The air inside the Royal Palace of the Sun Moon Empire remained thick with silent tension.
Even a week after the assassination attempt in the slums, the shadow of the ambush lingered over the grand hallways.
Yet, beneath the heavy guards and watchful eyes, the palace was a hive of chaotic activity.
The twin royal birthday was next week, and the imperial servants were working themselves to the bone, desperate to make the grand celebration memorable enough to sweep the recent security failure under the rug.
Meanwhile, in the quiet sanctuary of his personal workshop, Xu Xuandong wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
His mind briefly flashed back to the start of the week.
After getting blasted into the wall by his eldest sister, Xu Mie’er—who had escalated a minor breakfast argument by pulling out a literal Grade-5 soul cannon—he had wisely retreated.
He spent the evening playing with the adorable royal triplets to soothe his frazzled nerves before diving headfirst into his true passion: research(gaming).
Now, sitting on his workbench was the culmination of seven days of sleepless nights.
Xuandong held a small, polished metal pyramid engraved with delicate, shimmering array lines.
If any master Soul Engineer from the Sun Moon Empire or the Three Empires of the Douluo Continent saw this device, their jaws would hit the floor.
The intricate runes carved across the alloy didn’t belong to any known soul engineering school.
By drawing on his Steam Deck’s system knowledge, Xuandong had successfully fused high-level Druid spell matrices with traditional soul tool circuits, forging a completely unique, hybrid branch of engineering accessible only to him.
“Finally…
done,” Xuandong muttered, letting out a long breath.
He admired the faint green glow humming inside the pyramid.
He smiled, though his inner critic couldn’t help but analyze it.
It’s just a prototype.
Filled with flaws, terrible energy efficiency, and a bit clunky…
but for a first try, it’ll do.
“That’s a nice little toy you’ve got there.” Xuandong didn’t even flinch, though his lips twitched in annoyance.
He slowly looked behind him at the shadowy corner of the room.
“Don’t you know how to knock, old man?” Ye Guan stepped out of the darkness, his posture relaxed, a faint smirk playing on his aged face.
“And let the whole empire know I’m paying a casual visit to the young prince?
I think not.” Xuandong rolled his eyes at the old man’s absolute shamelessness.
Seeing the boy’s exasperated face, Ye Guan chuckled softly.
His expression lightened as he reached into his robes.
“Cheer up, kid.
I bring great news.” He pulled out a tightly sealed scroll and tossed it across the desk.
Xuandong caught it, broke the seal, and unrolled the parchment.
As his eyes scanned the text, his eyebrows shot up in genuine shock.
“Holy shit…
How on earth did you manage to get your hands on this?” “It’s thanks to you,” Ye Guan replied, folding his arms.
“If you hadn’t redirected me to Lu Wang on time during the aftermath of the ambush, that slippery rat would have managed to cover his tracks and get away clean.” Then, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
The playful banter evaporated as Ye Guan’s eyes hardened into serious intensity.
He stepped closer, looking down at Xuandong.
“Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?
If we use this plan, a civil war might start.
There’s no turning back.” “if we become too passive we wouldn’t know how we died.
we need to strike them while we can” Xuandong said coldly, tossing the scroll onto the table.
“After a failed hit, they won’t dare touch me easily right now.
The real issue isn’t me—it’s you.” Xuandong pointed a finger at the old powerhouse.
“They won’t move against a prince openly, but by pulling this trigger, you will officially offend both my dear uncle, Xu Gongfeng, and Marquess Lu.
Are you really okay taking that heat?” Ye Guan let out a rich, gravelly chuckle.
“The relationship between Xu Gongfeng and me is already so rotten we might as well be trying to kill each other on sight anyway.
As for Marquess Lu?
He boarded Gongfeng’s ship a long time ago.
He was already my enemy.” “Fair enough,” Xuandong nodded, satisfied.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the armrest.
“Tell me about your relationship with Duke Yang.” Ye Guan blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden jump.
Duke Yang was the formidable leader of the imperial court’s Natural Faction—a group of fiercely independent old-foggy who cared nothing for royal infighting, refused to align with any prince or faction, and swore loyalty strictly to the empire itself.
Ye Guan widened his eyes and shook his head firmly.
“Forget it, Xuandong.
Duke Yang and his entire faction are as stubborn as mules.
They won’t take sides in a succession war, no matter what you offer them.” “I know that,” Xuandong smirked.
“But what if the goal isn’t to make them side with me, but to use them to keep my uncle in check?” Ye Guan blinked again, confused.
“What do you mean?” Instead of answering verbally, Xuandong reached into his drawer and tossed a handwritten leather manual onto the desk.
Ye Guan picked it up, curiosity taking over.
He flipped open the cover and began to skim the detailed diagrams and soul-power flow routes inside.
As he read, his eyes gradually widened, a look of profound shock washing over his weathered face.
“Where…
where did you get this?” “Created it myself,” Xuandong said casually, leaning back.
“It’s a specialized cultivation technique designed for Soul Masters up to the Three-Ring level.
It vastly stabilizes soul power, builds a rock-solid foundation, and dramatically enhances the body’s ability to absorb the medicinal effects of herbs and body-refining potions.” Ye Guan held the manual with trembling hands.
“Do you have any idea what this is?
This…
this solves the biggest bottleneck in cultivating young talent in the entire empire!” “I know,” Xuandong smiled smoothly.
“And here is how we distribute it.
The manual can be split into three distinct parts, each corresponding to a Soul Ring stage.
I want the first part released publicly—available to every single Soul Master in the empire.
Every academy and school will use it as the empire’s new standard foundational technique.
The second part will be restricted to the nobility.
And the third, most potent part?
Reserved strictly for the core, loyal members of the Sun Moon Empire.” Ye Guan stared at him, calculating the political ramifications in real-time.
“If this technique spreads, it will rapidly boost the overall strength of the empire’s forces…
which means it directly benefits Xu Tianran’s standing as the primary heir right now.” Xuandong scoffed, waving his hand dismissively.
“Please.
The only thing this changes for Xu Tianran is that he might die a little slower.” The utter confidence in the boy’s voice made Ye Guan pause, before he burst into laughter.
“Alright, kid.
But if that’s your play, I have a much better idea.” Xuandong raised an eyebrow, quietly waiting.
He respected Ye Guan’s experience enough to hear out a solid counter-proposal.
“I should introduce you to Hall Master Kong Deming of the Virtues Hall,” Ye Guan said.
Xuandong’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the old man.
“What’s with that look?” Ye Guan asked, amused.
“Do you have some personal grudge against old Kong?” Xuandong shook his head, keeping his thoughts to himself.
On his very first day after reincarnating into this world, he had formed a rather cynical, critical opinion of Kong Deming based on what he knew of the original story line.
But looking at the current political chessboard, Xuandong realized he might have been a bit too hasty in his judgment.
“Go on,” Xuandong gestured.
“I’m listening.” “Kong Deming is part of the Natural Faction alongside Duke Yang,” Ye Guan explained, his tone growing strategic.
“He is fiercely loyal to your late grandfather, the previous Emperor.
Because of that, he supports the throne so long as the Emperor is of your grandfather’s direct bloodline.
However, he harbors a deep, personal aversion to Xu Gongfeng.
If presented properly, he would happily step in to keep your uncle’s hands tied—provided he thinks you are worth the political risk.” Ye Guan leaned over the desk, pointing at the custom soul tool prototype and the cultivation manual.
“For what you’re trying to achieve, Kong Deming is a far better target than Duke Yang.
The man lives and breathes the advancement of Soul Engineering.
He doesn’t care about flattery or political promises, but he cherishes genius above all else.
If you show him even a fraction of your talent and what you’re capable of creating, gaining his backing won’t just be a possibility—it’ll be a guarantee.” Xuandong looked at the metal pyramid on his desk, a slow, scheming grin spreading across his face.
“Now that sounds like a party.” With their strategy finalized to rope Kong Deming into their camp, Ye Guan gave a approving nod and melted seamlessly back into the shadows of the room.
Once the old powerhouse had left, Xuandong stepped toward the back wall of his workshop.
Chanting a quick, low incantation, the solid stone parted like water, revealing a hidden room he had grown secretly using his Druid magic.
He walked into the center of the subterranean chamber, taking the newly crafted pyramid soul tool and placing it carefully onto the smooth floor.
With a pulse of energy, a brilliant yellow soul ring rose from beneath his feet, and his Steam Deck martial soul manifested in his hands, instantly morphing into a towering, ornate quarterstaff.
Normally, the magical staff would be five times taller than an seven-year-old child, but thanks to the Steam Deck’s unique item-scaling properties, the weapon shrank to perfectly match his small stature.
Holding the staff firmly with both hands, Xuandong began chanting in an ancient, mystical language.
The words echoed off the stone walls, carrying an eerie, primordial resonance.
With a final sharp breath, he slammed the base of the staff directly onto the pyramid.
CLANG!
The pyramid fused instantly into the floor.
Luminous, unheard-of runes burst outward like a web of liquid light, etching themselves into the ground to form a massive, glowing magic array.
The ambient soul power in the room violently surged, condensing until the atmosphere became five times denser than the air outside.
Xuandong smirked, looking down at the shimmering circle beneath his feet.
He turned the staff back into his trusty Steam Deck and sat down right in the middle of the array.
Lately, his cultivation had hit a massive roadblock.
Ever since his in-game character hit Level 4 in Baldur’s Gate 3, playing the game consumed so much soul power that he could barely keep it running for five minutes straight before running completely dry.
At his current rate, even if he broke through to Rank 20 and absorbed his second soul ring, his increased reserves would only let him play for maybe twenty minutes max before hitting a wall.
Fortunately, he had Withers.
Out of curiosity, Xuandong had used the skeletal NPC to experiment with class swapping.
When he respec’d from Druid to Monk, the immediate result was jarring—his warm, deep connection to nature was abruptly severed.
But in exchange, his micro-control over his own physical body skyrocketed.
Curious, he pushed the Monk class all the way to Level 4 and chose the Way of the Four Elements, only to end up completely shell-shocked.
As a Druid, leveling up deepened his bond with the natural world around him.
But as a Monk, each level up brought a surge of mental clarity and “enlightenment.” It pushed his spirit directly into the legendary state of the Unity of Man and Heaven—a transcendent state of hyper-awareness where a Soul Master’s mind perfectly merges with the world’s natural rhythm, granting absolute clarity, flawless soul power control, and an effortless, pure state of high-speed cultivation.
Experiencing that state made him realize just how shockingly primitive and inefficient the Sun Moon Empire’s traditional cultivation methods actually were.
Combining his insider knowledge of Soul Master biology with the enlightenment of a Level 4 Monk, he had engineered a near-perfect foundational cultivation technique.
The only downside was his own structural bottleneck: he was still just a One-Ring Soul Master with a Level 4 game character, which capped his current technique design to only work for Soul Masters up to the Three-Ring stage.
Then, his mind wandered to his next, far crazier exploit.
Using Withers once more, he had swapped from Monk to Wizard, picking the Necromancy subclass.
Blending a Necromancer’s deep, fundamental understanding of souls with modern soul-tool circuit arrays, Xuandong had managed to invent an entirely new, specialized circuit pattern—one designed to directly interface with and link to a Soul Master’s Martial Soul.
It was a theoretical breakthrough he originally planned to save for creating Battle Armor ten thousand years ahead of its time.
“Alright,” Xuandong murmured, staring down at the glowing floor.
“This is either going to work brilliantly, or go horribly wrong.” He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and offered a desperate, solemn prayer: “Lord Gabe…
please have mercy on this virgin soul.” He activated the array.
The glowing runes on the floor detached themselves, flying upward like luminous butterflies and wrapping tight around his Steam Deck martial soul, establishing a direct, pulsing link.
Suddenly, the Steam Deck began to violently shake.
Sparks of raw, unrefined energy crackled wildly across its screen.
Then— Silence.
The array froze.
The spastic shaking stopped instantly.
The room fell into a dead, suffocating quiet.
The screen of the Steam Deck remained completely dark, floating motionlessly in front of him like a bricked console.
Xuandong held his breath, his heart dropping into his stomach.
A beat passed.
Two beats.
Then, Xuandong burst out into a loud, hysterical laugh.
“HA!
It fucking worked!” The screen flared back to vibrant life with a crisp chime.
The function of the magic array was simple, yet utterly game-breaking: it acted as an external power bank for his Martial Soul.
Instead of draining his own pitifully small soul power reserves, the array fed the Steam Deck continuously, allowing him to run high-level BG3 indefinitely.
As for where the array pulled its infinite power?
Simple: the Ley Lines.
For some bizarre reason, the utilization of Ley Line energy in the Douluo Continent universe was practically non-existent.
The only place in the entire world that managed to tap into it was Shrek Academy—and even they didn’t do it intentionally; it was done automatically by the ancient Golden Tree planted on their grounds.
Xuandong kicked his feet up, leaning back as Baldur’s Gate 3 loaded smoothly without dropping a single frame of his soul power.
“Unlimited game time,” he grinned, tapping the buttons.
“Now we’re talking.” The next morning, Xuandong dragged his feet into the royal dining hall, looking like a corpse that had clawed its way out of a grave.
Dark, heavy panda circles hung beneath his bloodshot eyes—the undeniable side effect of pulling an all-night gaming marathon on his newly powered Steam Deck.
His twin sister, Xu xia, gasped the moment she saw him.
“Xuandong?!
What on earth happened to you?” Xuandong collapsed into a chair, buried his face in his hands, and let out a long, hollow groan.
“I want to die…” The entire dining room froze.
The imperial siblings looked at each other, their faces instantly pale with horror and guilt.
Ever since the slum ambush, they had all been walking on eggshells around him, but seeing him this utterly broken made their hearts sink.
“Don’t say that!” Xu xia squeaked, her voice cracking as she rushed over to hug his shoulders.
“Xuandong, please, it’s over now!
You’re safe!” Even Mie’er looked noticeably uncomfortable, quietly setting down her spoon without her usual fiery attitude.
Xuandong blinked through his fingers, realizing instantly that they had wildly misinterpreted his gamer-burnout complaint as deep, lingering psychological trauma from the assassination attempt.
He opened his mouth to clarify, but paused.
Wait…
a tragic, traumatized prince gets away with a lot more political nonsense.
“I just…
I just need something to take the edge off,” Xuandong muttered, putting on his best emotionally exhausted tone.
“I want a drink.” The siblings exchanged hesitant, worried glances.
Under normal circumstances, giving an eight-year-old strong liquor would be out of the question, but seeing him in this state, they relented.
Xu Xiao quickly poured him a glass of top-tier imperial wine.
Xuandong gulped it down.
But while he put on a show of slipping into a dazed stupor, he secretly cast a low-level Druid Heal spell internally, instantly purging the alcohol from his bloodstream.
There was no way he was going to actually get drunk and accidentally spill the beans about his secrets.
After a few more “struggling” minutes, he feigned passing out, letting his head rest heavily on the mahogany table.
Sighing in relief, the head maid gently picked up the sleeping prince and carried him back to his bedchambers.
Meanwhile, in the high-walled sanctuary of the Throne Room, a very different kind of grief was unfolding.
The Empress was weeping quietly, her hands trembling as she wiped away her tears.
“It’s my fault…
It’s all my fault.
I should have kept more guards on him…” The Emperor stood beside her, gently resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Stop blaming yourself.
No one could have predicted an ambush of that scale inside the capital.
It is not your fault.” She looked up at her husband, her eyes rimmed with red.
“How is the investigation going?
Have you found out who ordered the hit?” The Emperor let out a heavy, tired sigh.
“Whoever orchestrated it went to extreme lengths to scrub their tracks.
Every lead we follow ends in a cold trail—or a corpse.” The Empress grit her teeth, her expression darkening with fury.
“It’s Xu Gongfeng.
It has to be him!
He is the only one in the entire court who stands to benefit from our son’s death!” The Emperor didn’t argue with her anger, but he shook his head slowly.
“I have investigated my brother thoroughly, and I found nothing linking him directly.
In fact…
I am beginning to suspect the Three Empires might be pulling the strings.” His wife looked at him, startled.
“The Three Empires?” “Do you remember the sudden strike in the southern provinces a few months ago?” the Emperor asked quietly.
When she nodded, he continued, “That attack was carried out by Evil Soul Masters.
Then, just days ago, our son is ambushed in the slums—again, by Evil Soul Masters, alongside two rogue members from Gongfeng’s faction.
On the surface, it points straight to my brother.
But look at the execution.” He leaned against the armrest of his throne, his gaze sharp.
“It was sloppy.
Unorganized.
Almost as if it were put together on a complete whim.
If Gongfeng truly wished to assassinate my son, he wouldn’t send a chaotic, haphazard strike team like that.
And then there’s the boy Xuandong rescued—Ji Juechen.
The forces hunting that kid were just ordinary thugs and low-rank mercenaries.
The entire scene feels like a setup designed to throw the court into chaos.” Despite his logic, the Empress remained unpersuaded, her heart aching for her child.
“Even so…
what are we supposed to do?
Look at him!
Our son might be physically safe, but his spirit is crushed.
I don’t want him slipping back into that vacant, clueless state he was in before…” She was referring to the dark, terrifying period during his early childhood when Xuandong had suffered a severe identity crisis, staring blankly into space for days on end like a hollow shell.
“What should we do?” she whispered desperately.
The Emperor stared out the tall stained-glass windows of the palace, remaining silent for a long moment, before letting out a slow, heavy sigh that echoed through the empty hall.