Immortal Ascension: From Martial to Myth

Hyderabad City — Capital of the Southern Region

Hyderabad—the crown jewel of the Southern Region—stood as a symbol of opportunity, strength, and progress.

To the east, its coastline embraced the vast ocean, a glittering frontier of trade and mystery. To the west stretched a vast and fertile inland, dotted with technology hubs, martial academies, and towering arcologies housing millions.

Nicknamed the Heart of the South, Hyderabad wasn't just the largest city in the Southern Region—it was its pulse. Every day, thousands arrived from small towns and remote provinces, chasing dreams of wealth, recognition, or simply safety.

Some came to join prestigious tech firms. Others hoped to pass the grueling civil exams and become government officials. And many—far too many—came seeking a future stronger than their past.

But above all, Hyderabad was safe.

Two of the most powerful institutions in the Southern Region were headquartered here:

– The Southern Army Command, led by Chief Commander Kazuo Liang.

– The Regional Governor's Office, which governed all civil, legal, and economic affairs.

The two buildings stood across from each other like silent sentinels—equal and opposite. Together, they maintained the delicate balance of power in the south.

Commander Kazuo Liang, however, was not a man easily impressed by titles or luxury.

His office, though large and central, was plain—utilitarian in design, painted in muted earth tones. The floor tiles were simple stone.

The furniture, clean-lined and military-grade. There were no lavish carpets, no golden plaques, no scented incense like many nobles adorned their chambers with.

Only one thing drew the eye:

A long, reinforced glass cupboard lining the wall behind his desk. Inside it—row upon row of bronze, silver, and gold medals.

Each one bore the Federation's seal and told the story of a lifetime of service. A lifetime of war. A lifetime of sacrifice.

Some medals were stained and scratched. Others were awarded post-battle, drenched in the blood of both allies and enemies. No one who stepped into this room doubted the weight of the man behind the desk.

Kazuo Liang.

The Southern Dragon.

At that moment, he sat in his high-backed chair, fingers gently steepled before his face, his eyes slightly distant.

He leaned back slowly, staring at the holographic screen now turned off. His expression was unreadable—but his heart was not. Memories floated to the surface like ghosts in water. Reo's scarred face. His awkward voice. That guarded look in his eyes.

"Even now, he still flinches when I speak gently..."

Kazuo exhaled deeply, his breath heavy with guilt and age.

Ten years. Ten whole years the boy had suffered—stolen away by that damned cult, reduced to nothing but a tool. And now that he was back, Kazuo didn't know how to be a grandfather.

"I can win wars... but I don't know how to heal him. Amélie, if you were here, I wonder what would you have done."

He rose from the chair and walked slowly toward the cupboard. The medals stared back at him, quiet reminders of a soldier's journey.

But none of them could reverse time.

He placed a hand on the glass, resting it above a rusted bronze medal—the first one he'd ever received. It had cost him a platoon of brothers.

Kazuo Liang stepped away from his chair and walked toward his sleek metal desk. He tapped the virtual call panel embedded on the surface.

Ring!

Ring!

A moment later, a young female voice answered crisply from the other end.

"Yes, Chief?"

"Anna, call Chief Strategist Muneer. Ask him to come to my office."

"Right away, Chief. Is it an official summon or personal?"

"Personal. Cognitive arrival."

"Understood, Chief."

Kazuo ended the call with a soft tap. He turned and made his way to the left wall of the room. With a firm press against a specific panel, the wall shifted—its opaque surface retracting to reveal a large glass pane.

Through the glass, the glowing cityscape of Hyderabad stretched out before him. The darkness of night had fallen over the city like a velvet curtain, but the buildings pulsed with life. Tower lights blinked in unison, traffic flowed in steady streams, and neon signs flickered like stars trying to outshine the night sky.

He clasped his hands behind his back and stood in silence, staring at the luminous sprawl. His reflection blended faintly with the view, a solitary figure caught between memory and mission.

Nearly an hour passed before the office door slid open.

Muneer entered without a knock, his movements calm and deliberate. A man in his fifties, with silver streaks in his short beard and sharp eyes behind thin glasses, he carried himself like someone who had stood too close to the battlefield without ever holding a sword.

He sat in the chair opposite the desk—familiar enough with the Chief to forgo pleasantries.

Kazuo didn't turn. He continued gazing at the city.

After a pause, his deep voice broke the silence.

"Muneer… do you remember what they used to call me in the beginning?"

Muneer remained quiet for a moment, knowing Kazuo wasn't seeking a rhetorical answer. He understood the man well—Kazuo didn't want an answer from him; he simply wanted to express his feelings.

Kazuo didn't wait.

"Martial Fanatic."

Kazuo's voice was low, almost nostalgic.

"That's what they used to call me. Ever since I was young, I had only one dream—to reach the peak of martial arts. But my root bone, my cultivation talent… it was average at best."

"To bridge the gap between myself and the gifted, I worked tirelessly. Day and night. I challenged danger head-on. From Tier-1 ruins to Tier-9 death zones, I climbed—bleeding, crawling, fighting. Slowly… I reached where I am today."

He paused, his fingers gently tracing the edge of the glass.

"I reached the peak of the Innate Realm—the highest cultivation possible within this 'Dead Zone' we call Earth. I should have been proud. I should have felt fulfilled. But what filled my heart instead… was regret. Guilt. Anguish."

He inhaled deeply before continuing.

"At thirty-five, a man who knew nothing but martial arts… finally found love. Amélie. She brought color to a life filled only with discipline and scars. For a while, everything was good. Peaceful. Even joyful."

"But responsibility always followed me. Ruins to explore. Wars to fight. Opportunities to chase. I was rarely home. My wife… she understood. She supported me. But my son… Luther… he didn't."

Kazuo's jaw clenched.

"He resented me. He said I was never there. And when Amélie died while I was away on a mission… I didn't even get to say goodbye. That was the day I had my first real fight with my son."

"He broke ties with me. Left. Took everything with him. The warmth. The family. I wanted to mend things… but I didn't know how."

He looked down for a moment, the pain visible in his furrowed brow.

"Years passed. Luther married. Had a son of his own. And when that child—my grandson—turned three, Luther called me for the first time in decades."

"He wanted to reconcile. To introduce me to his boy."

Kazuo's voice trembled faintly.

"But just as I was about to go… the army summoned me. A Tier-8 Ruin incident. Demons had broken loose. I couldn't ignore it. I thought—I'd meet them next time."

He fell silent. The words that followed came out slowly, bitter.

"That was the day I've regretted every single day since. Because if I had gone… maybe I could have saved them."

He closed his eyes.

"My son. My daughter-in-law. They died."

"But… they never found my grandson's body. That little hope—it was the only thing that kept me alive."

"For ten years, I overturned the heavens and earth to search for him. And when I finally found him…"

Kazuo turned from the glass, his eyes burning with intensity, and stepped toward Muneer.

"When I held him in my arms for the first time—my grandson—he was broken. Covered in scars. Wounds that no child should ever bear. Ten years of hell. Ten years without light."

He stood still now, face to face with Muneer.

"That day, I swore to give him everything. Everything I couldn't give my son… or Amélie. I will stand by him in every step, in every moment. No matter what it takes."

Kazuo's voice steadied.

"Muneer… I promised him the Rebirth Technique. What do you think?"

Muneer, who had remained quiet the entire time, finally stirred. His eyes glinted—thoughtful, calculating.

He considered the words, the weight of history, the politics… and the Federation.

After a long silence, he looked up.

"…Possible."

Kazuo smiled.

Muneer leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp behind the lenses of his glasses.

"The nobles or the Federation aren't the real problem, Chief," he said calmly. "It's the Nether Cult."

He paused, letting the name linger in the room like a cold wind.

"The Rebirth Technique… originally, the Sword Emperor himself authorized it for free use by every citizen. No discrimination. But the technique comes with three harsh demands—high comprehension, rare cultivation resources, and a terrifying risk of death by Qi deviation."

He steepled his fingers as he continued.

"Resources are scarce, and those who obtain them are often hunted down. Most people don't have the comprehension to understand even the basics. And those who do—those blessed children with both comprehension and resources—most of them still died during cultivation. Their bodies couldn't handle the backlash."

"The Federation was forced to intervene. They restricted access. Even now, people can technically apply for it if they have enough merit or status… but they rarely succeed. Not because of the law, but because of fear."

Reo's grandfather stayed silent as Muneer spoke, his gaze steady.

Muneer lowered his voice.

"Things changed when the first batch of children who did succeed in cultivating the Rebirth Technique left Earth. They were sent to the warfronts outside the Dead Zone."

"They were like monsters—deadly, powerful, unstoppable. They tore through enemy races like blades through silk."

"And that… triggered the retaliation. A full-scale response. The Alliance of Races considered them too dangerous to live. What followed… was war."

He paused.

"Even then, humanity didn't bow. We fought. We endured. But then… a new pattern began. One that struck from the shadows."

"Every person on Earth who had begun cultivating the Rebirth Technique… began dying. Quietly. Mysteriously. No signs of battle. No physical trauma. Just dead."

Kazuo narrowed his eyes.

"And after a long investigation… we found the cause," Muneer said, voice grim."It was the Nether Cult. They'd infiltrated the system. Hiding. Waiting. Eliminating anyone who threatened their plan."

Muneer's tone grew darker, colder.

"You remember it, Chief. The Federation's purge attempt. How we tried to wipe them out. But those bastards are like cockroaches. Every time we think they're gone, they crawl back from the cracks—twice as many as before."

He sat back.

"So now the issue isn't whether we can get the Rebirth Technique. It's whether we can survive the attention that comes with it."

"According to regulation, only the President has the authority to approve direct access. With your status, you can easily request it. But if you file the request online, it'll be logged in the central network. The nobles will see it. The spies in the system—some of them might even be cult agents—will raise alarms."

"That's the danger."

Kazuo remained quiet.

Muneer then said carefully, "The safest way is a direct meeting. Since the President is your old war comrade, you can bypass the system and speak to him face to face. But even then… we need a misdirection."

He leaned in, voice almost a whisper.

"A move to draw their eyes somewhere else… while you retrieve the technique in silence."