The gates of Blackwood Mountain had not been repaired in seven years.
Ethan saw it the moment the carriage rounded the final bend. The iron bars twisted and rusted, one hinge torn clean from the stone. The gate stood half-open, as though no one had bothered to close it properly in years. Beyond it, the path wound upward through weeds that had claimed what was once a paved road.
The driver, an old man who had said perhaps ten words during the entire journey, slowed the horses.
"This is as far as I go."
Ethan understood. The Blackwood Mountain was no longer a place people traveled to. It was a place people left.
He stepped down from the carriage, his single bag in hand. The driver didn’t wait for payment, Ethan had already settled that in the capital. The old man simply turned the carriage around and disappeared back down the road, leaving Ethan alone before the broken gates of his family’s ancestral home.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at the rusted emblem of the Blackwood Family. A black wolf beneath a crescent moon barely visible beneath years of neglect.
Five years.
Five years since he had been sent away. Five years since his father had looked at him with disappointment and said, "Perhaps distance will help you find what you lack."
Ethan had found nothing in the capital except the truth.
He adjusted his grip on his bag and walked through the gates.
The path up the mountain was worse than he remembered.
The Blackwood estate had never been a place of luxury. The family had been warriors, not merchants but it had been maintained. Now, the training grounds were overgrown, the barracks empty, and the sound of clashing swords was nowhere to be heard.
He passed a group of children playing in the dirt. They looked up when they saw him, their faces thin and their clothes patched. One of them, a girl with pigtails, opened her mouth as though to greet him, but an older boy pulled her back.
The girl stared at him for another moment before returning to her game.
Ethan kept walking.
The main hall came into view. It had been a grand building once, with pillars of black stone and a roof of polished tiles. Now, cracks ran through the pillars, and several tiles were missing from the roof. A faint smell of dampness hung in the air.
Two guards stood at the entrance. Their armor was mismatched, their spears chipped, but their eyes were sharp. One of them stepped forward.
"State your business."
Ethan met his gaze. "Ethan Blackwood. I’ve returned."
The guard’s expression flickered with surprise, confusion, and something else. Pity? Disdain? Ethan couldn’t tell.
"Wait here," the guard said, and disappeared inside.
Ethan waited. The other guard avoided his eyes.
A few minutes later, the guard returned. "The Matriarch will see you."
The main hall was smaller than he remembered.
Perhaps it was because the long table that had once dominated the room was gone, replaced by a simple wooden desk. Or perhaps it was because the banners that had once hung from the walls each bearing the name of a Blackwood ancestor had been removed.
Only one banner remained, faded and tattered, hanging behind the desk.
Eleanor Blackwood sat behind it.
His aunt had aged poorly. Her hair, once black as a raven’s wing, was now streaked with silver. Lines had carved themselves into her face, and her eyes which had the same grey as his own were tired.
She looked up when he entered. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she said, "You came."
"You sent for me."
"I wasn’t sure you would."
Ethan said nothing.
Eleanor studied him for a long moment. "You’ve changed."
"So have you."
A faint, bitter smile crossed her lips. "Yes. I suppose we both have."
She gestured toward a chair. "Sit."
Ethan sat.
For a moment, the only sound was the wind rattling the windows. Windows that had not been properly sealed in years.
Then Eleanor spoke.
"Your father died six months ago."
Ethan’s expression didn’t change. He had known, of course. The letter had reached him in the capital. A brief, impersonal note, informing him of the death of a man he had barely known. He had read it once, folded it, and placed it in his pocket.
He still had it.
"I know."
Eleanor’s eyes sharpened. "You don’t seem particularly affected."
"Should I be?"
The words hung in the air.
Eleanor leaned back in her chair, studying him with an expression he couldn’t read. "You’re angry."
Ethan didn’t deny it.
"You have every right to be," Eleanor continued. "Your father... he was not a kind man. He was not even a good man. But he was the Patriarch of this family, and his death has left us in a precarious position."
Ethan waited.
Eleanor’s voice dropped. "The Ashford Family has made their intentions clear. They want the mountain."
"The Ashford Family is nothing more than a vassal family. They should not be making demands of the Blackwood Family."
"They shouldn’t. But they are."
Eleanor rose from her chair and moved toward the window. Through the grimy glass, Ethan could see the mountain’s slope—the terraced fields, the scattered buildings, the thin trails of smoke rising from chimneys.
"Five years ago, when you left, the Blackwood Family was struggling. We had lost our influence, our wealth, our reputation. But we still had our pride."
She paused.
"Now, even that is gone."
Ethan watched her. "What happened?"
"The Ashford Family happened. They have been systematically dismantling us for years. They have taken our trade routes, bribed our allies, turned our servants against us. And now..."
She turned to face him.
"They have demanded the mountain itself."
Ethan’s jaw tightened. "And what does the family plan to do?"
"We have no plan. We have no strength. We have no allies. The only reason the Ashford Family hasn’t simply taken what they want is because they fear the Imperial Court’s reaction."
"For now."
Eleanor nodded. "For now."
Silence fell between them.
Ethan stared at the faded banner behind the desk—the black wolf, the crescent moon. The symbol of a family that had once stood among the great powers of the Eastern Wilds.
His family.
He had spent five years trying to forget them. Five years telling himself that he owed them nothing.
But standing here, in the crumbling hall of his ancestors, he realized the truth.
He had never stopped caring.
"Where is everyone?" he asked finally. "The elders. The warriors. The family."
Eleanor’s expression grew colder. "Scattered. Some fled when it became clear that the Blackwood name was no longer worth carrying. Others stayed, but they don’t believe in anything anymore."
"And those who remain?"
"Three hundred. Maybe less. Most are too young, too old, or too weak to fight."
Ethan exhaled slowly.
Three hundred.
Once, the Blackwood Family had numbered in the thousands.
"Who is left in charge of the family’s defenses?"
"Thomas."
Ethan’s expression flickered. "Thomas?"
"Your cousin." Eleanor’s voice was neutral. "He has taken on the responsibilities that no one else would. He is... struggling."
Ethan remembered Thomas. The golden child. The genius. The one who had succeeded where Ethan had failed.
Of course he was struggling.
"And what about the system?" Ethan asked. "The family’s cultivation techniques? The spiritual vein?"
Eleanor’s expression hardened. "The spiritual vein is failing. The techniques are scattered. The elders who remain are too busy arguing among themselves to do anything useful."
She paused.
"We are dying, Ethan. The Blackwood Family is dying. And unless something changes..."
"Unless something changes," Ethan repeated.
Eleanor studied him. "Why did you come back?"
It was a simple question. Ethan could have given a simple answer.
Because you sent for me.
Because I had nowhere else to go.
Because I wanted to see if it was as bad as I remembered.
But none of those were the truth.
The truth was that Ethan had spent five years in the capital, watching from the shadows as his family’s enemies grew stronger. He had watched the Ashford Family rise, watched them claim power that should have belonged to the Blackwoods. He had watched them mock his family’s name, and he had done nothing.
Because he was nothing.
No cultivation. No talent. No power.
But in those five years, Ethan had learned something.
Power was not given.
Power was taken.
"The Ashford Family thinks we are weak," Ethan said slowly. "They think we have nothing left. They think we will roll over and surrender."
Eleanor watched him.
"And?"
"And I think they’re wrong."
The ancestral grounds were located at the base of the mountain.
It was a place Ethan had visited only a handful of times in his life—a series of old stone buildings, half-buried in the mountainside, where the family’s ancestors were honored and their remains were stored.
The path there was overgrown, and Ethan had to push through vines and branches to reach the entrance.
The main hall was dark, lit only by a few candles that had been left to burn long ago. The air was thick with dust and incense.
And at the center of the hall, surrounded by the ancestral tablets of generations long past, stood a small, hidden door.
Ethan stared at it.
He had noticed it as a child. A door that didn’t belong, hidden behind a curtain in the back of the hall. He had asked his father about it once, and his father had told him to forget he had ever seen it.
Ethan had forgotten.
Until now.
He moved toward it, his footsteps echoing in the silence. The door was small, barely large enough for a man to pass through. It was made of dark wood, old and weathered, with no handle or lock.
Ethan pushed it open.
Beyond it, a passage descended into the mountain. The walls were rough stone, glistening with moisture, and the air grew colder with each step.
Ethan walked for what felt like hours.
Then he reached the end.
A small chamber, perhaps no more than ten paces across. In the center, a stone pedestal, and on it, a single object.
A book.
It was old. Far older than anything else in the Blackwood family’s possession. Its cover was made of dark leather, cracked and worn, and its pages were yellowed with age.
Ethan picked it up.
The moment his fingers touched it, something changed.
The air in the chamber shifted. The candles he had brought flickered. And a voice spoke—not out loud, but inside his mind.
『 SYSTEM AWAKENING COMPLETE. 』
『 Welcome, Host. 』