Daniel did not announce his change.

  He didn’t need to.

  The Crimson House felt it.

  It began subtly—servants slowing when he passed, their eyes flicking away too quickly. Disciples lowering their voices mid-conversation. A training ground that always seemed to clear a little faster whenever he arrived.

  Daniel noticed.

  He pretended not to.

  That morning, he moved through the inner corridors toward the auxiliary courtyard, posture relaxed, breathing controlled. His circulation was minimal—barely enough to keep Asura awake without letting it stir.

  Even so—

  The air felt heavier.

  Two outer disciples sparring nearby faltered as Daniel passed between them. One’s blade dipped. The other missed a step. Neither understood why their rhythm broke.

  Daniel kept walking.

  Intent leak, he thought calmly.

  He had read about it in his past life—when killing intent seeped into presence unconsciously. Among demonic cultivators, it was considered a flaw.

  Among true monsters, it was a warning.

  Daniel tightened his control.

  Yama First Form.

  Stillness.

  Containment.

  The pressure eased—but not completely.

  He reached the training grounds and began practicing the Yama Art’s opening movements. Slow. Precise. Each motion was clean, almost gentle.

  From the outside, it looked harmless.

  From the inside—

  Asura pressed against the framework, testing each boundary like fingers probing cracks in a wall.

  Daniel ignored it.

  He practiced until sweat dampened his clothes, until his breathing stayed steady even as his muscles burned. The Asura essence churned quietly, contained but dissatisfied.

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  Then—

  Someone clapped.

  Slow.

  Mocking.

  Daniel straightened and turned.

  Robert Maxim stood at the edge of the courtyard, wooden sword resting casually against his shoulder. His expression was lazy, confident—but his eyes were sharp.

  Too sharp.

  “So you really are training,” Robert said. “I thought the servants were exaggerating.”

  Daniel inclined his head slightly. “You shouldn’t believe servants.”

  Robert smirked. “True. But I believe instincts.”

  He stepped forward.

  The moment he crossed into the courtyard, his smile faltered—just for an instant.

  The air changed.

  Robert felt it.

  Not pressure.

  Not fear.

  Something colder.

  Like stepping into a space already claimed.

  Daniel felt Asura stir.

  He suppressed it immediately.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Daniel said evenly. “The duel isn’t today.”

  Robert laughed, but it came out tighter than intended. “Relax. I’m not here to kill you. Father would be displeased.”

  He took another step.

  His instincts screamed.

  Robert’s grip on the wooden sword tightened unconsciously. His cultivation reacted on its own, force energy surging defensively through his arms.

  Daniel noticed.

  Good, he thought.

  Robert frowned. “You feel… different.”

  Daniel met his gaze. Calm. Unflinching.

  “So do you,” he replied.

  That was a lie.

  Robert hadn’t changed at all.

  And that bothered him more than anything.

  “You’re still at the beginner stage,” Daniel said slowly. Robert mumbled,“I can tell.”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet,” Robert continued, eyes narrowing, “my body is telling me not to underestimate you.”

  Daniel said nothing.

  Silence stretched between them.

  A breeze passed through the courtyard.

  Leaves rustled.

  Robert scoffed abruptly, forcing a grin. “Tch. Guess cripples can act scary if they try hard enough.”

  He turned away.

  But before he left, he added quietly—

  “Don’t die before the duel.”

  Daniel watched him go.

  Only when Robert disappeared did Daniel release his breath.

  The Asura essence pulsed sharply, irritated.

  He sensed you, it seemed to say.

  Daniel wiped sweat from his brow.

  “Yes,” he thought back. And that’s enough.

  That evening, the Patriarch summoned him.

  The chamber was silent when Daniel entered. No servants. No guards. Just his father standing near the window, hands clasped behind his back.

  “You’re leaking,” the Patriarch said without turning.

  Daniel stiffened.

  “Not much,” the Patriarch continued. “But enough.”

  He turned.

  His gaze was unreadable.

  “What path are you walking, Daniel?”

  Daniel lowered his head. “One I can survive.”

  The Patriarch studied him for a long moment.

  “I sense demonic influence,” he said finally. “But not corruption.”

  Daniel said nothing.

  “Whatever you are doing,” the Patriarch continued, “do not lose control inside the House.”

  “I won’t,” Daniel replied immediately.

  The Patriarch’s eyes sharpened. “That was too fast.”

  Daniel hesitated—then spoke honestly.

  “I don’t have the luxury of losing control.”

  Silence.

  Then, unexpectedly, the Patriarch laughed softly.

  “You sound like a ruler already,” he said. “Be careful. The House devours those first who opposes against their fate.”

  He waved Daniel away.

  That night, Daniel returned to his room and sat in cultivation.

  He did not circulate aggressively.

  He did not chase growth.

  Instead, he focused on essence.

  Asura was not just force.

  It was intent.

  Dominance.

  Finality.

  Daniel let a thread of that intent surface—just enough to observe it.

  Instantly, his heartbeat accelerated. His thoughts sharpened dangerously. The world simplified into lines of action and elimination.

  Daniel cut it off.

  Hard.

  His breath came fast.

  “So that’s you,” he murmured.

  Asura did not respond.

  But it did not retreat either.

  Ding.

  [ System Log

  Asura Essence Detected

  Intent Projection: Unrefined

  Risk Level: Escalating ]

  Daniel smiled faintly.

  “Good,” he said.

  Then you’ll see it too.

  He resumed cultivation—slowly, carefully—knowing now that the duel wasn’t just a test of strength.

  It was a test of restraint.

  And somewhere in the Crimson House, more eyes began to turn toward the Sixth Son—the one they had already written off.

  And

  That's How The Legend of The Forgotten Genius of The Crimson House Started.