Author’s Note: First of all, I want to say a massive thank you for following this story to the 500th Chapter! Your support has been incredible, and I truly appreciate every one of you who has stayed on this journey with Ethan. I promise you, from this point on, things are only going to get better—more action, more secrets, and more power. Let’s dive in!

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Isabella led Ethan back to the transit hub, but they didn’t return to the coast. Instead, they stepped through a shimmering portal that deposited them in a different sector of the kingdom entirely. This was the Administrative Heart, a district dominated by colossal, ivory-colored buildings that hummed with the quiet energy of a million records being processed.

They arrived at the Registry of Souls, a structure so immense that its spires pierced the clouds. As soon as the guards and clerks spotted Isabella, the chaotic bustle of the lobby vanished. People cleared the way as if parted by an invisible blade, bowing deeply as the Princess marched Ethan toward the high-priority intake zone.

The officials treated Ethan like a priceless relic, ushering him into a private testing suite with hushed voices and trembling hands.

"Name and age," the lead registrar asked, hovering a runic quill over a sheet of enchanted parchment.

"Ethan Blake. Twenty-three years old."

Beside him, Isabella’s composure momentarily faltered. Her golden eyes widened as she stared at him in genuine shock. Twenty-three? To reach the Spiritual Core realm at that age, especially coming from a "primitive" dome, was unheard of. In the higher realms, geniuses were considered impressive if they achieved this in their thirties. This wasn’t just talent; it was monstrous.

"Take him to the Bone-Marrow chamber," Isabella commanded, her voice slightly tight. "I want an absolute verification."

They led him to a specialized machine. Ethan expected a grueling ordeal, but the process was clinical and painless. A delicate, needle-thin drill coated in a specialized numbing nectar pierced the skin of his forearm, reaching into the marrow to extract a few drops of essence. The machine whirred, its internal gears glowing as it analyzed the fundamental age-rings of his soul and body.

"Perfect. Let’s see..." the old registrar squinted at the readout. "Confirmed. Exactly twenty-three years of age. Truly impressive, if I’m being honest."

"We don’t need the rest of the verification, but for the sake of bureaucracy, proceed," Isabella said, regaining her regal mask.

Next was the Cultivation Measurement. They led him to a towering obsidian pillar topped with a crystalline sphere that pulsed with a faint, hungry light.

"Grasp the stone and do not let go," the technician instructed.

As Ethan’s hand made contact, he felt a violent spiritual vortex erupt. The sphere acted like a vacuum, dragging a portion of his spiritual power out of his meridians. This wasn’t a test he could manipulate; the machine measured the raw resistance and density of his energy—a metric that was impossible to fake.

The sphere turned a deep, resonant amber.

"Half-step Spiritual Core. Age twenty-three." The registrar looked up, his eyes wide. "With these statistics, we have classified him as a Class B+ Resident. A stellar result for a newcomer."

"Can you provide your background? Where exactly are you from, young man?" the old man asked.

Ethan looked at the man, then at the ceiling. "I have no idea what the world calls it. We called it ’Planet Earth,’ but it turned out to be just a small island under a dome."

The registrar looked toward Isabella for guidance. She didn’t hesitate. "Mark his origin as the Southern Coast of the Soaring Dragon Kingdom. He’s one of ours now."

"Very well. Finally, there is an optional test," the registrar continued. "We can measure your Potential Grade. If your potential is high, you will receive a royal subsidy and vastly improved benefits should you choose to join the Civil Service or the Military."

Ethan turned to Isabella. She gave him a short, pleased nod.

At least you know your place. You are my property; don’t go acting like a free man just yet, she thought, a possessive glint in her eyes. "Perform the test," she said aloud. "But set the results to ’Royal Secret’ protocol. I don’t want these numbers in the public record."

"Of course, Princess. I will disconnect the machine from the main network and run it offline."

They ushered Ethan into a sealed, soundproof room. "Sit in the center. Perform one full cycle of your primary cultivation technique."

Ethan hesitated. He didn’t have a traditional technique. He couldn’t exactly tell them, "Bring me a woman to fuck so I can circulate my energy."

"Crul, help," he whispered.

"Master, tell them you have no technique," Crul replied instantly. "Tell them you reached this level through constant life-and-death combat. It will explain the density of your energy and prevent them from looking for a manual that doesn’t exist."

Ethan looked through the observation glass at Isabella. "I don’t have a technique."

"Impossible," Isabella snapped. "How can you be at the Half-step Core realm without a manual?"

"I climbed through blood," Ethan answered, his voice turning cold. "I fought every step of the way. I rose in combat, or I didn’t rise at all."

The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of his words. In a world of pampered sect disciples, a "combat-ascended" warrior was the rarest—and most dangerous—kind of beast.

"The records are sealed, Princess," the old man whispered, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor. "The ’Royal Secret’ protocol is active. As far as the public is concerned, he is a talented survivor from the south."

Isabella stepped toward Ethan, her golden eyes tracing the lines of his face with a new sense of gravity. The fact that he lacked a formal manual didn’t make him weaker in her eyes; it made him a blank canvas of immense value.

"No technique?" she mused, a faint, predatory smile playing on her lips. "That explains why your energy feels so chaotic and untamed. Don’t worry. Once we are settled, I will provide you with a manual from the Royal Treasury that will turn that raw power into a true storm."

She turned back to the room full of officials, her voice dropping to a temperature that felt like ice against their skin. The playful "princess" persona vanished, replaced by the daughter of a king who ruled with fire and steel.

"Listen well," Isabella commanded. "If a single syllable of what happened in this room—his age, his potential, or his origin—leaks out of this building, I won’t just have you executed. I will have your entire lineages erased from the Kingdom’s registries. Am I understood?"

The room became a chorus of frantic, terrified affirmations. They knew she wasn’t bluffing. In the Soaring Dragon Kingdom, a royal threat was as good as a death sentence.

"Come, Ethan," she said, her tone softening instantly as she looked back at him. "We’ve spent enough time in this tomb of paper. You need to see the capital properly before the council tries to tie you down."