In the world of Murim, Liang Zephyr had fought countless wars. For forty years, he battled demons, rival clans, and the very darkness of ambition itself, carving his name into legend. Finally, after a lifetime of struggle, he had defeated the demonic cult that had terrorized the lands. Tomorrow, he would become the head of the Heavenly Alliance.
"Yes! Finally, the war has ended, and I'm going to be the clan head tomorrow! I'm so happy, huh!" he thought, clenching his fists with exhilaration. Yet, a small shadow of regret tugged at him. Forty years of life, and not a single meaningful relationship. Not that he hadn't tried—he had—but his appearance, or perhaps his intense aura, had driven women away. All he had done was train, fight, and live for battle… and yet, he had no family, no companion, no warmth outside the battlefield.
"But tomorrow… tomorrow everything changes! I'll finally have power, respect… maybe even a one girl who won't run away!" he muttered with a wry grin, imagining the possibility. He could feel the weight of all those years of hardship, and finally, relief washed over him.
The next day, as he ascended the dais to take the seat of clan head, Zephyr's mind was alight with excitement and anticipation. But fate, ever cruel, had one final trial.
From the shadows, a lone figure lunged. The last assassin of the demonic cult struck without warning. The blade was no ordinary sword—it was forged by demonic gods, and was coated with a poison that could kill even the strongest of warriors. It struck his qi center with terrifying precision.
Pain erupted, sharp and absolute. Zephyr's vision blurred. His body stiffened as life drained away. His last thought was not regret over battles, but a flicker of disbelief.
And then… everything went white.
When he opened his eyes, there was no battlefield, no blood, no shattered earth. Instead, he stood in a place beyond imagination.
It was a library—vast, infinite, and awe-inspiring. Endless shelves towered higher than any mountain, stretching into the clouds. Books shimmered faintly, emitting a soft, otherworldly glow. The air smelled of old parchment and starlight, and the silence here was alive, almost sentient, as though the books themselves were aware of his presence.
Zephyr took cautious steps, still in the body of his prime, untouched by the fatal wounds that had killed him moments ago.
"Where… am I?" he whispered, brushing a hand against the edge of a shelf. The books hummed faintly under his fingers.
A gentle, melodic voice echoed through the endless halls.
"You stand in the Eternal Library of Fate," it said, soft yet commanding.
Zephyr turned. Before him stood a woman of ethereal beauty, her presence more imposing than any martial master he had ever faced. Her eyes sparkled like distant constellations, and her gown flowed as though woven from the moonlight itself.
"Who are you?" he demanded, though his voice held a note of awe.
"I am the Goddess of Fate," she said, her tone both serene and weighty. "This is my domain, where the destinies of all beings are written and preserved. And you, warrior, are my chosen."
Zephyr's jaw tightened. "Chosen? No… I died. I was stabbed from behind. This has to be a dream."
"It is no dream," she replied softly. "Your body has perished in Murim, but your soul was drawn here by the threads of fate."
Anger flared within him. "Then send me back! That coward who stabbed me—I'll tear him apart before my body even turns cold!"
The goddess shook her head gently. "I cannot. Even I cannot interfere with the natural flow of fate there."
Zephyr's eyes narrowed. "But you said you were a goddess! Surely you can do something?"
"Yes," she said, her voice tinged with sorrow, "but even we gods cannot go against the laws that bind existence. If I did, it would unleash consequences I cannot control."
Zephyr's mind raced. "Then why bring me here? Is this some kind of hell?"
Her eyes dimmed, sadness evident in her gaze. "No. I brought you here because another world suffers—a world where demons ravage humanity, and humanity itself spirals into chaos. Even the gods delight in turmoil there. I cannot intervene directly. So I chose you—a warrior who once crushed a demonic cult and carved his name into legend."
"And what do I gain from this?" Zephyr asked cautiously.
"One wish," she replied. "Anything you desire. Even… immortality."
The weight of her words pressed on him. He smirked, a glint of mischief returning to his eyes. "Just one wish, huh? Fine. I'll play your game, goddess. But when I'm done fixing your broken world, you will honor your promise."
Her smile returned, faint but resolute. "Then listen carefully, warrior. This world is not Murim. It runs on magic, not qi. And this library… it is no ordinary place. Every soul is bound to a book. From birth to death, their fates are written within. When one dies, their book burns to ash. None may alter these books… except me."
From a towering shelf, she drew a small tome, bound in black and silver, and placed it in his hands.
"This is your book, Liang Zephyr. It shall remain hidden with you until you awaken your magic. But heed my words—never attempt to write in it unless it's a matter of life and death. "Remember It takes more than it gives."
Zephyr turned the book over, feeling its unnatural weight, pulsing faintly in his grasp.
Her voice began to fade as the library's light enveloped him. "Go now, warrior. Enter the world of fate and magic, and carve a new legend."
Before he could respond, his soul was pulled into a tunnel of radiant light, leaving the library behind.