Tae-Won looked at the children with a frown. "We have a lot of work to do."

  He watched as they chattered excitedly about nicknames and sect positions, their eyes bright with hope despite their ragged appearances. It was a calculated risk. Teaching these street rats even rudimentary techniques might eventually create competitors for resources. But the immediate benefits outweighed the potential long-term risks.

  The thought should have been comforting—a cold, imperial calculation of assets and liabilities—but something about it felt... off. Uncomfortable in a way it never had in Latvaria. Tae-Won attributed it to this body's youthful hormones and pushed the feeling aside.

  "So," he said, rising to his feet despite the pain in his ribs, "do we have an agreement? You help me navigate this place, and I give you the bare minimum of training to survive it."

  The children didn't even need to discuss it. "YES, SAVIOR!" they chorused in unison, making Tae-Won wince at both the volume and the title.

  "First rule," he said sternly. "Stop calling me 'Savior.' It's ridiculous."

  "What should we call you then?" Ho-Jin asked.

  Tae-Won considered this. "Emperor" would be presumptuous in his current state. "Master" implied a level of commitment to their training that he wasn't prepared to give. "Sifu" carried similar connotations.

  "Tae-Won will do," he said finally. "Or 'sir' if you must be formal."

  "Yes, sir!" they chorused again, slightly less loudly this time.

  "Second rule: organization. I need to know who you are, what skills you have, and how you can be useful to me." He pointed at Ho-Jin. "You seem to be the de facto leader. Tell me about your group."

  Ho-Jin straightened proudly. "We're the children of the Eastern Slums, sir! We stick together to survive."

  Tae-Won raised an eyebrow. "How many of you are there?"

  "Thirteen here, but twenty-six total. The others are out working or scavenging."

  Twenty-six. A small number for an army, but not insignificant for gathering intelligence. "And what do you do, exactly? Besides annoy cultivators and follow strangers home."

  Min-Ji stepped forward. "We survive, sir. We scavenge, we run messages, we keep watch, we steal when we have to. Some of us work odd jobs when we can find them."

  "And you?" Tae-Won asked her directly. There was something in her bearing that spoke of discipline, of potential.

  "I'm Min-Ji. I worked as a servant in the Jin Clan's outer compound until they accused me of theft and gave me this." She traced the scar on her cheek. "I know their schedules, their habits, the layout of their outer complex."

  Tae-Won nodded approvingly. This was useful information indeed. "And the rest of you?"

  One by one, the children introduced themselves, each offering some skill or knowledge that might be valuable. Sung-Ho could slip through windows too small for adults. Ye-Jin knew which merchants would trade food for information. Li-Na could read and write, having been a scribe's daughter before her parents died. Joon had worked in stables and knew how to handle animals.

  "Is it true what they say?" the youngest of the children asked suddenly, her wide eyes fixed on Tae-Won. "That you used special techniques when fighting the Jin disciples?"

  The other children hushed her quickly, but Tae-Won noticed how they all leaned forward, eager for his answer.

  "I used what I know," he said carefully, not wanting to reveal too much about his capabilities or knowledge. The Meridian Disruptor technique was his ace—a skill from his previous life that few in this world would understand.

  Min-Ji spoke up hesitantly. "Some of us have seen cultivators fight before. What you did was different."

  "So," Tae-Won said, changing the subject, "tell me more about the Jin Clan and the other powers in this city. If I'm going to avoid them—or face them—I need to understand what I'm dealing with."

  The children exchanged glances, and Min-Ji took the lead. "The Jin Clan is one of the Twelve Noble Families that support the Empire. They control this district and several others within the city."

  "Above them are the true cultivation sects," Ho-Jin added. "The Five Great Sects control vast territories and answer to no one but themselves. Some say even the Emperor must treat their Sect Leaders with respect."

  "And below them?" Tae-Won prompted.

  "Everyone else," Min-Ji said with a bitter smile. "The common folk, merchants, scholars... and us. The forgotten ones."

  "There's also the Heavenly Cloud Martial Academy," Sung-Ho offered. "They say they accept students based on talent, not background. But that's probably just another pretty lie to keep the slum children dreaming."

  Tae-Won filed this information away. An academy that valued talent over lineage could be useful to his plans.

  By the time they finished explaining, Tae-Won had a mental catalog of potential assets. Not impressive by imperial standards, but a start. They reminded him of the refugee children he'd once recruited as scouts during the Eastern Campaign—underestimated, invisible to most, but invaluable for gathering intelligence.

  "Very well," he said when they had finished. "I accept your service, provisionally. But understand this—I'm not here to be your friend or your father figure. I'm here to—"

  A sharp knock at the door cut him off. The children froze, exchanging panicked glances.

  "Patrolmen," Min-Ji whispered, her face pale beneath the dirt.

  Ho-Jin moved to a crack in the wall, peering out carefully. "Two of them. Both wearing the blue robes with silver trim. Foundation Establishment, at least."

  Tae-Won's mind raced. With his current Qi levels—still depleted from yesterday's fight—he stood no chance against cultivators of that caliber. But running would only delay the inevitable.

  "Options?" he asked sharply.

  "Back wall," Li-Na whispered, pointing to a section of the shack's rear wall. "The boards are loose. We can slip through to the alley behind."

  "They'll just follow us," Tae-Won said, shaking his head. "We need a different strategy." He turned to Ho-Jin. "You said the Jin Clan controls this district. What happens to people who can't pay their protection fees?"

  "Beatings, usually. Sometimes they're taken for forced labor in the mines outside the city."

  The knocking came again, harder this time. "Open up! Jin Clan Patrol! We know you're in there, street rat!"

  Tae-Won made his decision. "Everyone out through the back wall, now. Quietly. Scatter and regroup at..." He looked at Ho-Jin questioningly.

  "The abandoned temple near the river," Ho-Jin supplied.

  "Go there. Don't wait for me if I'm not there by sundown."

  The children hesitated, clearly torn between obeying and staying to help.

  "NOW," Tae-Won hissed, his voice taking on the commanding tone that had once directed armies to march to their deaths without question.

  The children responded instinctively to the authority in his voice. They moved silently to the back wall, where Min-Ji and Sung-Ho quickly loosened several boards, creating a gap just large enough to squeeze through. One by one, they slipped out into the alley beyond.

  Ho-Jin was the last to go. "What about you?" he whispered.

  "I'll be right behind you."

  The boy looked skeptical but nodded and disappeared through the gap. As soon as he was gone, Tae-Won turned to face the door.

  "System," he murmured. "Status report."

  [Current Realm: Body Refinement Stage 1]

  [Cultivation Progress: 2.3%]

  [Physical condition: 65% recovered from previous injuries]

  [Qi reserves: 40% of maximum capacity]

  Not ideal, but better than he'd feared. The fourteen hours of unconsciousness had apparently allowed for some natural recovery. Still, facing Foundation Establishment cultivators with such limited resources was closer to suicide than strategy.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  But Edward Reinhart hadn't conquered Latvaria by running from every superior force. Sometimes, the appearance of confidence was more powerful than actual strength.

  He took a deep breath, mentally reviewing the techniques he'd acquired from the Jin disciples yesterday. The Azure Flame Barrier and Azure Palm Strike were both offensive techniques that required more Qi than he currently possessed to use effectively. The Golden Step was a movement technique that might be useful for a quick escape. The Twin Serpent Strike was well beyond his current capabilities.

  That left his original creation—the Meridian Disruptor. It had worked once; it might work again if he could get close enough.

  The door shuddered as someone struck it hard enough to crack the wood. "Last warning! Open up or we break it down!"

  Tae-Won smoothed his tattered clothes as best he could and forced his expression into one of imperial calm. Then he opened the door.

  Two men stood outside, both wearing the blue robes with silver trim that Ho-Jin had described. They radiated power—not the raw, unrefined Qi of the disciples he'd fought yesterday, but a controlled, concentrated energy that spoke of years of disciplined cultivation. One was tall and lean, with a thin mustache and cold eyes. The other was shorter but broader, with a shaved head and a face marked by old battle scars.

  "You're late," Tae-Won said before either could speak, injecting just the right amount of bored disdain into his voice. "I expected the Jin Clan's response twelve hours ago."

  The patrolmen exchanged surprised glances.

  "You're the one who attacked our disciples?" the tall one asked, clearly caught off guard by Tae-Won's demeanor.

  "Attacked?" Tae-Won scoffed. "They insulted me, and I corrected their manners. If the Jin Clan considers that an attack, perhaps they should invest more in etiquette training and less in combat."

  The shaved patrolman's face darkened with anger. "Watch your tongue, rat. You're speaking to official representatives of the Jin Clan!"

  "And you're speaking to someone who hospitalized five of your disciples with minimal effort," Tae-Won replied coolly. It was a bluff—he'd barely escaped that encounter alive—but they didn't need to know that. "Now, shall we discuss this like civilized people, or do you prefer the language of fists, as your disciples did?"

  The tall patrolman studied him with narrowed eyes. "You don't seem afraid."

  "Should I be?"

  "Most would. The Jin Clan doesn't take kindly to those who harm its members."

  Tae-Won shrugged. "I'm not most people."

  "Clearly." The patrolman stepped closer, his Qi presence intensifying as he loomed over Tae-Won. "Who are you? No ordinary slum dweller knows the techniques you used. Who trained you?"

  "My identity is my own business," Tae-Won replied. "As for my training, let's just say I've lived an... interesting life."

  The shaved patrolman snorted. "He's bluffing, Brother Jin. Look at him—he's half-starved and barely standing. The disciples must have exaggerated their defeat to save face. Let's just take him in for questioning."

  Tae-Won's mind raced. If they tried to "take him in," his bluff would be exposed instantly. He needed to change tactics.

  "Before you make that mistake," he said calmly, "you might want to ask yourselves why someone with my skills would choose to live in the slums. Perhaps I value my privacy. Perhaps I'm hiding from something—or someone—far more dangerous than the Jin Clan."

  This gave them pause, exactly as he'd hoped. Cultivators were a superstitious lot, from what little he'd gathered. The idea that he might be connected to some greater power, perhaps in hiding or disgrace, might make them hesitate.

  "What sect are you from?" the tall patrolman asked, suspicion clear in his voice.

  "I claim no sect," Tae-Won answered truthfully. "Nor would I tell you if I did. Now, I assume you're here about yesterday's... incident. What does the Jin Clan want? Compensation? An apology?" His lip curled slightly at the latter suggestion.

  The patrolmen exchanged glances again, a silent communication passing between them. The tall one spoke again.

  "Elder Jin has expressed interest in your... unusual skills. He has ordered us to extend an invitation for you to visit the Jin Clan compound."

  An invitation. That was unexpected. And suspicious.

  "And if I decline this generous offer?" Tae-Won asked, already knowing the answer.

  The shaved patrolman smiled unpleasantly. "Then we're instructed to help you reconsider."

  Tae-Won weighed his options. Fighting was out of the question. Running might work, but it would expose weakness and complicate his future plans in this district. Accepting the invitation was risky—likely a trap—but it also presented an opportunity to gather information about one of the powerful factions in this city.

  "When?" he asked, betraying no emotion.

  "Now," the tall patrolman replied. "Elder Jin doesn't like to be kept waiting."

  Tae-Won nodded slowly, as if considering a request rather than a thinly veiled threat. "Very well. I'll accompany you. Lead the way."

  The patrolmen seemed surprised by his easy acquiescence but quickly recovered. The shaved one stepped aside, gesturing for Tae-Won to walk between them.

  As he stepped out of the shack, Tae-Won caught a glimpse of movement on a nearby rooftop—a small figure ducking quickly out of sight. So the children hadn't fully retreated after all. Interesting.

  The patrolmen led him through the winding streets of the slum district, their presence causing ordinary citizens to scatter like startled birds. Tae-Won walked with his head high, back straight, ignoring the pain in his ribs and the weakness in his limbs. The posture of an emperor came naturally, even in these reduced circumstances.

  "You walk like a noble," the tall patrolman observed as they turned onto a wider street where the buildings began to look marginally less decrepit. "Yet you live in the worst part of the Eastern Slums. Curious."

  "Life is full of contradictions," Tae-Won replied vaguely.

  "Indeed. Like how a slum dweller managed to defeat five Outer Disciples using techniques that shouldn't be known outside the major sects."

  "Perhaps your security isn't as tight as you believe."

  The shaved patrolman grunted. "Or perhaps you're a spy from a rival clan."

  Tae-Won merely smiled, letting them interpret his silence however they wished. Let them waste time chasing phantoms of their own creation.

  As they walked, he took careful note of their surroundings. The city was larger than he'd initially realized, with distinct districts separated by both geography and wealth. They were heading northeast, away from the slums and toward what appeared to be a more affluent area.

  "Welcome to the Ninth District," the tall patrolman said as they passed through an ornate gate guarded by blue-robed cultivators. "Domain of the Jin Clan."

  The change was immediate and striking. Gone were the muddy, garbage-strewn alleys of the slums. Here, the streets were paved with fitted stone, the buildings constructed of solid timber and tile rather than scrap materials. Citizens moved about in clean, if simple, clothing, and the air smelled of food and incense rather than sewage.

  Tae-Won's stomach growled at the scent of cooking meat wafting from a nearby restaurant, reminding him that the bread the children had brought was hardly sufficient after fourteen hours of unconsciousness.

  The tall patrolman noticed and smiled thinly. "Hungry? The Jin Clan is known for its hospitality... to friends."

  "And to potential recruits?" Tae-Won asked, reading between the lines.

  The patrolman's smile widened slightly. "Elder Jin has an eye for talent, regardless of its origin."

  So that was their game. They weren't bringing him in for punishment—they wanted to recruit him. Or at least, that's what they wanted him to believe. The Jin Clan had clearly recognized that someone with his skills might be more valuable as an asset than an enemy.

  Little did they know that Edward Reinhart had never been anyone's asset. He'd been king, emperor, conqueror—never a servant, never a tool for another's ambition.

  But for now, he would play along. The facade of cooperation would gain him access to information, resources, perhaps even cultivation techniques that would accelerate his growth.

  "How generous of Elder Jin," he said, infusing his voice with just the right amount of cautious interest. "I look forward to meeting him."

  The Jin Clan compound dominated the center of the district—a sprawling complex surrounded by high walls of polished blue stone. Guards stood at regular intervals along the wall, their Qi presence palpable even from a distance. The main gate was a massive structure of carved wood and metal, emblazoned with the clan's emblem: a stylized azure flame.

  As they approached, the guards straightened to attention, eyeing Tae-Won with undisguised suspicion. His tattered clothing and obviously low cultivation status marked him as an outsider—someone who didn't belong in these rarefied surroundings.

  "Patrol Leader Jin Hwan," the tall patrolman addressed the guard captain. "We bring this individual at Elder Jin's request."

  The guard captain frowned. "This... person? Are you certain, Patrol Leader?"

  "Elder Jin was most specific," Jin Hwan replied stiffly. "We are to bring him directly to the Outer Court."

  After a moment's hesitation, the guard captain nodded and signaled for the gates to be opened. With a low, rumbling sound, the massive doors swung inward, revealing a courtyard paved with blue and white stone tiles arranged in an intricate pattern that subtly guided Qi flow through the compound.

  Tae-Won recognized the design principle immediately—it was similar to the mana circuits he'd incorporated into his own palaces in Latvaria, though cruder in execution. This world's understanding of energy manipulation was less advanced than his own, but still sophisticated enough to be impressive.

  "This way," Jin Hwan said, leading him across the courtyard toward a multi-tiered building that dominated the eastern side of the compound.

  As they walked, Tae-Won observed disciples training in various courtyards and gardens. Some practiced with swords, others with bare hands, all displaying far more skill and power than the disciples he'd encountered the previous day. These were serious cultivators, not the pampered bullies who terrorized slum children.

  The skill disparity was concerning. If these were the average disciples of just one clan in one district of this city, how powerful were the true elites of this world? The gulf between his current capabilities and his goals suddenly seemed vast indeed.

  "Impressed?" the shaved patrolman asked, noticing Tae-Won's attentive gaze.

  "It's adequate," Tae-Won replied with deliberate understatement. "Though their forms could use refinement."

  The patrolman's eyes widened in surprise at his audacity, but before he could respond, they arrived at the steps of the eastern building.

  "The Hall of Azure Flames," Jin Hwan announced. "Elder Jin awaits within."

  Tae-Won paused at the foot of the steps, taking a moment to center himself. Whatever happened next would likely determine his immediate future in this world. He needed to be sharp, calculated, ready to adapt to whatever the Jin Clan had planned for him.

  "System," he subvocalized. "Any updates on my status?"

  [Current Realm: Body Refinement Stage 1]

  [Cultivation Progress: 2.4%]

  [Qi reserves: 43% of maximum capacity]

  A negligible improvement, but better than nothing. He would need every advantage in the coming encounter.

  Drawing himself up to his full height—unimpressive in this adolescent body, but made formidable by his imperial bearing—Tae-Won ascended the steps toward his first true test in this new world.