The First Transmigrat

Trial and error. That's what it all came down to in the end.

Ink-stained fingers. Dozens of ruined pages. Ideas that looked perfect in the mind but cracked the moment I wrote them down. And yet, piece by piece, line by line, something took shape.

Eventually, I reduced it to three realms.

Body. Energy. Mind.

No poetic titles. No needlessly bloated names like "Heaven-Crushing Dragon-Soul Realm." Just the basics. The fundamentals. The roots from which everything else could grow. Clean. Unpretentious. Real.

And surprisingly, that made it feel even more divine.

But it wasn't enough to make a path. No, I needed people. You can't be a cultivator alone. At some point, cultivation becomes a conversation—between the self and the world, the teacher and the disciple, the origin and those who follow. A solitary path stagnates. A shared path evolves.

So… disciples. Followers. Subordinates.

You ask how I plan to recruit them? Loyalty. That's it. Not some empty dream of revenge, not promises of power, not cheap theatrics. Just devotion to me—the one who walks first. The one who dares to claim this world has more to offer.

But let's be honest, I'm not starting yet. I'm still building. Cultivation isn't just meditating under a waterfall and screaming about bottlenecks. It's alchemy. It's formations. It's talismans. It's divination. And I won't present half-baked ideas to others. I have standards—even if the stories I used to read didn't.

So, where do I begin?

With myself.

I am the beginning. The prototype. The alpha. The one who borrowed energy from the stars long before anyone knew such a thing was possible. The cosmos—massive celestial bodies overflowing with endless energy. I siphon from them through my golden eyes. But now I ask—can I take more than energy? Can I borrow from possibility itself?

Could I… read fate?

In my little realm, that fragment of a dead world I claimed, reshaped, and now rule over—I've already defied death. That world follows my laws. Time bends. Space listens. I'm not bound by consequence there. And that power got me thinking.

Divination. That's the next layer.

How do I design a system to peer into fate? Not through vague intuition or tea leaves. I want something structural. Mathematical. Elegant.

A web.

Imagine a lattice of power connecting every star, every soul, every flicker of movement in the world—all looping back to me. Like a spider at the center, I feel every vibration. With it, I could read trajectories. Possibilities. Probabilities. I could influence outcomes. A glance here, a whisper there—shifting chance itself.

And the foundation of this web?

Belief.

Not shallow fanboy devotion. Real belief. Faith that anchors. People seeing me not just as a teacher, but as a cosmic constant. An unshakable truth.

Now, onto talismans. I started by inscribing them with my soul energy. It worked—for me. Of course it did. My soul is structured, honed. But others? They're blank slates. Empty frames. They can't even feel what I feel, let alone reproduce it.

So I had to go backward to go forward.

I needed a system of runes—something reproducible, teachable, scalable. Symbols that didn't just represent power, but channeled it. And again, they would originate from me. They would be mine. Every stroke, every glyph, would carry my imprint.

But even runes needed more.

Meaning. Structure. Authority.

I refused to use Earth's languages. Two reasons.

First—who knows what unseen chains those letters might still hold? That world… it's not entirely behind me.

Second—control. A new language means I define meaning. I dictate truth. If I say a symbol channels lightning, then it does. Because I said so. It's not about ego. It's about consistency. Systems need laws. I become the law.

So I forged a new tongue. A divine language, crafted slowly, obsessively. Every symbol tied to my understanding of reality. Every formation a locked door with one key—me.

And this language? It worked. Talisman crafting. Formation design. Even limited spell constructs. I was spinning threads of logic into something tangible. A structure that responded. And I realized something chilling.

This was fun. Genuinely fun.

Not "breaking-through-in-front-of-my-harem" fun. Not "slapping-arrogant-young-master" fun. Just creating. Building something real from the bones of fiction. Turning delusion into method. Using the false to cultivate truth.

So, of course, I asked myself another question:

Why limit it?

Why just humans?

That's where all those trashy novels failed. Too narrow. Too self-centered. If everyone cultivates the same path, it just breeds conflict. Supremacy. Tribalism. Pointless wars over "pure bloodlines" or "ancient inheritances."

I'm not a nationalist. I'm not a species supremacist. That part of me died with my old name.

My path is expansion. Not purity.

Remember the deer I once killed? It walked a path too. It just didn't know it. It couldn't understand. But what if I made beings who could? Crafted them. Shaped their thoughts, their instincts. Sentient, not born but forged. Equal partners—or rivals. Whatever they choose to be.

That's the future I see.

And yes, I know how this sounds. Maybe I am being manipulated. Maybe some ancient being is pulling the strings behind the scenes, nudging me along a path I didn't choose.

But I don't care.

I'll walk it anyway. Head held high. With no regrets.

And maybe—just maybe—I'll become immortal.

Or a god.

...Either way, I can't wait.