The first pale light of dawn slipped through the tall windows of Egon’s new study-turned-bedroom, painting long golden stripes across the rumpled sheets.

Egon woke slowly, body heavy with the pleasant ache of overuse. Noella lay curled against his side, dark hair spreading across his chest, one leg draped possessively over his thigh.

Her breathing was deep and even, face still flushed from the night’s excesses, faint bite marks and fingerprints visible on the pale column of her throat and the curve of her hips.

She looked utterly spent, yet peaceful in a way that tugged at something unfamiliar inside his ribcage.

He studied her for a long moment, then carefully extricated himself without waking her.

His muscles protested as he stood. Every deep thrust, every grinding roll, every time he had pinned her down and taken her until she sobbed his name had left its mark.

Good. The soreness would remind him he was still mortal with desires, even with a second-order Soul Binder skill living in his veins.

He dressed in simple training clothes: loose black trousers, a sleeveless tunic that left his arms bare, soft boots.

He did not pick any weapon.

The Overlord Martial Style did not require weapon. It required precision, intent, and perfect control of the body’s hidden channels. He had already comprehended the nine forms from the inheritance from late Martial Emperor. But comprehension was not execution. Muscle memory, timing, breathing patterns, the exact flow of Soul energy through meridians; those demanded repetition until failure became impossible.

He slipped out into the corridor, moving silently past the still-sleeping mansion. The servants’ wing was quiet. Even the earliest-rising maids had not yet begun their rounds.

He descended to the rear courtyard, which was a wide flagstone square bordered by trimmed hedges and a low stone wall. Morning mist clung to the grass. Perfect conditions for practice. Cool air, empty space, no distractions.

Egon stood in the center, feet shoulder-width, spine straight. He closed his eyes and recalled the first form: Moon Shattering Palm..

His stance changed immediately. Left foot slid forward half a step, weight settling sixty-forty onto the rear leg. Knees bent slightly, hips squared. Right hand rose palm-out at chest height, fingers relaxed yet coiled, and left hand guarded the floating ribs.

He inhaled deel, and exhaled slowly.

And then— he initiated the first form: Moon Shattering Palm.

The motion was deceptively simple: a single forward lunge, right palm thrusting straight ahead as though driving through an invisible wall. At the moment of extension the entire body aligned. Ankles, knees, hips, spine, shoulder, elbow, wrist—all channelled soul energy into a single point at the center of the palm.

"Buzz!" The air cracked.

Following after, a faint shockwave rippled outward, bending the mist into fleeting spirals.

It was not destructive yet, and absolutely nowhere near the legendary power of the Overlord’s full execution. But the potential was there, humming beneath his skin.

He repeated it. Ten times. Twenty.

Each repetition smoother, faster, the palm strike landing with progressively sharper snaps. Sweat began to bead on his brow. His breathing stayed even; the form demanded it.

On the 32nd repetition the courtyard gate suddenly creaked open.

Vienna stepped through.

She wore a sheer morning gown of pale rose silk that clung scandalously to every curve. Thin straps over her bare shoulders, plunging neckline that barely contained her full breasts, high slits on both sides that flashed long legs with every step. Her hair was loose, still tousled from sleep, and her expression was a perfect mix of sulky pout and wounded pride.

She stopped several paces away, arms crossed beneath her chest, deliberately pushing her breasts higher.

"Darling, You didn’t come back to our room last night," she pouted cutely. "All night. I waited. Alone."

Egon lowered his palm, turning fully to face her. He did not apologize. Instead he closed the distance in three strides, cupped the back of her neck, and kissed her.

It was not gentle.

His mouth claimed hers with the same ruthless possession he had used on Noella hours earlier. His tongue swept past her lips, tasting wine and sleep and the faint salt of last night’s tears.

Vienna stiffened for half a heartbeat, then melted against him with a muffled moan. Her hands fisted in his tunic; she rose onto her toes, pressing every soft inch of her body to his harder frame. Their saliva mingled as the kiss deepened into something obscene and needy.

When he finally pulled back, a thin silver thread stretched between their lips before snapping.

"I didn’t forget you, Vienna." he said quietly, thumb brushing her swollen lower lip. "I claimed another piece of what’s mine. You will never be left wanting for long, Vienna. But last night Noella needed to be broken in properly. Tonight it will be your turn again. Harder. Longer. Until you can’t walk straight tomorrow."

Her pupils dilated. A visible shiver ran through her.

"Promise?" she whispered.

"Promise."

She bit her lip, then nodded once, sulkiness fading into something hotter, more obedient.

Egon kissed her forehead then stepped back.

"Come. There’s some work to do."

He led her toward the main training yard, a larger space behind the stables. Already assembled there were the twelve combat slaves he had purchased yesterday.

They stood in two neat rows, freshly bathed, dressed in simple gray tunics and trousers provided by the household. Neco and Tara had clearly been busy; even the most scarred among them looked presentable.

Krag and Mara stood at the front. Him on the left, tall and broad-shouldered, arms crossed, fresh scar livid across his ribs. Her on the right, shorter but denser, dark braid coiled at her nape, eyes sharp and assessing.

Egon stopped before them. Vienna remained at his side, chin high, every inch the noble lady despite the scandalous gown and the faint love-bites still visible on her throat.

"I am Egon Novos. As of this morning, this house is the Novos House," he declared. "You belong to it now. But I do not keep broken tools. I forge them."

He paced slowly before the line, meeting each pair of eyes.

"Krag. Mara. Step forward."

The two captains moved as one, stopping three paces in front of him.

"You will lead these ten. Krag, you command in open battle. Mara, you handle scouting, ambushes, and close-quarters work. Report directly to me or to your lady Vienna. Disobey, and you will be punished. Excel, and you will be rewarded."

He let the words settle in their mind.

"I do not buy slaves to keep them slaves forever. Serve the Novos House faithfully, protect what is mine, fight when I command, bleed when necessary, and one day you will earn your freedom. Not as charity. As your right."

Several of the younger slaves exchanged quick doubtful glances.

Krag’s jaw tightened, but his eyes never left Egon’s face.

"For now your duty is simple. The Flower Garden boutique is the first pillar of what I intend to build. Guard it. Patrol its streets. Watch for thieves, spies, rival merchants, anyone who might threaten Vienna’s business. My plans involve expanding that single shop into a business empire. It will be a network. It will be q name feared and respected across Dolan City and beyond."

He stopped pacing, facing them squarely.

"In this world Soul Evolvers rise by strength, cunning, and loyalty. You will be my strength. Prove yourselves worthy, and you rise with me. Fail, and you are replaced. Understood?"

A chorus of "Yes, my lord" rumbled back; some hesitant, some firm.

Krag’s voice was the loudest.

Egon nodded shortly.

"Dismissed. Eat. Rest. Training begins at midday. Krag, Mara you stay."

The others filed away toward the servants’ mess. Krag and Mara remained, watchful.

Egon studied them.

"Krag. You were a captain. Tell me honestly, do you believe you can follow a former slave?"

Krag’s scarred lip curled faintly.

"I follow results, My lord. You bought us yesterday. You stand here today owning a noble house, a noble wife, and others who look at you like you are a shining moon. Your results speak louder than collars."

Egon’s mouth twitched in what might have been approval.

"Mara?"

The woman shrugged one shoulder.

"I’ve fought for worse men. If you keep your word about freedom, I’ll bleed for you until then."

"Haha, food enough."

He turned to Vienna.

"Take them to the armory, Vinna. Issue standard gear like swords, spears, light armor. No house crests yet. They need to earn that."

Vienna nodded, then hesitated.

"Darling... tonight?"

He caught her chin, tilted her face up, and kissed her again.

"Tonight you scream my name until the maids blush. Now go."

She flushed prettily and led the two captains away.

Egon watched them disappear around the corner, then turned back to the empty yard.

The sun was higher now, burning away the last mist.

He resumed practising the Moon Shattering Palm.

One hundred repetitions.

Two hundred.

By the time the noon bell rang, sweat soaked his tunic and his breathing remained perfectly even.

The first form was no longer theory.

It was his.

And Dolan City would soon learn what happened when Egon Novos decided to build an empire.