"How the fuck did these bastards get here?"

  Tae-Won's eyes snapped open at the chorus of high-pitched voices outside his door. For a brief, blissful moment, he had forgotten where—and who—he was. Reality came crashing back as his ribs throbbed in protest when he tried to sit up.

  This wasn't his imperial chamber. This was a dilapidated shack in the slums of Murim, where he'd passed out after exhausting his pathetic Qi reserves fighting Jin Clan disciples. The memories of his former life as Emperor Edward Reinhart of Latvaria felt both distant and painfully fresh.

  "SAVIOR! SAVIOR! WAKE UP!"

  The chanting outside grew louder, piercing through the thin wooden walls of his shelter. Tae-Won groaned. He had outrun them—he was certain of it. He had lost the pack of street urchins in the maze-like alleys of the slum district, found his way back to this hovel, barricaded the door, and collapsed onto his straw mat.

  Yet here they were.

  "SAVIOR! WE BROUGHT FOOD!"

  Food. The word made his stomach growl traitorously. Tae-Won realized he hadn't eaten since arriving in this body about a day ago.

  "System," he muttered, his voice rough with sleep. "What time is it? How long was I unconscious?"

  [Approximately 14 hours have passed since user lost consciousness. Current time: 8:24 AM]

  Fourteen hours. That explained the hunger gnawing at his insides. He'd burned through his minimal energy reserves fighting those disciples with his Meridian Disruptor technique—a skill from his past life that had barely allowed him to survive the encounter.

  "SAVIOR! THE PATROLMEN ARE COMING SOON! LET US IN!"

  Patrolmen? That didn't sound good. Tae-Won reluctantly dragged himself to his feet, wincing as his body protested every movement. He shuffled to the door and removed the rickety chair he'd propped against it.

  The moment he cracked the door open, a flood of dirty faces surged forward. Thirteen children, ranging from perhaps six to sixteen years of age, all wearing rags that made Tae-Won's own shabby clothes look positively regal by comparison.

  "You actually came," he said flatly, too exhausted to muster proper imperial disdain.

  "Of course we came!" The thin boy—Ho-Jin, if Tae-Won remembered correctly—pushed to the front of the group. "We always come back for our own."

  "I'm not 'your own.' I'm not anything to you."

  "You saved us from the Jin Clan! That makes you our savior!" A little girl with missing front teeth grinned up at him, holding out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. "Look! We brought bread!"

  The smell of the slightly stale bread made Tae-Won's stomach rumble audibly. The children giggled, and he felt his face flush with embarrassment. Emperors did not have growling stomachs. Emperors did not blush. Emperors definitely did not accept charity from filthy street children.

  But he wasn't an emperor anymore, was he?

  "Fine," he said, snatching the bundle from her hands. "Come in if you must. But only for a moment. Then you're all leaving. Permanently."

  The children poured into his tiny shack like water through a broken dam, filling every corner with their energy and chatter. Tae-Won retreated to the far wall, tearing into the bread with as much dignity as he could muster while ravenously hungry.

  "So, Savior, what's your name?" Ho-Jin asked, squatting nearby with an expression of undisguised admiration.

  Tae-Won swallowed a mouthful of bread. "I'm not your savior."

  "But what's your name?"

  He considered for a moment. "Tae-Won," he finally said, deciding to use this body's original name. "Just Tae-Won."

  A smaller boy tilted his head curiously. "I haven't seen you around the slums before. Where are you from? Judging by your clothing..." he looked at Tae-Won's tattered but distinctly different garments, "are you part of the Beggar Sect?"

  "The Beggar what now?" Tae-Won asked, genuinely confused. While he retained his strategic mind and some techniques from his past life, much of this world's specific terminology remained foreign to him.

  The children exchanged surprised glances.

  "The Beggar Sect," Min-Ji explained. She appeared to be about sixteen, with a long scar running down one cheek. "They're a sect that operates throughout the continent, gathering intelligence and such. They often disguise themselves as beggars and live in the slums." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "But judging by your expression, you're probably not from there."

  "Then where are you from?" Ho-Jin pressed. "We know most people in this part of the slums."

  Tae-Won paused, a strange realization dawning on him. He had woken up in these slums, in this body, yet none of these children recognized him. Surely in a close-knit community like this, even a loner would be recognized by appearance. Did no one really know this body?

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "I move around," he answered vaguely. "I haven't been in this particular area for long."

  The children seemed to accept this explanation, though Min-Ji's suspicious gaze lingered a moment longer than the others.

  "Where did you learn to fight like that?" another boy asked. "Even the Jin Clan disciples couldn't touch you!"

  "That's an exaggeration," Tae-Won said, though a small part of him preened at the praise. "They touched me plenty. Hence these." He gestured at his bruised ribs. The fight had been far closer than the children realized—he'd barely survived by exploiting his opponents' overreliance on power rather than technique.

  "But you still beat them!" Ho-Jin insisted. "No one beats cultivators! Especially not... well..."

  "Especially not slum rats?" Tae-Won finished for him, his voice cold.

  The children fell silent, exchanging glances.

  "We're not rats," Min-Ji said softly. "We're survivors."

  Something about her quiet dignity reminded Tae-Won of the refugees he'd encountered during the Eastern Campaign in Latvaria—those displaced by the demon incursions who had still maintained their pride despite losing everything.

  He studied the children more carefully now. Behind the dirt and malnutrition, he saw determination in their eyes. The way they positioned themselves around the room wasn't random—the older ones placed themselves between the younger children and the door. They had organized themselves, created a hierarchy, formed a miniature society within the brutal world of the slums.

  Perhaps they weren't entirely useless after all.

  "So," Tae-Won said, finishing the last of his bread. "What's this about patrolmen?"

  Ho-Jin's face grew serious. "The Jin Clan controls this district. They have patrolmen who collect 'protection money' from all the businesses and residents. After what happened yesterday, they'll be looking for you."

  "Let them look," Tae-Won scoffed. "I'm not afraid of a few cultivator brats."

  "You should be," Min-Ji said. "What you fought yesterday were just Outer Disciples—still in the early stages of training. The patrolmen are actual Jin Clan members. Core cultivators."

  Tae-Won frowned. "Core cultivators?" While his past life had given him combat experience and some transferable techniques, the specific cultivation systems of this world were still new to him.

  [Information: Core Cultivators typically operate at the Foundation Establishment realm or higher, representing a significant power increase over Outer Disciples]

  "How much stronger are these 'core cultivators'?" Tae-Won asked.

  "Much stronger," Ho-Jin answered. "The disciples you fought were probably at the early stages of Body Refinement. Patrolmen are at least at Foundation Establishment, some even at Qi Condensation."

  Tae-Won's brow furrowed. "I see. These terms... explain the cultivation realms to me. I need to test you on this matters."

  The children exchanged confused glances, and Ho-Jin spoke up proudly thinking this was a test, clearly eager to share knowledge. "Everyone knows there are six main stages. Body Refinement is first—that's where most cultivators in the slums get stuck. Then Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Qi Condensation, Nascent Soul, and finally, Heavenly Ascendant."

  "Those who reach Heavenly Ascendant can ascend to the Divine Realm," Min-Ji added, her voice hushed with awe. "But no one from the slums has ever made it past Core Formation. The resources required are beyond our reach."

  Tae-Won absorbed this information, calculating odds and scenarios as he had countless times on the battlefields of Latvaria. With his current strength—or lack thereof—confronting these patrolmen would be suicide.

  "Then I'll have to avoid them," he concluded. "I need time to strengthen my body, to cultivate my Qi, to—"

  "We can help!" Ho-Jin exclaimed, eyes bright with excitement. "We know all the hiding places, all the secret paths through the district. No one knows these slums better than we do."

  "And why would you help me?"

  The children exchanged glances again, some sort of silent communication passing between them.

  "Because you're strong," Min-Ji finally said. "Because you stood up to the Jin Clan. Because..." She hesitated.

  "Because we need a leader," Ho-Jin finished for her. "Our last protector died three months ago, and we've been struggling ever since."

  Tae-Won stared at them, incredulous. "You want me to be your leader? Your protector? I just got to this city. I know nothing about surviving here."

  "But you know how to fight," another boy argued. "You know things that even the sect disciples don't know. You can teach us!"

  "Teach you?" Tae-Won laughed bitterly. "I barely have enough Qi to keep myself alive, let alone teach a bunch of—"

  He stopped abruptly as a thought occurred to him. In Latvaria, he hadn't built his empire alone. He'd started with a small band of loyal followers, then a company, then a regiment, then armies that spanned continents. Every grand conquest began with a single step—with gathering the resources at hand, no matter how meager.

  These children knew the slums. They had survival skills he lacked. They had networks, information, perhaps even access to places that might further his cultivation.

  "Actually," he said slowly, a calculating glint entering his eyes, "perhaps we can help each other."

  The children perked up, hope dawning on their dirty faces.

  "I need information, about cultivation, about the sects and clans that control this city. In exchange..." Tae-Won paused, considering his words carefully. "In exchange, I can teach you some basic techniques to awaken your meridians. Nothing advanced—I doubt any of you have the constitution for serious cultivation—but enough to protect yourselves."

  "You'd teach us cultivation?" Ho-Jin whispered, eyes wide with disbelief.

  "Basic techniques," Tae-Won corrected firmly. "Don't get your hopes up. Most of you probably don't have the talent for true cultivation. But even the simplest breathing exercises can strengthen your bodies, make you faster, more resilient."

  "For what reason would you need all this information?" Min-Ji asked, her suspicious nature still evident.

  Tae-Won regarded her with newfound respect. "Information has many uses. But it's not just that—if all of us get stronger in the future, couldn't we perhaps start our own sect?"

  "A sect?" Min-Ji's eyes widened. "You want to start a sect?"

  "That's for the future," Tae-Won replied with a dismissive wave. "But I want today to be the foundation."

  "I'm about to be part of a sect!" Ho-Jin exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement.

  A little girl tugged at Min-Ji's sleeve. "Can I get a cool nickname? Like 'The Rising Princess'?"

  Tae-Won looked at the children with a frown. "We have a lot of work to do."