My Clan Cultivation System: Only My Clan Can Cultivate

​IN THE THORNE BARONY

​The afternoon sun beat down on the fields, but Lord Alarick was out in the dirt, his sleeves rolled up as he helped the commoners with the harvest. Despite being born into the Zenin sub-family—and having married Martha, the eldest daughter of the wealthy Thorne merchant clan—he smiled warmly, lending his strength wherever it was needed.

​"I wish I were a noble," a young village girl muttered, staring at his handsome, sweating profile. "Even becoming his concubine would be enough. I’d serve the master in any way I could... hehehe."

​She didn’t realize she was speaking her thoughts out loud, her eyes glazed with a crazy, obsessive look. The other workers nearby just shook their heads and shot her disgusted glares. What a bitch, they thought.

​Alarick was famous for this. He was the beloved son-in-law of the Thorne Family, a true man of the people. But just as he was about to wipe the sweat from his brow, his personal servant approached, slipping him a sealed letter bearing the crest of the main house. Alarick took it, waved goodbye to the villagers with his trademark perfect smile, and headed inside.

​INSIDE THE PRIVATE OFFICE

​The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, the warm, gentle smile melted off Alarick’s face, replaced by a twisted, ugly sneer of pure revulsion.

​He immediately stripped off his outer coat, throwing it onto the floor as if it were on fire. "Disgusting," he hissed, frantically scrubbing his hands with a clean silk cloth from his desk. "Did you see them? Smelling of dirt and manure, daring to brush their filthy hands against my sleeves. If I have to smile at one more of these pathetic peasants, I think I’ll go mad."

​From the shadows of the room, his personal servant stepped forward, shaking his head in genuine awe. "Your acting is truly terrifying, My Lord. Five seconds ago, they looked ready to build a shrine in your honor."

​Alarick ignored the compliment, tossing the soiled cloth aside. He snatched the sealed letter he had brought in, cracking the wax seal with an impatient flick of his thumb and unrolling the parchment. His eyes quickly scanned the elegant handwriting.

​Suddenly, his eyes bulged.

​"WHAT?!" Alarick screamed, his voice cracking with sheer rage. He slammed the letter onto his heavy oak desk. "How the hell is that bastard still alive?!"

​"Impossible," his servant replied, his own eyes widening in shock. The servant spoke with absolute certainty; he used to be an assassin in the underworld of Eden, which was exactly how he had brokered the contract. "The kid should be ten feet in the ground by now. I personally made the request to the guild. Unless... they didn’t kill the kid on the spot and wanted to find some twisted enjoyment with their work."

​"Sigh." Alarick rubbed his temples, a look of powerless frustration crossing his face. "This letter is from the Family Head. It seems my nephew survived, and only my brother-in-law passed away. The Family is summoning everyone to the main estate to discuss the recent assassination. And from the tone of this letter... he isn’t happy at all."

​He shot his servant a cold, deadly glare. "Contact the guild again. I don’t want another failure, or the Main Family will have our heads."

​The servant swallowed hard. Both men shuddered, a heavy look of fear passing between them at the mere mention of the Zenin Patriarch—the true mastermind behind Alarick’s infiltration into the Thorne family.

​"Understood," the servant bowed. "The Family Head’s grand plan cannot suffer any more problems."

​While conspiracies brewed in the shadows, miles away inside the main Thorne Family compound, Kael was finally gaining consciousness.

​He woke up entirely alone. The room around him was luxurious, filled with exquisite wooden furniture, polished marble floors, and fine silk draped over a massive four-poster bed. It was way more extravagant than any place he had ever lived in on Earth.

​But the first question that popped into his mind wasn’t about the wealth. How did I get here? All he remembered was lying in the dirt of the dark forest, bleeding out, and accepting the soul assimil—

​He stopped mid-thought. The system. He needed to check the system.

​But before he could even mentally call for the interface, a translucent blue screen popped up in front of his face.

​[DING!]

[Would Host like to receive the memories of the predecessor?]

​Kael froze, a heavy knot of hesitation forming in his stomach. He stared at the glowing letters. He didn’t know if this was going to hurt as the soul assimilation did. That white-hot, soul-tearing agony was still fresh in his mind, and he absolutely did not want to experience that feeling again.

​System... he asked mentally, bracing himself. Will this hurt like last time?

​Silence. The system did not answer.

​He tried multiple times, rephrasing the question, begging for a confirmation, but the screen remained static. Eventually, Kael let out a frustrated sigh and gave up. He was in an unfamiliar world. He knew no one. He didn’t even know the name of the body he was inhabiting, the political layout of the kingdom, or the identity of the enemies who had tried to kill him. If he walked out that door without memories, he would be exposed as a fake instantly. He had no choice.

​Slowly, he reached over to the nightstand, picked up a thick piece of linen clothing, and rolled it up tightly. He shoved it into his mouth, biting down hard so he wouldn’t scream and alert whoever was guarding the door outside.

​He squeezed his eyes shut and mentally pressed YES.

​[DING! Starting memory input...]