The First Transmigrat

I, Kaiser, have finally mastered my great divine ability. i am taking about the lightning wolfs ability i renamed it into heavenly thunder because, why not? , i am able to use it limitlessly because of my golden eyes, I can easily create storms summon lightning , but somewhere in that vast power, a sense of boredom began to creep in. I've long realized that when you have too much power and no challenge, it becomes an empty, hollow thing. So, in my boredom, I began creating a cultivation manual. Just an idea at first, nothing grand, but the thought intrigued me. I thought about opening a sect on a mountain and becoming an ancestor, like so many protagonists I had read about. The difference? I'd do in a few years what they took a thousand chapters to accomplish. That seemed like a worthy goal, right? A life with purpose, something to direct my idle days toward.

But ambition is never so simple, is it?

I started experimenting with refining my body. It was a necessary step, but the question I faced was: how do you refine a body with no energy? It was a basic dilemma. My Golden Eyes, though, provided the answer. Through them, I could draw energy from the cosmos itself. Celestial bodies, their power nearly limitless, became my fuel. Over the years, I learned to control this energy on a cellular level, using it to refine my body. But how could others do the same? How could anyone harness this energy if they didn't have the Golden Eyes?

For days, I pondered the question. Theories came, and theories crumbled. A simple answer evaded me. And the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that something was missing. I wasn't sure what, but it gnawed at me.

Then, as if by fate, I ran into Old Dao. He looked at me, his expression half-serious, half-amused, and asked if I was worried about finding a woman. I laughed, dismissing it with a casual wave. But the question lingered in my mind. It was strange how such a simple remark could send my thoughts spiraling.

Later that day, my self-proclaimed disciple, in his usual manner, got himself caught by the guards. They dragged him home, and just like that, I found myself without dinner.

Old Dao invited me to dinner. At his house, I met his son—a man of 23, married and proud of it. His posture was straight, his gaze smug, as though the simple fact of being married was an achievement I should admire. I wasn't impressed. I asked him about his younger years, hoping for something interesting, something more than just the usual flexing.

His face darkened for a moment, and then he spoke with quiet resignation. "I wanted to be a martial artist. I thought I could conquer anything. But after the war, I lost my left leg. My hopes, my dreams—they were shattered."

He sighed and leaned back. "I turned to medicine after that. It's not what I wanted, but it gave me a purpose." His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something beyond his words—a deep-seated regret, but also an acceptance.

"Once, I thought I could be a warrior. But life… life had other plans," he added, half-smiling, as if to make light of his words.

I didn't interrupt, didn't offer any comforting words. I simply listened. It was the kind of story that wasn't tragic, but wasn't full of hope either. It was just... life. A story of resilience, of finding purpose where none had been promised.

After dinner, I left, my mind far from the mundane conversation I'd just endured. I found myself lost in memories of Earth—those long-forgotten days when my parents would yell at me for bad grades. The days when anime, manga, and novels became my escape. Those brain-rotting stories, the ones that filled my time. I thought about those ridiculous cultivation novels, especially the ones I'd read in poor translations. They were laughable, filled with absurdity. But one thing about them always stuck with me: the visualization of energy. Every protagonist, every cultivator, always visualized their energy, their dantian, their meridians.

Then it hit me.

What if these people visualized me, made a pact? What if I could be their anchor? What if I could be the starting point of their cultivation? What if they visualized me, recognized me as their source, and cultivated using the energy I provided? With every step they took, their growth would fuel mine. They would expand my path. It sounded like something from one of those poorly translated novels, the kind I had laughed at. But… it could work, couldn't it?

For the next few days, I spent every bit of money I had. I bought the supplies I needed, and somehow managed to recreate a printing press from memory. It worked—though I wasn't ready to share it yet. No need to rush things.

I started thinking about the power system I needed to create. A world where no supernatural forces had yet made themselves known. At least, not in the way I understood. Was I going to become an immortal in this place? Who could say? But the idea of designing a cultivation system from scratch, building it from the ground up—it was exhilarating. It filled me with a sense of purpose I hadn't felt in ages.

I even created a small, isolated realm—just for me. I hunted deer, built my domain, and became the god of this tiny fragment of the world. It was mine. I reveled in the control. It felt… right.

But as I stood there, surveying my domain, my mind wandered. I remembered the thousands of days I had spent struggling to get here. I remembered the Lumen Core, Aldrick, the beast transformation, that python I killed. Acting like a god in the survival center. The traumatic encounters with the lightning wolf. Six years of slaughter. Taming the wild side of the Lumen Core. Revenge on the wolf. Playing god. Devouring raindeer. I remembered killing gods of false worlds and beings from beyond. Surviving on scraps. Gaining a soul. Soul-bound weapons. Control of the world.

It had all led me here. To this point. The path was long, but I had reached it. And now, I stood on the edge of something bigger.

I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "I'm in a third-rate cultivation novel," I muttered under my breath.

But strangely, it felt right. This wasn't some half-baked story. This was my reality. The titles surged in my mind—Supreme Ancestor, Dao Ancestor, First Cultivator. They weren't just aspirations. They were inevitabilities.

But I couldn't rush. This wasn't about grand gestures or dramatic moments. It was about moving forward, step by step. No need to declare anything to the world yet. What mattered was that, for the first time in a long while, my life had purpose. No longer aimless. No longer stagnant.

It had direction.

And that direction? It led to something greater.