Chapter 1: The Rise of the Forgotten
The sky was bleeding.
A deep red haze stretched across the heavens as fire devoured the rooftops of Ironwood Village. Just hours ago, the small village nestled in the crook of the Southern Vale had been a place of peace—simple meals shared under starlight, soft music drifting through windows, quiet laughter echoing from clay homes.
Now, there was only chaos.
The clash of blades. And the thick, choking smoke of burning wood and flesh.
People ran and screamed.
And sixteen-year-old Noah Blackveil—he just ran.
Barefoot and bloodied, he stumbled through the dirt paths of his dying village, his lungs aching, his robe torn and stained with red. Most of the blood wasn't even his. A jagged cut stretched across his ribs, sticky and raw. He didn't remember when he'd been hit—only that the pain had dulled into a heavy throb, like his body had given up trying to warn him.
He didn't stop to look back.
There was nothing left to see.
The attackers had come without warning—masked cultivators cloaked in shadow, their faces hidden behind demon-like masks. Their robes were black as night, and their blades shimmered with an eerie, humming light that flickered with dark spiritual energy. They came without a word—no demands, no explanation, no mercy.
Noah had no sword, no training, and no strength to fight.
He had no one left to protect him. His father had died when he was still a child. His mother, just few years ago, passed away due to illness. All she had left him was a pendant—silver and obsidian, strung on a worn cord—and a single, whispered warning:
"Never take it off. No matter what."
At the time, he didn't understand. But now, it was the only thing he had left.
It bounced against his chest with every desperate step, like it was trying to remind him it was still there—still waiting.
A low cry escaped him as his foot caught on a tree root, and he crashed hard into the dirt. His hands scraped against the ground, and for a moment he just lay there, gasping, the scent of smoke thick in his nose.
He wanted to stop—just lie there and let the pain and suffering end.
But something inside him refused.
Not yet.
He pushed himself to his feet, swaying. The trees began to thin ahead. The smoke faded, replaced by fog curling low over the ground. In the moonlight, he saw it—half-hidden by overgrowth.
He saw a path.
Ancient stone steps, cracked and uneven, climbed into the hillside. Moss and vines choked the stone, and roots split the path like time itself had tried to erase it. But it was still there. Waiting.
Noah didn't think. He climbed.
Each step burned. His breath came in ragged gasps. Blood trailed behind him. But he climbed.
At the top of the path stood ruins.
A broken archway loomed over collapsed buildings and fallen statues. Stone beams jutted from the earth like broken bones. The wind here was cold and still, as if the mountain itself was holding its breath.
Carved into a cracked tablet near the entrance—barely visible under moss and vines—were four faded words:
Eternal Heaven Pavilion.
Noah paused, swaying on his feet. He'd heard the name before. Once, long ago. A traveling merchant had told stories of a legendary sect—warriors who could fly on swords and split mountains with a single strike.
He'd thought it was just a story.
But standing here, beneath the ruined gate, it didn't feel like fiction.
It felt like something long lost, patiently waiting to be found again.
He staggered forward, past fallen walls and silent statues, until he reached the heart of the ruins—a wide stone platform, cracked and overgrown, with a single upright monolith standing at its center.
Old runes were etched into its surface, worn by centuries, but still faintly glowing.
Noah fell to his knees in front of it, the last of his strength gone.
The pendant around his neck pulsed—once, then again—growing warmer against his chest.
He reached out, his fingers brushing the stone.
"Why…" he whispered. "What is happening to me?"
And then—everything went black.
There was no breath left. No pulse. Just stillness, as if his very soul had faded away.
Then—
A breath. Sharp and sudden.
Like a man drowning, desperate for his first breath of air.
Noah's eyes snapped open. But something had changed.
His thoughts were clearer. His heartbeat steady. The fear that had consumed him before had dulled, like a fire smothered beneath ash.
He sat up slowly, wincing. His side still throbbed, but the pain felt distant now.
"…Where am I?" he murmured. "Didn't I die?"
He looked down at his hands—smaller than he remembered, calloused and trembling. They were his… but not quite.
Then came a sound—not through his ears, but inside his skull.
[Ding.]
A presence unfolded in his mind—vast, ancient, mechanical.
[Direct Bloodline Detected. Initiating System Binding…]
[Analyzing Bloodline Essence… 12% Compatibility Detected.]
[Minimum Threshold Met. Binding Successful.]
Heat surged through his chest. He gasped as the pendant cracked, its pieces dissolving into glowing light. The light sank into his skin, spreading warmth through every limb like embers waking beneath his flesh.
[Welcome, Heir of the Eternal Heaven Sect.]
Noah blinked, trying to process what he was hearing.
"…A system?" he whispered. "Am I dreaming?"
[Negative. Consciousness Transfer Complete. You are now inhabiting the vessel of Noah Blackveil—last known descendant of Alaric Blackveil, First Disciple of the Eternal Heaven Sect's Grandmaster.]
That name struck him like a deep echo, familiar and weighty, as if a door had opened inside him, unlocking something buried in his very blood.
"Blackveil…" he muttered. "That's… my name."
For a long moment, silence hung in the air, the weight of the name pressing down on him like a stone. His mind felt foggy, caught somewhere between clarity and confusion, as if a veil had been drawn over his memories. Slowly, fragments of his past—memories of this body's predecessor—began to flicker.
He saw his mother's face, pale and frail, pressing the pendant into his hands with shaking fingers, her voice a whisper in his ear: "Never take it off. No matter what."
Then, the chaos of Ironwood Village—the masked cultivators, the burning houses, the screams echoing through the night. Running. The pain. The fear.
As his mind struggled to process it all, the name "Blackveil" felt like it carried more than just his own history. It was his bloodline. His legacy. A story that stretched back through generations. The past wasn't just memories anymore—it was alive in him, calling out through his veins.
Noah's chest tightened. A deep sense of recognition stirred in him, mixed with something ancient and powerful. It was like waking from a dream, and yet, nothing felt real. His heart raced as though something deep inside him—something forgotten—was finally coming alive.
Then the voice echoed again—calm, ancient, and steady.
[Welcome to the remnants of the Eternal Heaven Pavilion.]
[Eternal Heaven Pavilion — Mortal Realm Branch Sect.]
[Resonance detected. Core binding site confirmed.]
[Beginning preview of Sect Core Restoration.]
Noah's vision wavered.
The broken courtyard around him shimmered—and then changed. Like sunlight cutting through mist, glowing illusions began to form. Cracked stones floated into the air, spinning and shifting until they slotted back into place. What had once been ruins now stood tall and whole again—temples, training grounds, and towers lit with golden light.
Disciples dressed in gleaming robes practiced sword forms in wide courtyards. Their laughter echoed off polished marble. A tall, majestic gate rose from the earth, its silver crest gleaming under the moonlight. Etched across its surface, one word glowed in ancient script:
Eternal.
Noah stared, heart pounding.
And then—like fog scattered by wind—it was gone. The ruins returned. Silent. Empty. Broken.
He dropped to one knee, breath heavy, the vision still burning in his mind.
"Was that... the past?" he whispered. "Or the future?"
[Both,] the voice replied. [This place remembers what it was. And so do you.]
The voice wasn't just metal and code anymore. Something deeper stirred beneath it—older than the stone beneath his feet, older than the wind on the mountain. It felt like something had just woken up… inside him, and all around him.
Noah slowly pushed himself back to his feet. His legs trembled. Blood still clung to his side. But he was standing.
He wasn't just a survivor now.
Not just a scared boy running from fire and death.
He was something more.
The last spark of a dying legacy.
The final heir of a forgotten sect.
And in that moment—surrounded by dust, silence, and the weight of history—he made a vow.
He would not let this place be lost.
He would rebuild it.
Stone by stone.
Disciple by disciple.
Even if he had to crawl through blood and ash to do it—
Noah Blackveil would make the Eternal Heaven Sect rise again.