Pain.
That was the first thought that crossed Chen Beixuan's mind when he regained consciousness.
It wasn't sudden or violent pain, but something deep and persistent, as if every bone in his body was on the verge of breaking. His muscles burned, his breathing was heavy, and his chest felt compressed, unable to fully draw in air.
"Again…" he muttered hoarsely.
For a moment, he thought he was still there—endless workdays, supervisors shouting at him to move faster, piles of labor that never seemed to decrease. He clearly remembered how his hands trembled, how his legs refused to support him.
He remembered the exact moment when his body simply stopped responding.
Just exhaustion.
Chen Beixuan had died from working.
The next memory did not belong to that world.
Bright lights.
A street crossing.
The deafening sound of a horn.
A brutal impact.
And then, darkness.
His eyelids opened with difficulty.
The sky above him was not filled with buildings or artificial lights, but with dense clouds drifting slowly. The ground beneath his back was cold and hard, made of stone.
"This is not…" he whispered.
He tried to sit up, but his body responded with a spasm of pain. A flood of memories that were not his—yet somehow were—merged violently in his mind.
A clan.
A secondary branch.
A sect.
The Thunder Sword Sect.
He understood the situation almost immediately.
He had taken over the body of another Chen Beixuan. A young man with no talent, sent as annual tribute to the sect to perform menial labor. Manpower. Useful trash.
And that Chen Beixuan… had also died from exhaustion.
"What a coincidence…" he murmured with a dry laugh. "In two different worlds, the same ending."
The fatigue was still there, but his mind was clear. Too clear. Unlike the original owner of the body, he felt no resignation. No fear.
Only a deep irritation.
At that moment, something appeared before his eyes.
A translucent panel, suspended in the air, as if it had always been there.
Name: Chen Beixuan
Status: Extremely weak
Realm: Body Forging – Initial Level
Talent: 1
Constitution: 1.2
Strength: 0.6
Endurance: 0.4
Speed: 0.5
Skills:
— Wood Chopping (Progress: 45%)
Competition Points: 0
Chen Beixuan stared at the panel for several seconds without changing his expression.
"Talent one…" he murmured.
No explanation was needed. Even without understanding the rules of this world, the number spoke for itself. It was low. Ridiculously low.
His gaze dropped to the listed skill.
Wood Chopping.
A memory immediately surfaced—dull axes, logs far too heavy, endless days under sun and rain. Every swing had been recorded, not in his body… but in that invisible panel.
"So all that useless effort…" he thought, "…was reduced to a percentage."
He felt no anger. No shame.
Only a cold understanding.
If such a miserable skill could already be nearly halfway complete, then the system did not judge intention, dignity, or morality. It only counted repeated actions.
Work.
Suffering.
Results.
Chen Beixuan took a deep breath. The pain was still there, but his mind had never been clearer.
"Interesting," he whispered. "Then it doesn't matter how low I start."
As the panel continued to float before him, an idea slowly took shape in his mind.
If everything could be measured…
If everything could be improved…
Then a world ruled by strength did not need heroes.
Only someone willing to use it without scruples.