As the sun set, Connor Shayle lay on his back atop Wolf Fang Mountain, with a leaf in his mouth, legs crossed, gazing at the fiery clouds in the sky. He spat out the leaf. "Am I going to be useless for my whole life?" Connor muttered. As the son of Quentin Shayle, the top master of Lanshire City, Connor had been the focus of countless eyes since birth. Upon his birth, experts from the Shayle family examined his physique, particularly his potential for cultivation. The conclusion was that he had an exceptionally outstanding constitution. His physique and cultivation talent far surpassed Quentin's, so the Shayle family invested their hopes in him and treated him as the family's future. However, things did not go as hoped. Since beginning training at seven, Connor had failed countless times. Despite his diligent training and the family's use of numerous medicinal resources on him, others could cultivate their battle energy within a year. Now sixteen, he still hadn't developed a trace of battle energy. By the time he was ten, Quentin traveled across the continent, seeking out renowned experts, hoping to find the reason for Connor's unique constitution. The results were disappointing. Regardless of who it was, even the most acclaimed experts on the continent or the most miraculous alchemist, they unanimously concluded that Connor's physique and cultivation talent were top-notch. Some even speculated that if he could cultivate battle energy, he could reach the King-level cultivation. Yet, no matter their method, Connor couldn't cultivate battle energy. Thus, Connor was labeled an oddity. Was he going to give up? Connor felt uneasy. From a young age, he had aspired to be like his father, and stood at the pinnacle of martial arts. Despite countless failures, he never gave up. He trained relentlessly until his physique honed to a point where even strong warriors envied him, but he lacked battle energy. Watching the sun set, Connor rose, feeling somewhat dejected, and left. As he reached the midway point of Wolf Fang Mountain, the sounds of clashing weapons and shouts reached his ears. Knowing he lacked battle energy, Connor realized that if the fighters were too powerful, the aftermath of their battle energy could easily claim his life, so he quickly found a place to hide. He slipped behind a rock. Just as he hid, he heard a piercing scream. Looking up, he saw a middle-aged man running toward him, a sword piercing through the man's chest from behind, and the man collapsed. The attacker, panting heavily and covered in wounds, ran over without retrieving his sword but instead rummaged through the fallen man's belongings as if searching for something. His face suddenly lit up with joy as he retrieved a small box from the fallen man's embrace, though it was stained with blood. "Haha, I finally found..." Slash! A sharp dagger stabbed into the chest of the attacker. The fallen man spitting blood as he said, "I...even in death, will take you with me." Clatter! The attacker loosened his grip, and the box fell to the ground. The box opened, and a sphere radiating purple, gold, and green rolled out, emitting a strong fragrance. Seeing that the two were dead, Connor approached and picked up the sphere. Despite the bloody stench surrounding the two corpses, the sphere emitted such a strong fragrance that it overwhelmed all other scents. "So fragrant," Connor said, holding it to his nose for a sniff. The moment the tri-colored sphere touched his lips, it turned into gas and flowed into his mouth. Startled, Connor tried to spit it out, worried it might be poisonous, as many fragrant things could be. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to induce vomiting, even using his fingers, he couldn't get it out. Moreover, he felt the gas disperse after entering his mouth. The gas flowed through his limbs and meridians, making his whole body feel indescribably comfortable—eventually gathered at the left side of his chest. Connor checked under his shirt, finding everything appeared normal. He moved around a bit, feeling no different. He examined the two corpses but found nothing on them, not even a storage item like a storage ring. The only thing that caught his attention was a vivid white tiger emblem on the left wrist of both men, so lifelike it seemed real at a glance. Connor left with questions in his mind. He didn't want to linger there, and as for the two corpses, he didn't bother with them. Who knew if their comrades might show up? Once he entered Lanshire City, a dozen people appeared before the two corpses. Among them, a man in golden attire picked up the empty small box with an expressionless face. "Search!" His subordinates immediately began searching. They searched the area dozens of times. "Sir, nothing." The golden-clad man's face twitched. "Arrest everyone and every beast near Wolf Fang Mountain. Check them one by one. If you can't find it..." He abruptly stopped. "If you can't find it, you won't leave here alive." The men shuddered and resumed their search. The golden-clad man gazed toward the distant Lanshire City. The breeze brushing past, revealing a white tiger emblem on his left wrist. "I hope the lord will spare me, considering I have the potential to reach the King-level." While they searched, Connor, who had swallowed the tri-colored sphere, had entered Lanshire City. Entering Lanshire City, Connor felt uneasy. In Lanshire City, if anyone was the most famous, it was undoubtedly not Quentin, not the city lord, nor the stunningly beautiful alchemist Whitney Spencer, but the oddity Connor. With unparalleled talent, he could not cultivate battle energy, combined with his father's halo as Lanshire City's top expert, it was hard for him not to attract attention. Thus, walking down the street, Connor always felt people looked at him with strange eyes. "Ah, who cares. I am a man. Why should I care how others see me?" Connor comforted himself. Yet, deep down, a strong sense of unwillingness surged. He didn't want to concede just like that. "Isn't this the Shayle family's renowned prodigy?" A sarcastic voice came from behind. Connor frowned but ignored it, continuing to walk. Someone quickly moved ahead, blocking Connor's path with outstretched arms. "Connor, don't walk so fast. Didn't you hear Michael calling you?" Connor sighed. The first speaker was Michael, the only son of Terrance, the Shayle family's fourth elder and Connor's nemesis. Terrance's lackey, a distant relative named Zeke, blocked his path. "Connor, why are you in such a hurry? Aren't you going to give us mere mortals a chance to curry favor with you?" Michael taunted as he approached Connor. "What do you want?" Connor asked coldly. Michael chuckled. "Nothing. I'm just short on cash lately. How about you lend me some?" "I don't have any," Connor replied and stepped forward. A cold glint flashed in Michael's eyes. Zeke immediately reached out to block Connor's path. "Connor, if you don't lend us some money, you might be in trouble." Connor was furious, clenching his fists. "What, you want to fight? Haha! You're not even qualified to fight us," Michael sneered, curling his lip. He extended a finger. "Believe it or not, I could poke you to death with just one finger, you useless thing who can't even cultivate battle energy." Connor's anger flared up after hearing Michael's words.