Merin suddenly halts his work as the key Haruto had given him begins to emit a subtle fluctuation—he draws it out and murmurs, “A meeting?” before channeling his mental energy into the artifact, and in the next moment, his consciousness arrives in a dimly lit chamber with a circular table surrounded by twelve seats.

He finds himself already seated, and several figures are present, while the remaining chairs quickly fill as the Spiritual Council’s ten-year summit begins.

For the next two hours, Merin listens more than he speaks—this being his first session, he remains observant, refraining from involving himself deeply in the decade’s strategic agenda, still unfamiliar with many responsibilities of his new role.

After the meeting concludes, he returns to his tower and resumes work on his engine, fully aware that two years have passed since he began assisting his brother and refining the machine.

Now, the electric engine has reached a refinement comparable to a peak-level 2 magical treasure—not through enchantment or cultivation, but purely through mechanical and scientific advancement, built so that even ordinary craftsmen without mana could replicate it.

Though he measures it against magical artifacts only to gauge its level, it was during the jump from level 1 to level 2 that his comprehension of the rule of strength began to rise again, eventually reaching 7%, and he now senses that if he manages to push the electric engine to the equivalent of a level 4 treasure—or constructs a more advanced energy engine—his understanding could reach the 10% threshold.

With renewed focus, Merin begins refining the engine once more, aiming to elevate it to the standard of a tier 3 magical treasure.

Six months later, however, the breakthrough that stirs his soul has nothing to do with his rule of strength or cultivation—instead, it’s a quiet morning when Asuna calls him over, and with a soft glow in her eyes, tells him she’s pregnant.

The fetus is only two days old, detected during her practice, yet the news crashes over him like a tidal wave of indescribable joy—an overwhelming storm of emotion he hadn’t prepared for: awe, disbelief, euphoria, and something deeper, softer, more profound than any victory in cultivation.

Though his soul age exceeds two centuries, this will be his first child, and in the silence that follows, his heart swells with a happiness no amount of power or longevity had ever given him.

Without hesitation, he moves into Asuna’s tower, determined to remain by her side until their child is born.

Two months later, happiness strikes again—Yanli, too, becomes pregnant, and soon moves into Asuna’s tower as well, their presence together wrapping him in warmth each day.

He already knows the first child will be a daughter, and so in quiet moments he strolls through the gardens, lips moving softly as he whispers names—each one a wish, a blessing, a dream etched into sound for the life growing within Asuna.

Five months later, a delegation from the lower Spiritual Council arrives to study his innovations—engines, power plants, batteries—and they leave astonished by how thoroughly his city and the surrounding region have transformed, with smooth roads capable of supporting all kinds of vehicles and infrastructure rivaling any ancient city.

He also presents a railway plan to the council, one designed to connect cities, towns, and villages across the region, and thanks to both its brilliance and his position as a council member, it’s approved within minutes of submission.

Three months after that, the moment finally arrives—his daughter, Matsuda Rin, is born, radiant and perfect in every way.

She is not like a typical human infant—her smooth, scale-like skin glows with a soft reddish hue, and her eyes shimmer gold and red, shaped like a serpent’s, beautiful and commanding even at birth.

She’s born with a life level of two, which means that even without cultivation, she could live for at least 120 years—a miracle of strength, grace, and legacy in one tiny form.

Two months later, his son, Matsuda Ryuya, comes into the world—his smooth, scale-like skin carries a lustrous silver sheen, and his eyes shimmer with mixed silver and gold serpentine pupils, matching his sister in both life level and extraordinary presence.

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The very next day, Merin and his family move into their estate, choosing peace and space to raise their children away from the bustle of the city core.

Three months later, Merin is surprised to find a small red snake with horns like a dragon, jagged tail, and budding wings fiercely wrestling with a silver-scaled, fox-headed cat with feathered wings in the garden—and it only takes a glance for him to recognize them: his daughter and son, not merely human, but beings of new bloodlines, expressing their true forms in playful combat.

They may look human on the surface, but they are not—only a quarter of their genes come from humanity, and the rest belongs to creatures ancient, divine, and reborn through Merin’s legacy.

Half a year later, Merin returns to his tower with the children, as Asuna and Yanli—who had delayed their final transformation to first conceive and give birth—now choose to leave behind their human selves and begin their complete transformation into their true forms, knowing they will not regain human shape until their rule comprehension is complete decades from now.

Three years later, Merin steps out of his lab with a rare smile—his comprehension of the Rule of Strength has finally reached 10%, matching his mastery of the Rule of Vitality, and now he can begin delving into the Rule of Gravity.

Though his raw strength increases only by about 30%, the true gain lies elsewhere—his mana pool has doubled, granting him a significant advantage in endurance and allowing him to outlast any opponent in the same realm.

Releasing his mental domain, he senses his children playing at a nearby park—it’s been months since he last saw them, locked away in his research, and the ache of absence stirs him to act.

Leaving the tower, he walks through the city streets and soon spots his son and daughter watching a group of children playing football—a game he once introduced to them, now loved across the entire city.

He notices the longing in their eyes as they sit apart, silent and still; they aren’t playing, not because they don’t want to, but because no other children dare to join them—though they appear five or six, their strength rivals that of fully grown adults, making play unsafe.

Merin crouches beside them and asks gently, “Do you want to play with them?”

His son replies with hesitant hope, “Can we?” and his daughter adds, eyes downcast, “Our strength is too much… we could hurt them.”

Without a word, Merin draws a glowing rune midair, then another, and sends one into each of their bodies.

He asks, “How do you feel now?”

His daughter blinks, surprised. “Weak?”

His son nods, flexing his small hands.

Merin smiles. “Good. Now you can play with them safely.”

He watches his children run off, laughter bubbling from their lips.

They dive into the game without hesitation.

Their joy mixes with the cheers of the other children.

Merin doesn’t interrupt—just smiles and lets them play.

Later, he walks through the city with them, hand in hand.

He wants to see the change with his own eyes.

The streets are wider now, smooth and clean.

No animal-drawn carriages remain in sight.

Electric vehicles hum past in steady flows.

Even small scooters zip through narrow alleys.

The world has changed—his city has changed.

Everywhere, signs of quiet revolution.

Power plants.

Charging stations.

Neon-lit signs powered by batteries.

Public transport without beasts or mana cores.

Children ride e-scooters to school.

Merchants deliver goods on sleek electric carts.

This scene isn’t just in Tomio City.

It’s echoed across towns, villages, and border settlements.

The human realm has awakened.

Ordinary people, once bound to soil and plough, now walk proud.

Their clothes are neater.

Their hands no longer cracked from stone or blade.

He sees faces alight with hope and hunger.

Not hunger for food—but for growth.

For the future.

Among them, Merin sees vehicles he didn’t build.

Designs he didn’t draft.

Engines modified beyond his imagination.

Some run quieter.

Some run faster.

Others burn brighter under lamplight.

People learned.

They improved.

They dreamed.

And in those dreams, he sees a future larger than himself.

He stops in front of a small dumpling shop and orders a plate for himself and his children.

Dumplings didn’t exist in this world until he introduced them.

He had once made them for himself, craving a memory, and taught his cooks the recipe.

Now, they’re everywhere—another quiet gift to this new world.

He and the children eat on a bench, savoring each bite as people pass by, smiling at them.

They resume their walk until the street halts them—blocked by a railway gate bearing a bright warning sign.

A low whistle pierces the air.

Then the train rushes past—iron, speed, and electricity blurring together.

The children cheer as it vanishes into the distance.

When the gates lift, they cross the tracks and pause by a cluster of food stalls.

They nibble on fried noodles, sweet buns, and skewered meat, laughing and wiping sauce from their cheeks.

Satisfied, Merin turns down a quiet street that winds toward the estate.

He reaches the back courtyard where time slows.

Asuna and Yanli rest under a flowering tree, their bodies still in true form.

Kuro and Nora sit nearby, their presence calm and silent.

They are all waiting—years still ahead—until their transformations end and they can return to human shape once more.

Merin walks among them without a word.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep