The forest was alive, yet silent.

  Han Ye crouched low, his breath steady as his eyes tracked the distant movement in the undergrowth. The tall trees swayed slightly in the wind, their shadows flickering under the pale moonlight. The faint scent of damp earth mixed with pine filled his lungs, a scent he had long since grown accustomed to.

  A small rustle. A flicker of movement.

  His fingers instinctively tightened around the bowstring, his body as still as a statue. The bow in his hands was not extravagant—just a simple, well-crafted hunting bow made from bckwood, its string woven from spirit beast sinew. It cked any ornate carvings, no glowing runes or inscriptions. But Han Ye preferred it that way. Practical. Efficient. Silent.

  A Shadow Wolf, no rger than a grown man, slinked forward from the darkness. Its fur absorbed the light, making it nearly invisible against the foliage. Its muscles tensed, ears flicking as it sniffed the air. But it was already too te.

  A whisper of movement—twang!

  The arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself between the wolf’s eyes before it could even react. A clean kill. The beast crumpled instantly, its body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Blood seeped into the soil, dark and glistening.

  Han Ye exhaled slowly, lowering his bow. Stepping forward, he knelt beside the creature and retrieved his arrow, wiping the blood on a nearby leaf before inspecting the shaft. No cracks. Still usable. He nodded in satisfaction before gncing down at the lifeless body of the wolf.

  "Another one." His voice was barely above a whisper, blending seamlessly into the night.

  Hunting had become second nature to him. It had to be.

  The Han Cn had thrived for centuries as hunters, not mere beast-syers, but as silent specters that moved unseen, striking before their prey ever sensed danger. In a world where swords and martial might dominated, the Han Cn had carved their pce as ghosts of the battlefield, assassins and warriors both.

  And yet, despite being part of such a prestigious bloodline, Han Ye was an anomaly.

  The children of the Han Cn were born with natural instincts honed through generations of survival. They trained in the bow, the dagger, and the art of tracking from the moment they could walk. Most relied on talent, intuition, and inherited techniques. But Han Ye? He was different.

  While others followed tradition, he sought understanding.

  Others fired arrows because they were taught to. He studied the arc of the shot, the speed of the wind, the impact force against different materials. Others relied on instinct. He relied on knowledge.

  And that was because, deep down… he wasn’t truly one of them.

  The truth was something he had never shared with anyone—not his father, not the elders, not even himself out loud.

  Sitting on a low branch of a nearby tree, he looked up at the vast sky. The stars shimmered like distant embers, stretching endlessly beyond his sight. A familiar sight. A sight that always made him feel small.

  "Twelve years…" he muttered under his breath. His voice carried in the wind, barely louder than the rustling leaves. "Twelve years since I woke up here."

  He leaned back against the trunk, his fingers tapping absently against the wooden bow.

  In his past life, he had been Arden Gale—a man of science, a mechanical engineer with a PhD in mechanical systems. His world had been governed by equations, ws of physics, and cold, hard logic. The world he had known was one of steel, electricity, and progress.

  Then, one day, he had woken up in the body of a newborn child.

  There had been no accident, no truck hitting him, no godly voice bestowing him a mission. Just… a shift. One moment, he had been Arden Gale, and the next, he had opened his eyes as an infant in a world of cultivation, mysticism, and power beyond comprehension.

  At first, he had denied it.

  Then, he had accepted it.

  Now? Now, he simply lived with it.

  He had spent years trying to understand his pce in this world. It was nothing like the novels he had read before—no overpowered golden fingers, no system, no convenient memories of a past life guiding his cultivation. Just his mind. His knowledge. His skills.

  And most of all, his understanding of how people worked.

  This world was stagnant. Civilization had remained in a near-feudal state for centuries, not because they cked intelligence, but because they saw no reason to change. Why seek advancement in technology when one could cultivate and achieve power beyond mortal limits? Why build machines when a single powerful cultivator could wipe out armies?

  The people here did not fear ignorance, only weakness.

  Han Ye understood this better than anyone.

  The Han Cn was the same. Though skilled in hunting and archery, they never adapted. Their weapons remained the same. Their tactics unchanged. They believed that tradition was strength.

  Han Ye didn’t disagree—but he saw possibility beyond what they accepted as absolute.

  "If this world is unwilling to change… then I will be the one to change it," he whispered, gripping the bow tighter.

  But not yet.

  For now, he would remain as he was—Han Ye, the prodigious hunter of the Han Cn. A quiet boy with a sharp mind, an unmatched aim, and a tendency to challenge what others accepted as truth.

  He would wait. Learn. Observe.

  Then, when the time was right… he would reshape everything.

  Far in the distance, the howl of another wolf echoed through the trees, but Han Ye did not move. He simply smiled, eyes reflecting the glimmer of the stars above.

  His journey had only just begun.

  ********************

  A sharp, rhythmic beeping. A sterile white light flickering overhead. A crushing weight pressing down on his chest.

  Arden Gale struggled to breathe. His limbs felt numb, his body cold. He knew this feeling. Exhaustion. Not the kind that a few hours of sleep could fix, but the kind that had settled deep into his bones over years of endless bor.

  His eyelids fluttered, but the harsh fluorescent lighting above stung his eyes. A dull ache throbbed behind his temples, spreading down his neck and shoulders like molten lead.

  "Where… am I?"

  His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. His throat felt like sandpaper.

  He tried to move his fingers, but they barely twitched. The faint beeping quickened, matching the weak but erratic rhythm of his heart.

  He turned his head slightly. White walls. Machines humming softly. The faint scent of antiseptic.

  A hospital.

  Ah. So that’s how it ended.

  He let out a weak breath, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.

  Of course. Of course, it would end like this.

  Arden had always known he was overworking himself. The te nights, the endless calcutions, the ever-growing list of deadlines—he had ignored the warning signs. The chest pains, the dizziness, the moments where his vision blurred at his desk. There was always another task to finish. Another project to complete.

  His colleagues had told him to take it easy. His boss had praised his dedication. His family had long since stopped asking him to visit.

  He had given his entire life to his work. And in return?

  He was going to die alone in a hospital bed.

  A quiet, choking ugh escaped his lips, but it turned into a cough, the sound rasping and weak.

  It was funny, in a way.

  He had spent his whole life pushing himself, believing that hard work was the key to success. That if he just worked harder, he could achieve something great. That all the sleepless nights and skipped meals would mean something in the end.

  But now, lying there, he couldn't even remember why he had worked so hard.

  What had he been chasing?

  Money? He had enough to live comfortably, not that he ever took time to enjoy it.Recognition? He had patents to his name, but no one would remember the man behind them.A legacy? No family, no friends, no one who truly knew him beyond his work.

  In the end, all he had was this—a failing body, a lonely room, and a heart that was too tired to keep beating.

  A sudden, loud beep. Then another.

  His vision blurred, the light overhead growing dim. The sounds in the room became distant, muffled, like he was being pulled away.

  His fingers twitched. His breath grew shallow.

  This is it, huh?

  Strange… he had imagined death would be more dramatic.

  His consciousness wavered, his thoughts unraveling like threads in the wind. The weight on his chest lifted, but so did everything else.

  No pain. No exhaustion. Just… emptiness.

  Then—

  A rush of warmth. A strange, muffled sound, like voices underwater.

  Darkness.

  Silence.

  And then—

  A breath.

  A gasp of air, deep and desperate, like a drowning man surfacing from the depths. His lungs burned, his body felt small and fragile. Sensations overwhelmed him—cold air against his skin, the feeling of fabric wrapped tightly around him, the distant scent of woodsmoke.

  His eyes shot open.

  The sky above him was vast and endless, a deep twilight blue speckled with stars. No artificial lights. No city skyline. No hum of machinery.

  Just the soft rustling of trees.

  A face hovered above him—a woman, her features sharp yet kind, her dark eyes filled with something he couldn’t quite understand. Relief? Worry?

  A man stood beside her, his build strong, his face worn by years of hardship. His expression was unreadable, but his hand rested gently on the woman's shoulder.

  They were speaking. The words were unfamiliar yet somehow… understandable, their meaning seeping into his mind as if he had always known them.

  The woman smiled, though tears shimmered in her eyes.

  "His name will be Han Ye," she whispered.

  And in that moment, Arden Gale died, and Han Ye was born.

  But deep inside, the man who had once been an overworked engineer y silent, waiting, watching.

  He did not know where he was.

  He did not know why he was here.

  But he knew one thing.

  This time… he would not waste his life.