Anwar did not sleep that night.
How could he?
He had just awakened a system specifically designed to ruin a protagonist's life.
Sleep was not an option.
Adrenaline had paid rent, renovated his brain, and moved in permanently.
So, instead of resting like a normal human, he sat cross-legged on the thin, miserable excuse of a bed in his tiny outer-disciple room and dug through the inherited memories in his head.
Hours passed.
He kept sorting through facts, visions, fragments, and dramatic flashbacks like he was binge-watching a badly edited recap of someone else's tragic life.
Finally, he exhaled.
"So this really is… Azure Heaven Continent."
The name alone sounded like someone trying too hard to be poetic.
But the continent itself?
Not poetic at all.
Brutal.
Vast.
Overcrowded like public transport at rush hour.
A rank 4 cultivation continent.
Rank 4 cultivators were the big bosses here—walking nuclear weapons who could level cities while filing their nails.
The population? Somewhere around thirty billion.
Thirty.
Billion.
He stared blankly at the ceiling.
"Just how many people were these authors planning to kill off for dramatic tension…"
According to the memories, only three percent of the population even had the qualifications to cultivate.
And even among those, only a handful climbed to the top.
Eighteen major sects.
Thirteen "righteous."
Five demonic.
He snorted.
Righteous.
Sure.
And toddlers run multinational corporations.
Only three sects had Rank 4 leaders.
Naturally, all three leaders were legendary monsters, peerless experts, and the type who could traumatize someone with a single glance.
He rubbed his face slowly.
"Great… and I'm stuck in the same world as the MC who already reached Rank 4 in novel. Perfect. Amazing. Absolutely smells like trouble."
He needed a moment to process.
He didn't get one.
Because then came the next part:
His current sect.
Nether Abyss Mainland.
Righteous sect, supposedly.
Which was funny—because according to the memories, the amount of backstabbing, exploitation, internal politics, and straight-up murder happening on a daily basis could rival corporate HR departments.
People sacrificed, schemed, and died constantly, all so someone else could take one tiny step higher.
The Sect Master was one of the Rank 4 cultivators of the continent.
A jade beauty.
Cold, distant, untouched by the mortal world.
Obviously a target for the protagonist.
Of course she was.
These authors had no shame.
He sighed. Again. Harder this time.
Then he checked whose body he was borrowing.
Awner Xuanyan.
Outer disciple.
Joined the sect at thirteen with dreams of rising to immortality.
Dreams that were brutally crushed.
The original Awner had talent, but no backing, no protection, no resources.
Six years later and he was still stuck at Qi Condensation Stage 2.
He had fought with all his heart but this world didn't care.
Then he made a mistake.
He offended another disciple—someone at Qi Condensation Stage 3 who had influence.
The beating was bad.
Too bad.
The body couldn't take any more.
Awner Xuanyan had cried at the end.
Not from the pain—he had grown used to pain.
But from the despair.
From the realization that he would never rise.
Never escape.
Never see a future.
Anwar closed his eyes.
"…You really did try, huh."
He whispered a soft prayer that the boy found something better in his next life.
Then the memories shifted.
To the protagonist.
According to both the system's brief and the memories, the MC had just passed the qualification test earlier that evening.
Eighteen years old.
Heroic.
Talented.
Destined.
And like every typical cliché protagonist, he stumbled upon a rank 8 remnant soul of a female cultivator just a few months ago.
A rank 8 remnant soul.
"Of course she was female," Anwar muttered. "Of course she taught him top-tier techniques. Of course she died dramatically."
Thanks to that cheat-level inheritance, the protagonist reached Qi Condensation Stage 4 in record-breaking time despite this continent's pathetic spiritual energy.
He sighed again.
Count: eleven sighs.
World record.
But the most important part?
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow the protagonist would go to the Martial Pavilion and get his "first official opportunity" from the sect.
A technique he couldn't actually use but kept due to his master's advice.
Then, one week later, he'd meet the inner-sect disciple of the Sect Master—
One of only three personal disciples.
A girl stuck at the peak of Qi Condensation Stage 9.
A girl whose special physique made breakthroughs nearly impossible.
The protagonist would "save" her.
She would become loyal.
Devoted.
Ride-or-die till her last breath.
Anwar rubbed his forehead slowly.
"Women in this world fall in love harder than gravity… Meanwhile in my old world, loyalty expired faster than milk."
He shook his head, forcibly discarding the bitterness.
Past life was past life.
This was a new world.
A world he fully intended to dominate, ruin, and enjoy.
He stretched, rolled his shoulders, and glanced out the window.
The horizon was starting to glow faintly.
Dawn.
Time was moving.
Opportunity was approaching.
And the system's first mission had a 24-hour timer ticking down like a bomb strapped to his soul.
He stood.
"Alright," he murmured.
"Martial Pavilion, here I come."
His eyes gleamed with mischief, menace, and way-too-much enthusiasm for morally questionable activities.
"Protagonist… today I rob you blind."