Grand Return System-Chapter 1: Awakening at Amethyst Summit Division
Awakening at Amethyst Summit Division
Beyond the edge of known maps, shadows stretch where stories begin. There - where wind scrapes stone - the land forgets time. Giants once walked that dust, some say. Now only echoes remain beneath the cliffs. A school rises there, silent, built on old bones and taller than belief.
A flicker inside the broken lantern shook, fighting gusts that tugged at its edges - one last spark refusing to let go. The glow wavered like breath caught mid-air, holding on even as shadows pressed close.
A rickety bed held him still, tucked inside a rotting wood frame perched above the edge of Amethyst Summit Division. Not quite asleep, not fully here - his thoughts drifted where fog meets morning light.
A tangle of dark hair, wild and reaching past his shoulders, moved with every turn. Loose pieces touched skin where youth had not yet faded. Yet those eyes...
A strange beauty lived in his eyes, glowing violet, deep enough to get lost in. Light barely touched them, yet they shimmered, as if night sky had melted into pools. Water-like, they caught what little glow was near, pulling it under. Not quite natural, but impossible to look away from.
Now there stood a man squinting inward, as if chasing echoes through fog - each step toward memory laced with dread at what could surface. What waited beneath felt heavier than forgetfulness.
A hush settled close. It clung like fog at dawn.
Fingers rose like strangers into the air, watched by their owner with quiet disbelief.
Finished," he said softly, his voice shaky but edged with a quiet laugh. "Done for
A shaky sound escaped - laughter pulled tight across fear.
"I think I... transmigrated."
Floating in his ears, the words felt fake, almost like something pulled from old tales about swordsmen who never aged and fates that bent reality. He had flipped through them before, half-bored, on long afternoons.
Feet hit the creaking planks as he pulled air deep into his lungs. Up he rose, unsteady but moving. Across the room went one slow step after another. The window resisted at first, then gave way under pressure from both hands.
Floodwaters rushed into everything beyond the walls.
A hush of violet light spilled over the sky, as if morning had cracked open a gemstone. Glowing clouds floated, bathed in endless firelight, moving like sleepwalkers. Far off, cloaked shapes darted through air on blazing blades, enchanted charms, carried by rivers of raw magic - streaking, silent.
Wind tugged at their cloaks, sharp snaps cutting the air. The quiet ring of blades hinted at force held back. Power showed itself in each step they took.
It was beautiful.
It was terrifying.
Footsteps sank as if legends breathed nearby.
Fingers gripping the edge of the window, Leon held on while wonder mixed with doubt deep inside. A rush of shock settled into his bones without warning.
"...A world like this," he murmured, voice soft. "This is nothing like Earth."
Quietly, he shut the window - softly, as though looking away might make it vanish. Quietly.
Time blurred.
Half a day passed in heavy silence, thoughts crashing through him like relentless tides. He resisted them at first... then surrendered. Slowly, the truth settled deep, cold and solid as winter stone.
He wasn’t dreaming.
He had crossed into another life — into the Forsaken Domain, a world that felt strangely familiar. Not from one story, but from many — threads of cultivation, ancient households, celestial academies, beasts older than mountains.
And the identity fate handed him?
That was the hardest part.
"...Head of one of the Seven Divisions of Celestis Academy," he muttered, a crooked half-smile tugging at his lips. "Eighteenth leader of the Amethyst Summit Division."
The laugh that followed carried weariness, sarcasm, and the faintest plea to the heavens.
"My status seems to be quite noble," he said quietly, eyes darkening, "but it’s a pity I’m a general without an army."
The room swallowed his voice, leaving only echo and emptiness.
His teacher — Respected Zeon, a legend whispered across the academy — had lived and breathed the Immortal Principal. A man who clawed at the boundary between mortal and eternal until the last flicker of his life.
One step away from ascension.
One step... and then nothing.
On his deathbed, terrified the legacy of the Amethyst Mist Sword would vanish, Zeon named Leon as successor — not because Leon was brilliant, but because someone had to hold the line.
And Leon knew it.
He wasn’t chosen out of faith.
He was chosen out of desperation.
His aptitude? Mediocre.His foundation? Cracked and fragile.His future? Practically doomed.
Before Zeon could truly guide him, he left behind only fragments — old scrolls, fading inheritance, an empty seat of authority nobody really respected.
When Zeon lived, people bowed.
After Zeon died, those bows vanished like dew in sunlight.
Leon rubbed his face, exhaustion digging into his bones.
"...Yeah. My abilities are a huge disadvantage. If I don’t fix that, I might as well go dig my own grave."
His heart began to race — fast, restless.
He needed direction.He needed strength.He needed something impossible.
Then — his heart lurched.
A faint chime rippled through his mind. Clear. Ancient. Echoing like temple bells carried across eternity.
[Ding...]
Light flickered behind his eyes. A spectral progress bar swept across his consciousness.
1% — 17% — 37% — 57% — 77% — 97% — 100%
[Ding. Binding complete.][Grand Return System successfully established.]
Leon stiffened.
His purple eyes widened, pupils narrowing to slits.
"...System?"
His voice cracked — not from fear this time, but something dangerously close to hope.
His breathing steadied. His thoughts sharpened. He forced himself calm the way a gambler stills his hands before revealing the final card.
Then knowledge surged into him like a tide.
[Grand Return System]
(Visible only to Leon. Hidden from the world. Bound in secrecy.)
The host may bestow cultivation manuals, spirit pills, sacred herbs, spiritual cores, Blood & Bone Elixirs — even cultivation base — upon a student.
Upon bestowal, the system will return a reward.
The return is multiplied at random — sometimes small... sometimes beyond imagination.
Probability constantly shifts.
The greater the sincerity and sacrifice, the greater the potential return.
Leon’s lips slowly curved upward.
Not wildly.
Not foolishly.
A quiet, razor-thin smile — like dawn slipping beneath storm clouds.
"Oh? Interesting."
His tone changed. A spark crept into it — heat, calculation, hunger.
"Maximum return... such a massive investment strategy. If I take in a student and truly train them — seriously, patiently — I could gain hundreds or even thousands of years of cultivation in return?"
His thoughts spun like a wheel set aflame.
Fear melted.
Possibility bloomed.
He felt, for the first time since awakening here, that the world no longer pressed its boot against his neck.
He actually grinned.
"Then maybe," he whispered, voice barely audible, "I don’t have to worry about anything at all."
The system chimed once more.
[System diagnostic...]
Host: LeonCultivation: Onyx Realm — 2 Stars. (So weak he could vanish in a crowd without notice.)Sacred Art: NoneAptitude: Ordinary — future prospects bleak. Progress will demand miracles.Charm Rating: 99 — acceptable. Handsome enough under decent lighting.
Leon stared.
Then went dead silent.
"..."
A vein twitched at his temple.
"...I swear to the heavens, I’m going to punch this system one day."
Annoyance flared — but beneath it, something far stronger burned stubbornly:
Hope.
Another notification unfolded across his vision.
[Congratulations, Host.][You have received a Novice’s Gift.][Would you like to open it?]
