Poison God's Heritage Chapter 1 Prologue

How easily, how fleetingly, and how tragically a human life can be extinguished without warning. My memories are hazy, but I recall working late at the office, a common occurrence as I had no one to return home to. My parents were long gone, and I had no siblings or close family who would notice or even care if I lived or died.

My existence was unremarkable, yet I poured my all into it, seizing opportunities and not shying away from taking shortcuts. I was no saint, and I won't pretend otherwise. But I know this much: I was honest, and that wouldn't change.

I was walking down a street, entering a familiar, dimly lit alley, one I'd traversed countless times during my working life. As a manager at an engineering firm, I was just a few hard years away from a director position. Life, though monotonous, filled with the daily grind and workplace dramas, still held a future for me. Perhaps reaching director would change me. It was a distant hope, but a hope nonetheless.

The last thing I recall was a gruff shout, followed by a powerful blow to the head. The pain didn't register until moments later, when my cheek met the ground. My vision blurred into red, and then, after a sharp jolt of agony, I felt nothing.

A world of darkness enveloped me.

I spun and spun; there was no mistaking it, I knew then that I was dead. Strangely, this welcoming darkness wasn't as dreadful as I had imagined. The abyss was neither cold nor hot; it simply… was. I felt suspended, unable to move, yet with little will to try. Why should I care about what came next? This darkness wasn't the terrifying void I had anticipated.

Perhaps I would remain here for eternity. Then a thought occurred: God? Should I pray for help? But why? This place felt rather peaceful.

As I pondered, unconcerned with the passage of time in this non-existent realm, my eyes flared with a searing light. I could see, and was abruptly pulled from the comfortable darkness into a world of agony.

Had I been revived? Perhaps I was in a hospital, I mused. But the scorching sun and the gritty taste of dirt in my mouth told a different story. I managed to rise, my body… not my own. I was a man of forty-five, but this vessel was that of a child, likely between twelve and fourteen.

The garment I wore, a robe perhaps, was a pale blue… dress? I couldn't identify it, but it resembled a bathrobe, albeit made of silk.

I felt something heavy atop my head. Touching it, I discovered a hair bun. As I clumsily undone it, my hair cascaded down to my waist. Surprise washed over me as I looked around. A group of children scrambled away in the distance, and I found myself on a small hill overlooking a tiny village. Every movement sent waves of indescribable pain through me, as if my body were pierced with nails, each shift driving them deeper, inflicting more torment.

Any other man would surely have collapsed to his knees, writhing in agony.

Yet, I possessed the resolve to endure the pain, to push through it with sheer willpower. How I could tolerate agony that would have undoubtedly rendered my former self unconscious, I didn't know.

I stumbled towards the village. I had no idea who I was, or whose body this was. But could it be true, what I read in my youth? Had I been reincarnated? And if so, was this a world of cultivators? My youthful dreams of such tales coming true, dreams I had dismissed as fables in adulthood, were now becoming reality.

To solidify this bizarre turn of events, a man in a dark purple gown, his hair adorned with a golden bun, materialized directly before me. I had no idea how he'd appeared. Two other men followed suit, joining him instantly.

"This kid is still alive?" the man uttered.

This wasn't English, yet I understood him perfectly. Perhaps the memories of the previous occupant of this body remained. I tried to recall past events, but nothing surfaced. It was as if this body came with only its biological functions, its original soul extinguished. The man's gaze remained fixed on me, making me feel exposed, as if he could see through me.

"Shen Bao, you still live. Useless. You should have died back then, rather than waste more of our village's resources."

'So, my name is Shen Bao, huh? But what is he talking about?'

"Lord Patriarch, he appears to be in a state of shock; all of his meridians have been shattered. He is no better than a cripple now. Should we put him out of his misery?"

The word 'kill' sent a wave of panic through me.

"There is no need. We do not acknowledge cripples, he is of no use to us. Revoke all of his privileges and send him back to where he originated. The world of Cultivators is now closed off to him. He will perish eventually, whether by the hands of bandits, some ruffians, or perhaps simply by old age." The patriarch turned and began to walk away. Each stride he took covered a distance ten times greater than a normal person could manage. It was peculiar, strange, and simultaneously terrifying.

These were individuals possessing abilities and powers far beyond what science could explain. Hailing from a world governed by mathematics and physics, these people had, in mere seconds, dismantled everything I had dedicated my life to, everything I had worked for, strived for, and believed in.

"Cultivation, huh? Can you believe it? It's actually possible. The books and stories weren't lies after all," I muttered to myself, a laugh escaping my lips.

"Come with me," one of the two men accompanying the patriarch instructed, moving ahead. While his pace wasn't as blindingly fast as the Patriarch's, his steps were still far too swift for my current physical state.

Agonizing pain shot through my body with every step I took. Many steps were required to reach the designated city, and keeping pace with the man proved incredibly challenging.

We arrived sooner than I anticipated. Upon our arrival, a carriage awaited me. The man I had followed spoke briefly with the driver, gesturing towards me before tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe and departing.

"Boy," the driver addressed me. It took a moment to register; I hadn't been called 'boy' in a considerable time.

I responded, "Yes?"

"Get your backside in here, we're leaving."

"Understood," I replied, climbing aboard. Destination: an unknown world, unknown fate.

My entry into the cultivation world is certainly unlike that of any other protagonist I've encountered in fiction. It might not be the absolute worst, but it's far from the best. Perhaps, just as those tales suggested, fate plays a role in such circumstances, and maybe, just maybe, it holds something extraordinary in store for me as well.