Reborn as the Last van Ambrose

Grim continued swimming through the mist, following the pearl lanterns that seemed to lead him deeper into the realm’s heart. The sounds of distant battle grew fainter, replaced by a profound silence that felt almost sacred. The currents here hummed with a different tone.

The mist around him began to thin, revealing a structure that didn’t shift or fade like the illusions he had encountered. Carved from white jade and mother-of-pearl, it rose from the sea floor like a temple, its walls inscribed with symbols that seemed to glow as he approached them.

As he approached the entrance, the jade doors opened without sound, revealing a circular chamber. The walls were lined with silver, and pearl lanterns floated at precise intervals, creating a pattern of light that was both beautiful and somehow meaningful.

"Grim van Ambrose," a voice spoke from everywhere and nowhere, carrying the weight of centuries. "You seek passage to the heart of the West Sea, but first you must prove your worthiness."

"I don’t have time for tests," Grim replied, his hand moving to his sword hilt. "Jiaolong is—"

"Time moves differently here," the voice interrupted. "The trials will reveal what you truly are, beneath the masks you wear for others."

The chamber filled with a soft light that seemed to penetrate deeper than his eyes, reaching into memories and thoughts he had tried to keep buried. The silver walls began to show images—not illusions, but visions drawn from his own past.

He saw himself as he had been in his previous life—a street kid with a mouth full of curses and eyes full of rage. Dead at nine from pneumonia, just laying there while everyone just ignored him.

"Your first life ended and no one even noticed." The voice observed. "Yet you were given another chance. Why?"

"I don’t know," Grim admitted, watching his younger self die in that nameless alley. "I never asked for it."

The vision shifted, showing him as a child training under his grandfather Cassius and his master Yongrun. He saw the discipline that had shaped him, the careful cultivation of skills and temperament that had transformed a street rat into something resembling nobility.

"You learned to control," the voice noted. "But control is not the same as wisdom. What drives you now, Grim van Ambrose?"

The silver walls showed new images—his clan in ruins, his family name reduced to whispers and mockery. The proud van Ambrose legacy crumbled under the weight of political manipulation.

"Restoration," Grim said without hesitation. "I will see my clan returned to its former glory, whatever the cost."

"Whatever the cost," the voice repeated thoughtfully. "Show me what you would sacrifice for that goal."

The chamber around him dissolved, replaced by a vision that felt more real than reality itself. He stood in the main hall of the van Ambrose manor as it had been in its prime, filled with allies and retainers who looked to his family for leadership. But the hall was on fire, and he held a torch in his hand.

"To restore your clan," a figure emerged from the flames—himself, but older and more callous, "you must destroy the political structure that cast you down. Innocent families will fall. Good people will suffer. Are you prepared to light that fire?"

Grim stared at the torch in his hand, feeling its weight. In his mind, he could see the faces of children who would be left orphaned, the servants who would lose their livelihoods, and the ripple effects of the destruction he would cause.

"I..." he began, then stopped. The old Grim, the street kid who had died in that alley, would have thrown the torch without hesitation. But the years with Cassius and Yongrun had changed him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"I will restore my Clan. I will burn down my enemies. I will see it to the end." freeweɓnøvel.com

The vision faded, and the silver chamber reformed around him. But now the walls showed different images—a figure that looked remarkably like Grim. The man stood beside a massive dragon.

"Axem," the voice said, and Grim felt something stir in his blood at the name. "Your ancestor. The first to receive the dragon’s gift."

The figure in the vision bore an unmistakable resemblance to Grim, but his eyes held an almost palpable darkness. A small scar marked the right side of his face, and when he moved, a shadow seemed to follow him like a living thing.

"He was given power beyond measure," the voice continued, "but power without wisdom becomes corruption. Do you see the parallels?"

In the vision, Axem raised his hand, and entire armies knelt before him. Cities rose and fell at his command. The dragon beside him watched with eyes that might have been proud or might have been horrified—it was impossible to tell.

"What happened to him?" Grim asked, though part of him already suspected the answer.

"He became what he fought against," the voice replied. "In seeking to protect what he loved, he destroyed it. In pursuing absolute power, he lost his humanity."

"The dragon blood flows in your veins," the voice said. "But blood alone does not determine destiny. What will you choose to become?"

The visions shifted again, showing possible futures. In one, Grim stood triumphant over his enemies, his clan restored to glory but built on a foundation of bones. In another, he walked away from power entirely, choosing peace over dominance. In a third, he found a middle path—restoration through justice rather than revenge.

"I don’t want to become him," Grim said, staring at the image of Axem. "But I won’t abandon my family’s legacy either."

"Then you must learn to distinguish between legacy and vengeance," the voice replied. "Between justice and cruelty. Between strength and brutality."

The chamber began to shift around him, the silver walls flowing like liquid. The pearl lanterns rearranged themselves into new patterns, and suddenly Grim could hear something he had been straining to detect—Lin’s voice, calling his name.

"Remember, every choice you make from this moment forward will either honor your ancestor’s legacy or repeat his mistakes."

The jade doors opened again, but this time they revealed not the misty waters of the West Sea, but a clear path toward distant lights that could only be Ao Run’s palace. The mist that had separated him from his companions was finally parting.

"Grim!" Lin’s voice was much clearer now, and he could see her approaching through the clearing fog. "Where have you been? We’ve been searching for you for hours."

"Hours?" Grim looked back at the trial chamber, but it was already fading into the mist as if it had never existed. "It felt like minutes."

"Time moves differently in the trials," Captain Zhen observed as he swam up beside them. "What did you see?"

Grim hesitated, the visions of Axem and the possible futures still vivid in his mind. "Understanding," he said finally. "I saw understanding."

In the distance, the sounds of battle were growing louder again. Jiaolong’s assault on Ao Run’s palace was intensifying, and the corruption was spreading faster through the West Sea’s waters. But Grim felt different now—not stronger necessarily, but more certain of who he wanted to be.

"Let’s go," he said, swimming toward the palace lights. "We have a dragon to stop."

Behind them, the mist closed over the trial chamber, hiding it once again from those who were not ready to face their own truth.