belong to?" the young man asked again, his voice trembling with indignation.
"I said punk, get lost," Ethan repeated, his tone was flat and unyielding.
He was not in the mood to waste ti with him.
Suddenly, the knife in the hand of that young man started to glow.
He was angered to the point of exploding, his face flushing with divine fury, veins of light pulsing along his skin.
"I am Lucious Silvera. I challenge you to a duel, right here, right now," he declared, brandishing the weapon with a flourish.
Ethan didn’t say anything.
He looked into the eyes of the young man and released a slight aura of infinity on him.
The air thickened, an invisible force unfolding like an endless void.
The young man fell to the ground imdiately.
Suddenly, he felt like he had fallen into an endless abyss, his mind spiraling into bottomless darkness, screams echoing in his thoughts as reality unraveled around him.
He clutched at the grass, gasping, his knife clattering uselessly beside him.
Ethan left the area and sat cross-legged in a corner, ignoring the spectacle.
He closed his eyes, centering himself amid the growing tension.
"Who is he? The heir from the Silvera clan couldn’t do anything to him?" the other candidates all started muttering, their voices a mix of awe and fear.
But they didn’t go to ask Ethan.
The tension was high.
Every ti the rules in the ga changed, so they were tense about what that would be.
Speculations flew in hushed tones, each candidate pondering the unpredictable nature of the Tower of Trials, where past gas had twisted fates in unexpected ways.
Three days passed in a haze of anticipation.
Candidates ditated, sparred lightly, or ford uneasy alliances, all while keeping a wary eye on the tower.
Ethan remained aloof, absorbing the atmosphere, his mind replaying the imparted knowledge.
He knew the baptism and verification were imminent, a crucial step to confirm their eligibility.
Today was the day; the tower would test their legitimacy.
"Gather here," an ancient voice sounded from the tower, booming like thunder yet intimate as a whisper.
Everyone imdiately stood up and gathered together, forming a vast circle around the base of the structure.
Ethan too joined, blending into the crowd with quiet resolve.
Then suddenly, a blinding light gushed out from the tower and started scanning everyone.
It swept over the assembly like a wave, probing essences, delving into souls.
Beams of pure energy touched each candidate, illuminating their forms in hues of gold and silver.
When the light touched him, Ethan heard a voice in his head.
[Anomaly detected. Grade of the anomaly cannot be determined. Trial would be Hell grade difficulty. Reward for every hurdle 5 tis than normal.
Status: Eligible]
Ethan’s eyes widened.
"What? The difficulty is different for everyone?" he muttered under his breath, surprise flickering across his features.
But he didn’t get any answer.
The light moved on, leaving him to process the revelation.
"Yumiko, do you know anything?" he asked ntally.
[No, master. I have no idea.]
Ethan took a deep breath and sat down again, the grass cool beneath him.
Now he would have to wait until the reincarnation occurred.
The implications weighed heavily; Hell grade ant unparalleled challenges, but the multiplied rewards could be his edge.
He glanced around, noting the varied reactions among the others.
After the scanning, so had smiles on their faces, their postures relaxed with evident satisfaction.
Others were terrified, faces pale, eyes darting as if seeking escape.
Ethan knew they had learned about their difficulty levels; that’s why the disparity in emotions.
Whispers resud, sharing fragnts of what the voice had told them, though none dared approach him.
The following twenty-seven days dragged on in a tense limbo.
Candidates prepared in their ways: so honed divine techniques, others ditated on past lore, while alliances shifted like sand.
Ethan spent the ti in quiet contemplation, analyzing potential strategies for the trials ahead.
He avoided interactions, his presence a silent enigma that deterred curiosity.
The field buzzed with energy, the tower’s runes growing brighter as the start neared.
Finally, the mont arrived.
[The reincarnation will occur now. Everyone will get their roles in the world according to their difficulty levels. The divine material is a Divine Fruit. If soone finds it, the trial would be finished, and everyone would reincarnate in the next trial.]
As the voice sounded, Ethan felt a pull on his soul, an inexorable force tugging at his very essence.
The world blurred, colors swirling into a vortex.
He was being reincarnated.
[Na: Ethan Hunt
Difficulty: Hell
Background: You will be born in a royal family as the 7th prince. In a world full of powerhouses, you won’t be able to cultivate. Everyone will beco your enemy wherever you go, whatever you do. Mortality chance: 99%
Task: Survive, find loyal subordinates. For every loyal subordinate you will gain 10 strands of divine energy. For every catastrophe you survive, you will gain 100 strands of divine energy]
"Whaaa....." Ethan began, shock surging through him at the dire setup.
Ethan couldn’t finish his words, and his consciousness was pulled into the darkness, a void swallowing him whole.
Sensations faded, ti lost aning, as his soul traversed realms, reshaping into a new form.
When he woke up, he heard voices around him, muffled at first, then sharpening into clarity.
The air was warm, scented with incense and the faint tallic tang of blood.
He felt small, vulnerable, his body that of a newborn, swaddled in soft fabrics.
"The 7th prince is born. Your majesty, please give our son a na," a woman’s voice said, weary yet hopeful, echoing in the grand chamber.
Footsteps approached near him.
Then a man appeared beside him, his presence was vast.
A strand of energy entered inside his body, probing him.
It coursed through his tiny form, seeking potential, but found none.
"He is a waste with no talent for becoming a Spirit master. He can’t bear my last na. His na should be Ethan. From today onward, as the mother of this waste, you are being demoted to a concubine," the man declared, his voice was cold and final, devoid of any paternal warmth.
The woman’s gasp filled the room, a sound of heartbreak.
Ethan, his infant eyes struggling to focus, saw her face briefly: beautiful, lined with exhaustion, now crumbling in despair.
Whispers spread among the attendants imdiately, pity mixed with scorn.
Ethan’s mind raced, even in this fragile state.
Hell difficulty indeed; born into royalty yet branded worthless, unable to cultivate in a world where power defined everything.
Enemies everywhere, a 99% chance of death.
He needed to survive, gather loyal subordinates, turn catastrophes into gains.
The Divine Fruit was the key to ending this floor, but with his handicaps, it seed an impossible hunt.
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