In Changlong Nation, within the walls of Tianyong City, stood the Willowbrook Clan.

Once, during the founding of the realm, the clan’s forebear had served as a great general. Though the family had waned through the years, in Tianyong City they still carried enough weight that a single stomp could shake the streets.

At dawn, when the first streak of red rose in the east, a thin young man found himself blocked outside the towering gates of the Willowbrook estate.

“You two mutts dare stop me? Listen well—I'm the future son‑in‑law of this clan. If you don’t move, I’ll break your dog legs myself.”

“If you’re the Willowbrook son‑in‑law, then I’m the royal consort of a princess,” one guard snorted. “Today the clan welcomes honored guests. We’ve no time for your nonsense. Get lost!”

The boy—Rockford Emberstone—showed not a shred of fear. Instead, he grinned, rogue‑like and bold.

“See? You said it yourself—you’re expecting an honored guest today. That guest is me. Your young lady and I have a marriage pact. I’m a distinguished guest of your manor. If you delay the auspicious hour… can you afford the blame?”

“Bullshit! Our young lady is blessed by the heavens. How could she ever be betrothed to a ragged beggar like you?”

“Then answer me this—your clan head, Thornton Willowbrook… that's his name, yes? And he has a daughter named Cassandra Willowbrook?”

“Nonsense question. Everyone in Tianyong City knows the lord and the young lady. What does that prove?”

“So you know. Then you must also know—your young lady has a red birthmark on her foot. I have one as well. That’s the token of our betrothal. Want me to take off my shoe and show you?”

Before the guards could retort, Rockford slipped off his worn cloth shoe, revealing a crimson mark beneath his foot.

The problem was… neither guard had ever heard of any such birthmark on their young lady. So their suspicion only deepened.

“You really don’t give up till you hit the coffin, do you? Red birthmark, my ass! Sounds like a story you made up!”

Cursing, the two guards raised their fists, ready to pound Rockford’s head into the dirt.

“Damn it… just my luck to run into two clueless idiots who don’t even know about the birthmark,” Rockford muttered, utterly speechless. He didn’t even try to fight back—he had no strength to resist anyway.

Just as he braced himself for a beating, a deep, steady voice suddenly thundered out:

“Stop!”

The command hit like a hammer. Both guards froze mid‑swing.

Rockford cracked one eye open, eyed the fists hovering inches from his face, and let out a long sigh.

“Scared me half to death… I come here to get married and almost get my skull cracked. What kind of luck is this?”

The two guards turned at once. A middle‑aged man stood inside the Willowbrook estate gates, his sudden appearance making both guards drop to their knees.

“Greetings, Steward Thornhill!”

The man was indeed Steward Thornhill, neither high nor low in the Willowbrook family’s hierarchy—but he happened to know one particular secret: Cassandra Willowbrook had a red birthmark on her foot, and that mark was tied to an old marriage pact.

Steward Thornhill ignored the two guards and strode straight to Rockford Emberstone. “Show me the red mark on your foot.”

“Oh? Finally someone who actually knows what’s going on?” Rockford felt a surge of relief as he lifted his foot again, revealing the red mark.

“So it really is the Heaven‑King Mark…”

Staring at that crimson spot, Thornhill muttered under his breath, then raised his head. “What is your name?”

“Rockford Emberstone.”

“You two—watch him closely. I’m reporting to the family head right now!”

Thornhill’s voice tightened, and he hurried deeper into the estate.

Seeing the steward’s anxious rush, the two guards suddenly felt their bravado drain away.

Could this ragged boy… really be a distinguished guest? The Willowbrook family’s future son‑in‑law?

“Well? Do you believe me now?” Rockford grinned, his face full of smug delight as the guards shrank back.

“Don’t get cocky, boy! Nothing’s settled yet. Maybe Steward Thornhill comes back and exposes your lie. When that happens, we’ll beat you to death!”

“Still talking tough?” Rockford sneered. “If I were you two, I’d be kneeling already. Who knows—if I end up as the Willowbrook son‑in‑law, maybe I’ll put in a good word for you. If not…” His eyes narrowed with cold humor. “When I get my position, I’ll make sure you never work another day inside these gates.”

The two guards felt bitter, but… what if he was telling the truth? If he was, this beggar-looking brat was about to become their young master.

“You’re not lying to us?”

“Think, you fools. Didn’t you see how nervous the steward was? But lucky for you—there’s still time. Kneel now, and when I’m the son‑in‑law, I’ll speak well of you. If you don’t…” Rockford folded his arms calmly. “I’ll personally see you tossed out of here.”

Teeth clenched, faces tight, the guards finally dropped to their knees.

“Greetings, Young Lord!”

“Of course, of course.”

Rockford Emberstone let out a bold laugh. Through the grand, imposing gates of the Willowbrook estate, his eyes caught a faint glimmer—sharp, eager, almost like a hunter spotting a familiar trail.

“Cassandra Willowbrook… ten years apart. You doing well these days?”

A memory rose in his mind—ten years ago, a tiny girl surrounded by savage beasts, yet still giving him a soft, grateful smile.

—

Inside the Willowbrook estate, the halls gleamed with gold and jade. At the center stood a vast reception hall, reserved only for the most honored guests.

Thornton Willowbrook was already seated, back straight, expression stern. Beside him stood a tall young woman—cold beauty etched into every line of her face.

“Father, I’m not marrying him!”

“Silence! This matter is not yours to refuse. No matter what you think, this marriage will happen. That is an order.” Thornton shot Cassandra a hard glare.

“Why? I’ve never even seen Rockford Emberstone! Why should I marry someone I don’t know?”

“Cassandra, listen to your father,” an elder said gently. “Rockford is the son of the one who saved our clan. This betrothal was decided long ago. If you refuse, you’re shaming your father.”

“That’s right, Cassandra,” another elder echoed. “Rockford is blessed by the heavens. He’s the son of that person. His future will outshine most men. Marrying him is your fortune—and the pride of the Willowbrook family.”

Cassandra’s autumn‑bright eyes flashed with cold anger, yet no one gave her a chance to speak again.

At that moment, Steward Thornhill rushed into the hall.

“Master, he’s arrived!”

Thornton shot to his feet, excitement breaking through his composure. “Where is he? Why wasn’t he brought inside?”

But Steward Thornhill hesitated. He swallowed hard, glancing toward Thornton with a troubled look.

“Master… before that, there’s something I need to confirm.”

“What is it?” Thornton’s tone sharpened, impatience rising.

“Master… you’re certain the young lady’s fiancé is named Rockford Emberstone?”

“Nonsense! The son of our savior—how could I forget his name?”

“But… but…”

“What's going on? Speak.”

Steward Thornhill let out a slow, helpless breath. “The boy outside… he calls himself Rockford Emberstone. But he… he looks like a beggar.”

“A beggar?”

The elders in the hall froze, eyes wide. Rockford Emberstone, a beggar?

Impossible. With that woman's ability, her son should've been born under the brightest skies. How could he end up like this?

“A beggar… and that’s the so‑called ‘once‑in‑a‑generation prodigy’ you all spoke of?” Cassandra Willowbrook sneered, her voice sharp enough to cut.

“Mind your manners!” Thornton Willowbrook shot her a cold glare. Even so, his own brows had knotted tight.

Someone beside him whispered, “Thornton, whatever the case, let Steward Thornhill bring him in first. If he really is the benefactor’s son, we can’t afford disrespect.”

“Yes, yes—Steward Thornhill, go fetch Young Master Emberstone at once!” Thornton Willowbrook ordered.

Before long, Rockford Emberstone was led into the Willowbrook estate. The moment he stepped into the council hall, every elder instinctively frowned.

Just as Steward Thornhill had said—anyone looking at Rockford now would take him for a wandering beggar. Worse yet, he clearly hadn't bathed for at least a month. The instant he crossed the threshold, a foul, sour stench rolled in with him.

Thornton Willowbrook stared at him for a long moment before speaking.

“Boy, are you truly Rockford Emberstone? Think carefully before you answer. If you dare deceive my Willowbrook Clan… that is a capital crime.”

Under Thornton’s pressure, Rockford didn’t bend, didn’t flinch. He simply gave a calm, almost easy smile. “You must be Uncle Thornton Willowbrook, right? Of course I’m Rockford. I know you may doubt it, but that’s fine. I have my own way to prove it.”

“Then say it.”

“The Willowbrook Clan—one of the eight founding houses of the Changlong Kingdom. Once the rulers of Tianyong City. Eighteen years ago, you offended a powerful force and were nearly wiped out overnight. From then on, your clan declined, and the city lord’s seat was stripped away. If not for my mother stepping in, this estate would be nothing but ruins. Uncle Thornton, am I wrong?”

Cassandra Willowbrook turned to her father. She hadn’t known what happened eighteen years ago—she’d just been born then. But seeing Thornton’s heavy expression and deep silence, she realized every word Rockford spoke was likely true.

“Back then, my mother saved you. Your whole clan owed her your lives. The old patriarch was still alive then—he swore to repay the debt, even said the Willowbrook Clan would serve the Emberstone Clan for generations. But my mother is kind. She refused that and instead used a marriage pact to tie our families together. And that pact… is what kept your clan alive all these years. Tell me, am I wrong?”

Thornton Willowbrook’s sword‑straight brows twisted even tighter. Rockford’s words were unpleasant—each sentence like a slap—but every one of them was true.

Even now, when Thornton thought back to that night eighteen years ago, he felt a chill crawl down his spine. A mighty force had come close to erasing the Willowbrook Clan entirely. It was only because Rockford’s mother intervened that the clan survived at all.

Eighteen years had slipped by. The Willowbrook Clan had fallen from its former glory, yet with their vast lands and control over several gold mines in Tianyong City, plenty of powers still eyed them like hungry wolves. But because of this marriage pact, none dared make a move.

“Master, that boy must be the son of our benefactor. Otherwise he’d never know what happened to the old clan head back then.”

“Master, a man can’t be judged by his clothes. Maybe Young Master Rockford just dresses poorly, but his talent could be outstanding.”

“Yes, appearances deceive!” Thornton Willowbrook nodded, then looked at Rockford Emberstone. “Rockford, my good nephew… may I ask what your cultivation level is?”

“My cultivation? Mortal Dust Realm, first layer. I think… yeah, one layer.”

Thornton’s face darkened at once. Mortal Dust Realm? The lowest rung on the path of cultivation? And only the first layer?

He forced himself to stay calm. “No matter, no matter. Some start slow and rise late—many late bloomers surpass all others in the end. Then… Rockford, what about your Life Stars? How many?”

Life Bodies were ranked from one to nine stars, a person’s inborn talent. They could be altered later in life, but the price was brutal—mountains of rare treasures burned just to force a change. Most clans only nurtured those with three stars or more. Anything below three was called a Mortal Body, a futureless path.

“My Life Body? One star.”

“One star?” Thornton Willowbrook’s composure shattered; he coughed violently. “Then… your physical constitution?”

“A Mortal Body.”

Mortal Dust Realm first layer. One‑star Life Body. Mortal Body physique.

Thornton felt his vision dim. This wasn’t just a weakling.

This was the kind of waste you wouldn’t meet again in a hundred years.