[Was supposed to be the perfect Lifeform, but Heavens did not tolerate her existence.]

North didn’t know what the rest of this strange girl’s character template meant by “supposed to be a perfect lifeform but not tolerated by the Heavens.”

But he was absolutely certain of one thing. This NPC was a lunatic. Who attacks from behind and then laughs like a maniac? They weren’t friends. Hell, this was only the second time meeting her, and the first time, she had tried to rob him while looking like a Jade Beauty. And when that failed? She had used some strange ability on him, slapping him with a debt of a pot of gold and a favor, which, to this day, he still wasn’t sure was even possible. And now, here she was again, looking at him like some kind of unsolvable puzzle.

North exhaled, slowly collecting himself. He dusted off his now-expensive robes, forcing his breathing to steady. His first instinct was to bark at her. But then—he hesitated. Because something felt off.

Normally, when he looked at Visionaries, he could vaguely sense their strength—some kind of unseen interaction happening in the background of this world, as if his own status as a Visionary was subtly aware of others like him. Rank 1st gave him just a slight tingle in his fingertips. Rank 3rd and 4th made that feeling spread through his arms.

For this girl? The sensation was too strange, too unreadable. That alone told him enough—he couldn’t gauge her strength. Or she was using some stealth type Image to hide her Rank. Still, he had to at least maintain some dignity.

Letting out a slow breath, he adjusted his sleeves, straightened his posture, and spoke with the deliberate tone of a young master. “Has no one ever taught you not to attack people from behind?”

It didn’t matter what had happened yesterday. Right now, he was trying to maintain an image—to sell himself as a proper young master, not a pushover. The past was already past, even if it had only been one day.

The girl blinked at him, tilting her head slightly. “What…?”

She looked genuinely offended, as if he had just accused her of something outrageous.

North narrowed his eyes. Is her head slow?

Luckily, she didn’t attack again, only folded her arms and huffed. “I just wanted to know how you suddenly transformed from rags to riches. And you even became a Rank 1 Visionary.”

North stared at her. …That’s your concern? Out of everything she could’ve asked—that was what bothered her? The fact that he looked richer than before and had become a Visionary overnight? She certainly was Heaven touched lunatic. North exhaled again, shaking his head, forcing himself to stay calm. He was a big-hearted, magnanimous young master—gracious, dignified, unbothered. There was no need to argue with barking dogs on the street. And besides, what could she even do to him inside the Plum Gardens?

The festival grounds were filled with guards, hidden elders, and powerful figures. No one would dare cause real trouble here, at least not openly. Ignoring her, North instead focused on her template, willing the system to respond. System! The template is here, what should I do now?

Silence. The godforsaken system was as useless as ever. North clenched his jaw, his irritation only growing.

Fine. If the system wouldn’t help, he’d figure it out himself. He turned on his heel and walked away, resuming his slow patrol of the Plum Gardens. He had already gone through so much trouble just to locate these Heaven-Chosen and other character templates. Now, he needed to study them further, analyze their patterns, and figure out exactly what he had to do to earn their… whatever it was he was supposed to earn. Except, he heard footsteps following him. North took one turn. Then another. Then a third, deliberately weaving through the crowd, passing different tables, stepping over bridges, and circling back through decorative pavilions. But she didn’t stop following him. He suddenly halted, causing her to almost bump into him. He turned around sharply, raising a brow.

"Why do you keep following me?" he asked, his voice edged with genuine frustration.

The girl folded her arms, her expression unreadable. "You didn’t answer my previous question…" she said, squeezing the words out.

North stared at her. She was serious. She had followed him through half the Plum Gardens just to get an answer to a random question. He had met some strange people in his life. But this one? She was in a league of her own.

Suddenly, he understood a phrase he had heard a long ago: predicaments only grew stronger as you let them follow you.

"Pay me first if you want me to tell you." The words left North's mouth with practiced arrogance.

The girl’s mouth opened, then closed. Her expression flickered between annoyance and disbelief before settling into a deep frown.

"That’s not possible," she said, shaking her head as if the very idea was absurd.

North scoffed, not even bothering to hide it. "Then go somewhere else," he shot back, turning away. "Don’t follow me."

Without waiting for a reply, he started walking again, keeping his posture relaxed—but his guard up. He had no doubt she was the type to attack from behind again. Just to be safe, he activated Borrowed Might, letting the invisible stream of water coil around him, a chilling sensation wrapping around his skin. If she tried anything, she’d find out real quick that he wasn’t as defenseless as before. Yet… she didn’t follow.

Good.

Good riddance.

Just as North let himself relax, a sudden weight pressed against his consciousness, a shift in reality itself. Then—

[Affinity with ??? increased by +3.]

[Fate Tie Deepened: 33%]

North froze mid-step. What the fuck?

He glitched in place, almost tripping over his own feet. That was not the kind of system message he wanted to see. And what was wrong with this, last time too when he had not given what she wanted her impression of him increased, and now again. Did she secretly like being refused? Lunatic. Truly a Lunatic. He bolted. Without wasting another second, he turned on his heel and walked faster, pretending the message never happened. Fortunately, this time she didn't use any of her strange ability on him.

...

Soon enough, he arrived at one of the larger banquet areas, where long wooden tables were set up under hanging spirit lanterns, the air thick with the scent of grilled meats, fresh bread, and expensive wines. The best part was that everything was free. North grabbed a jade cup, filling it to the brim with strong wine, the sharp aroma burning his nose even before he took a sip. He needed this. One deep drink later, the warm burn spread through his chest, dulling the irritation that had been festering in his mind since that crazy girl showed up again.

I just want to sit down, drink, and pretend none of that happened. With that thought, he picked up a plate of food, loading it with tender roast meat, fragrant rice, and crispy golden pastries, then sat alone at one of the empty tables. A few other Visionaries occupied nearby seats, engaged in their own conversations.

None of them had Templates.

So, he just focused on his food instead, slicing into the roast meat, savoring the perfect balance of spice and juiciness.

"Who do you think has the highest chance of being chosen for The Session?"

North’s interest piqued slightly. The Session. The main event of the festival. The Four Seasons Titles—Winter, Spring, Summer, and Autumn—were about to be given out, marking the strongest young Visionaries of the generation.

"It’s not a matter of talent alone," he explained. "The higher-ups don’t just choose based on raw strength."

"Then what do they choose based on?"

"The general consensus—who has the biggest reputation, who stands unrivaled among the new generation."

"That’s ridiculous," another Visionary scoffed. "So if some famous young master is well-liked, he could be chosen over someone stronger?"

The scholar nodded.

"That’s how it’s always been. Strength alone doesn’t rule the world—perception does. The Session Titles are given to those who are seen as the future legends of this era."

North chewed on a piece of roasted duck, thinking over the words. So it’s not just about combat ability—it’s about being a figure that people recognize. Someone who’s feared, respected, or worshiped. It made sense. The Session Titles weren’t just about raw strength. It wasn’t about who could throw the strongest punch or who had the most refined Image techniques—it was about who was recognized. Who had a presence so undeniable that the people had no choice but to look up to them.

And in that case?

The three people I saw—The Heaven’s Chosen One, The Shadowed Phoenix, and The Serpent Who Smiles—they’re all guaranteed candidates.

But then there were others. People he hadn’t seen yet—but whose names still carried weight. And as North continued listening to the conversations around him, the names of several other contenders surfaced.

“Better choices?” A young man scoffed. “Who do you have in mind? Li Yi? That country bumpkin from the mountains?”

North didn’t react, but his interest sharpened.

“He’s not just some backwater hick,” the woman shot back, eyes flashing. “Li Yi crushed Bai Xu in one move. You can say whatever you want about his origins, but he’s proving himself. And in the end, isn’t that what really matters?”

“I wouldn’t count out Fang Shi either,” someone said, breaking the brief silence.

“The brute?”

“The brute,” the man confirmed. “He’s not polished, but he’s terrifying. Even if he doesn’t get a title, he’s going to make an impression.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“More like he’s going to make a bloodbath,” another muttered.

Laughter rippled through the group.

“Wei Yun might be the dark horse.”

“The Ghost Blade?”

“If he even shows up.”

“I heard he left the festival already,” someone whispered.

Another shrugged. “Or he’s just waiting for the right moment.”

…

As time passed on, the conversations around the table shifted, moving away from the contenders for the Session Titles to something far more immediate.

A man in crimson robes, his sleeves embroidered with wolf fangs, leaned forward, tapping the rim of his wine cup as he spoke.

"All this talk about the Sessions is interesting, but let’s be real—none of us are getting chosen."

A few laughs, a few reluctant nods.

"We're just here to watch the big names tear each other apart," he continued, taking a sip of his drink.

"Speaking of strength," another person with white scars on his hands leaned forward, "has anyone tried their luck at the City Visionary Power Ranking Board lately?"

"What?"

"The City's Visionary Power Ranking Board."

The words sent a ripple of distress through the table. Some nodded knowingly. Others grimaced, clearly remembering bad experiences. North, who had been half-listening, immediately focused.

The man in crimson continued. "You know how it works. Every Visionary can challenge others to rank up. The higher your rank, the more respect—and more importantly, the more resources you get."

North raised an eyebrow. Now that was interesting.

"How does it work exactly?" a newcomer asked, echoing North's own curiosity.

The scarred had explained: "You register for battles, set the stakes beforehand—Rain coins, Images, resources, whatever both parties agree to. Winner takes all."

"Sounds simple enough," someone scoffed.

"Simple until you're facing someone who's been hiding their true strength," a bitter voice cut in. "Lost my Wind Runner Image to someone who seemed like an easy mark. Turned out he was sandbagging his rank for easy prey."

Someone groaned. "Don't remind me. I lost three of my Images that way."

Another disciple, dressed in black with a silver sash, nodded grimly. "Yeah. I tried ranking up last month—bet one of my rare Images against some bastard from who had been fighting for too long, but always kept a low profile. Thought I had the upper hand. Turns out he had been hiding his real strength all along. I got obliterated in three moves."

A nearby Visionary laughed bitterly. "That’s how it goes. Either you rise like a king, or you get buried with nothing left. The ones who dominate the board aren’t just strong—they’re either insanely skilled or absolutely ruthless."

"Most newcomers start too ambitious," the scarred hand voiced out. "They see the potential rewards and forget about the risks. I watched a fool bet his only Image last week—now he's back to being a mortal."

"Who holds the top rank right now?" another person asked, leaning forward eagerly.

The crimson-robed man snorted. "Same as always. Gu Jin."

"And who the hell is Gu Jin?" the same young Visionary asked, frowning.

"The undefeated lunatic."

"He has no clan ties, no sect loyalty. Just some wandering madman who only cares about fighting. He’s been holding the top rank for two years."

"Is it even possible to beat him?" someone asked hesitantly.

"Not likely. But plenty have tried. And plenty have paid the price."

There was a grim silence at the table.

Then, another man grinned, eyes gleaming. "That’s what makes it fun, though. Where else can you fight for real without getting killed? The ranking battles aren’t like the polite duels sect disciples have in training halls. This is where people fight to win, not to show off technique."

North could hear the hunger in the man’s voice. It was the same hunger that drove countless Visionaries—the unrelenting need for resources. To rank up as a Visionary, one had to invest heavily in their growth, pouring everything they had into expanding their Imaginary Islands, purchasing more Images, and refining their foundation. But resources were scarce and brutally contested. And there were only a few reliable ways to gather enough wealth to support this path.

One could be born into privilege, inheriting vast cultivation resources from a wealthy family or a powerful sect. Others, exceptionally talented, could receive sponsorships from major factions, earning them steady access to what they needed. But those were the rare few. For most Visionaries, the only real option was venturing into the wilderness—the chaotic, lawless lands beyond the safety of civilization, where danger lurked behind every shadow. There, they could hunt for rare materials, beasts, and unknown Images, hoping to return alive with enough profit to continue their path.

But not many survived. And so, a darker alternative had emerged. If one couldn’t earn resources, they could always take them from others. Looting fellow Visionaries was a common practice, a brutal shortcut that many resorted to out of necessity, greed, or sheer desperation.

North pondered over silently. This world was different from the Earth. Far more ruthless.

And it all boiled down to one simple truth—People could become Visionaries, gain strength and power, either through hard work or luck.

That single fact had reshaped the entire balance of power, altering the very way people lived, fought, and struggled. Unlike ordinary mortals, Visionaries weren’t bound by the limits of human strength. They could grow, evolve, and, if their stars aligned, one day transcend mortality itself. The possibility of becoming an Immortal was what drove them forward. Freedom…and so on. Everybody had different dreams they strived to achieve.

North set his cup down with a quiet clink. He had heard enough.

The Session Titles were still two days away, and sticking around this festival was pointless.

It was good that I decided to come. If I want to grow fast, I need to see this Visionary Ranking Board for myself…. And maybe—just maybe—test the waters.

He stood, stretching casually, ignoring the looks of mild curiosity from the people still deep in conversation. Time to leave. The festival grounds had started to quiet, some people turning in for the night while others continued to drink and boast. He walked at an even pace, letting his mind work through what he had just learned. The city streets were cool, the night air carrying the faint scent of food from the festival and distant laughter from late-night revelers. He strolled leisurely, weighing his options.

Ultimately, he came to the conclusion, If he wanted to achieve his fate of being eaten by a bunch of Immortals—to truly understand the power structure, to get his hands on real strength—he needed to step onto that battlefield.

Not just as an observer. As a competitor. Tomorrow, he would visit the City Visionary Ranking Board.

…

The streets stretched quiet beneath the pale white moon, its light casting shadows along the high pavilion walls and winding stone roads. North sautered at a measured pace, hands tucked into his sleeves, his thoughts drifting for the first time in a long while—not toward survival, not toward strategy, but toward something more distant.

Earth.

It been two days since he arrived in this world? It was hard to tell with everything happening so fast. The chaos, the absurdity of it all—it had consumed his focus, leaving little room for reflection. But now, under the cool silence of the night, memories of home crept in.Were his parents worried? Had they called the police? He imagined them searching, filing missing reports, trying to piece together the impossible. They’d never find an answer. No one would. Who could possibly imagine that he was trapped inside a world of his own making?

A strange feeling settled in his chest.

Sadness? Worry?

Yet, He had no way of returning immediately. He really wanted to go home. It would have been good, if he could jump in and out of this world based on his mood, like VR game. But, this world clearly wasn't a game anymore. It had evolved beyond that point perhaps a long time ago.

"..."

A voice snapped him back to reality. A harsh, hushed whisper, laced with anger.

North’s steps halted instantly. His body moved before his mind fully processed the situation—swift, controlled—slipping into the shadow of a nearby alley. His breath steadied as he pressed himself against the cool stone wall, listening.

Two voices. Arguing. Loud enough to break the night’s quiet, but restrained enough that they were trying not to be overheard. That voice… I recognize it

“You see now, don’t you?” Fatty’s voice was sharp, his frustration barely restrained. “I warned you about that bitch Yue Lingxi yesterday! Did you listen? She was trying to get close to you—to play you! And now look what happened!”

Li Yi didn’t reply, but North could hear dead silence.

Fatty continued, relentless. “She stole your Wings of Destiny Image.”

North's pulse quickened. Through the shadows, he could make out two figures in the adjacent alley. Above their heads, those pink crystals glowed faintly: [The Fatty Best Friend] and [The Heaven's Favored Protagonist].

As for the Wings of Destiny, it wasn't just any Image. It was a rare Luck type Rank 5 Image—a powerful one, the kind that couldn’t be created artificially, only naturally formed through some deep resonance of Truth in the world. That alone meant that Li Yi was more important than he had initially thought.

Li Yi finally broke his silence, voice tight with suppressed rage. "I already landed a deadly attack on her. She won't escape far. Might not even live long enough to complete her mission."

Fatty scoffed. "And you think that’s enough? You think she wasn’t prepared for this? ...I even worry, if she even let you touch her."

Li Yi remained silent, feeling uncomfortable by the question, but, all his answers were evident in the silence.

Fatty exhaled sharply, his tone dropping. "I told you. She was working for the Fourth Young Master of the Lustrous Sky Clan."

North stilled. So that was it. This wasn’t just some random betrayal. This was political maneuvering at its finest.

The Fourth Young Master.

A minor player in the Lustrous Sky Clan—a family struggling within its own internal power battles. He wasn’t strong enough to fight for the clan’s leadership outright, so he was digging in the shadows, setting up traps, eliminating potential threats. And now, Li Yi had become part of that game.

Fatty's voice grew colder. “The moment you entered the city and took part in the City Power Ranking, he started digging into your past. The moment he figured out who you were, he sent that bitch after you."

Another pause. North imagined Li Yi’s face—stiff, barely holding himself together.

"You might not know," Fatty continued, "but his position in the clan is shakiest of all. Weakest Rank, least support. She might have seemed pure with her feeling for you at first, but you forgot who her master was.”

Still, Li Yi didn’t respond. Fatty let out a slow breath, but his next words cut deep. "Too blinded by so-called true love to see it."

They seemed to be hunting Yue Lingxi. Probably kill her. North figured and cursed internally. He needed to get out of here. Right now. He didn’t know if they had sensed him, but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. Li Yi was Rank 3. Fatty was Rank 2. And him? North had some tricks, but if these two decided he was a liability—He’d be dead in seconds.

He shifted his weight, moving slowly, carefully. When he was sure he was far enough, he bolted. Not too fast—not enough to draw attention. But fast enough to disappear before they noticed. He slipped through narrow alleys, turned into empty streets, moving like a thief in the night. The voices grew distant behind him, swallowed by the quiet hum of the city.

Only when he was several blocks away did he finally let himself breathe. That was too close. Too close.

However, he barely had a second to exhale, to settle his thoughts, before he felt it. A hand—cold and trembling—landed softly on his shoulder. His body went rigid.

A system dialogue materialized before his eyes.

[Wherever I Stand, A Plot Begins.]

The air snuffed out of his lungs. A chill, deeper than the night’s breeze, crawled up his spine as his fingers twitched instinctively, wanting to shove the presence away. But he forced himself still, controlled, steady. Slowly—painfully slowly—he turned his head. The first thing he saw were the fingers. Pale. White. Trembling. Bloody. The red seeped through, staining the fine silk of her sleeve, smearing against his shoulder in a ruinous contrast.

And then, he saw her.

The moonlight draped her figure in silver, catching the angles of her delicate face—cheekbones sharp yet soft, lips slightly parted, breath uneven, pained. She was beautiful. Divine, almost. But North barely focused on her face for more than half a second—because his attention snapped to her stomach. Her wound. Blood gushed from the deep gash, soaking through the layers of her white robes, turning the fabric crimson and dark. Yet, even with her body teetering on collapse, her eyes burned with fierce, venomous determination.

Her grip on his shoulder tightened. A soft white glow radiated from her fingers. And then, she spat out a whisper, "If you don’t do what I say, you’re dead."

North sucked in a cold breath. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I just wanted to go home and sleep peacefully. Was I asking for too much?

His heartbeat pounded against his ribs. Not just because of the warning, but because, suddenly, a pink crystal materialized above her head, and another system dialogue blinked to life before his eyes.

[The Tragic Beauty.]

[A woman too beautiful to live, too cunning to trust, and too doomed to survive. In the end, despite her beauty and cunningness, all that remains of her is a lonely grave and unwept tears.]