The opulent living room exuded luxury, every element a testament to the inhabitant’s refined taste. Furniture crafted from polished rosewood gleamed under the soft morning light, its ornate carvings lending an air of timeless sophistication. A tea table displayed an exquisite blue-and-white porcelain set, perfectly arranged, while the heavy curtains embroidered with gold thread framed the room in quiet elegance. The tranquil ambiance, however, was short-lived.
“Ahhhh!”
A bloodcurdling scream shattered the early morning stillness, ricocheting through the ornate halls and into Alan’s ears.
Startled awake, Alan bolted upright from the bed, his lean, muscular form tense with instinctual alertness. His long black hair spilled over his shoulders as he raked a hand through it, his sharp features set in a frown. He blinked, his dark eyes scanning the room for the source of the commotion.
“Who dares disturb me?” he muttered, his tone cold and commanding, a faint echo of the authority he once wielded.
His gaze shifted toward the foot of the bed, where a woman stood frozen in shock. She was stunning—her skin alabaster white, her features delicate yet striking. She wore little to shield her from the morning chill, her disheveled state betraying her panic.
“Alan!” she screamed, her voice trembling with a mix of outrage and fear. “What are you doing in my room?!”
Alan stared at her, confused, until his eyes followed hers to the bed. There, amid the rumpled sheets, a dark crimson stain stood out starkly against the white fabric.
Angela, the second daughter of the influential Miller family, recoiled in horror, pointing an accusing finger at him.
“You—how dare you!” she shouted. “What have you done?! You’ve disgraced me! I’ll never forgive you for this!”
Alan’s frown deepened, but he said nothing. He had no recollection of how he had ended up in her room, let alone her bed. His mind raced, piecing together fragments of hazy memories, but before he could respond, Angela’s fury boiled over.
“You’ll pay for this!” she yelled, her voice shaking with emotion. Her hand shot up, and a radiant white aura burst forth, forming a blade of energy that crackled with lethal intent.
With a cry of rage, she lunged at him, the blade aimed squarely at his chest.
Alan remained still, his expression calm. At the last moment, he flicked his fingers, and the blade disintegrated into harmless sparks. Angela staggered back, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“How… how did you do that?” she stammered.
Alan sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He towered over her, his presence commanding despite the simplicity of his movements.
Before he could answer, a sharp pain exploded in his head. He winced, clutching his temples as foreign memories surged through his mind, flooding his consciousness. He saw battles fought on celestial planes, the clash of divine powers echoing across worlds. He saw himself—Alan, the Demon Lord—standing at the pinnacle of the Divine Soul Realm, revered and feared by billions.
He had been betrayed. His closest ally, Zeus, and the woman he had once called his sister, Maximus, had turned against him in their pursuit of the legendary Immortal Fruit. Cornered and outnumbered, Alan had made the ultimate sacrifice, destroying his own soul to deny them victory.
And yet, against all odds, he had been reborn.
Now, he stood in the body of a weak, disgraced youth bearing his name—a far cry from the supreme being he once was.
“Alan!” Angela’s voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. She stared at him, a mixture of fear and confusion in her eyes.
Before he could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from outside the room.
“Open this door immediately!” a commanding voice barked, the tone leaving no room for argument.
Angela’s face paled.
“It’s my father,” she whispered, panic flashing across her features. “And my sister… if they see you here like this, they’ll kill you!”
Alan arched an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Let them come.”
Angela grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Are you insane? You don’t understand—they’ll destroy you!”
Alan’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “I don’t hide.”
Before Angela could argue further, the door burst open with a deafening crash, splintering under the force of the blow.
Three figures strode into the room. At the front was Miller Ryder, Angela’s father, a towering man with a grizzled beard and an aura of authority that matched his position as head of the Miller family. Beside him stood Angela’s elder sister, Margaret, her cold, calculating eyes taking in the scene with unsettling precision. Behind them was Alexandra, a young man with a smug grin that Alan immediately recognized as trouble.
The trio’s eyes darted between Alan and Angela, then settled on the bloodstained bed. Their expressions darkened.
“What is the meaning of this?” Miller Ryder demanded, his voice like thunder. His gaze locked onto Alan, brimming with fury. “You dare disgrace my daughter?!”
Alan straightened, his posture relaxed despite the tension in the room.
“What I dare or don’t dare is irrelevant,” he said calmly, his deep voice cutting through the heated atmosphere. “Perhaps the better question is, who orchestrated this farce?”
Alexandra’s smirk faltered, but only for a moment. Miller Ryder, however, was in no mood for riddles.
“Enough!” he bellowed, his aura flaring with the unmistakable energy of a powerful cultivator. “I’ll end you here and now!”
Angela stepped forward, desperation in her eyes. “Father, wait! It’s not what you think—”
“Silence!” Ryder snapped, cutting her off.
He raised his hand, summoning a blade of energy that glowed with a brilliant purple hue. The sheer force of his power made the air in the room grow heavy.
Alan sighed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a slight discomfort. He had no intention of dying here, but he also had no intention of revealing his true capabilities—not yet.
“Angela,” he said quietly, his tone steady. “Step back.”
The room seemed to hold its breath as Alan prepared to
