The vast rolling hills stood tall beneath the warm radiance of the red lights of the sun. It was almost sundown on this horrific battleground where countless warriors had given their lives, all for what they believed was the greater good.
However, despite all their efforts, this cursed world still ended in utter tragedy.
Or so it could be said.
The battlefield contained many bodies—humans and other creatures varying from elves to dwarves, giants, orcs, and more. Even the mighty dragons could be seen fallen, their colossal corpses twisted and broken across the torn earth.
The world around was drowned in a thick, discouraging smell of blood, soot, and burned flesh. And the only person left alive to witness the final result of this calamity was none other than Theodore Vance.
He was the hero of the story—the one who had landed the finishing blow. And yet, he did not feel like the hero.
He had sacrificed everything he once deemed human, everything worth living for, all to take down the Supreme Lord Kai. And now, standing at the end of everything, this victory felt like nothing more than a hollow, agonizing loss.
He had saved the world, but definitely not the beings in it.
Now Theodore sat on his bottom, slumped and exhausted in his battle-damaged armor, having lost an eye which still dripped blood, a hand wrinkled and smashed to the extent of total condemnation, and most of the skin on his body peeled away from the flesh beneath.
He was more or less just another corpse among the countless around him—only that he still had a little more life clinging to him.
Staring at the vast ruined landscape, he had nothing in his thoughts except the urge to slide the tip of his sword into his throat and finally forget about this miserable life.
But whenever he brought the chipped end of his blade close to his neck, he would pause, remembering all the sacrifices others had made for him to reach this moment. Wasting his life was not an option—not yet.
He debated with himself for a while before throwing the sword down onto the hot ash-covered ground. Then he let his body fall back, lying flat to watch the skies—the last beauty the earth still had to offer, untainted, untouched.
And with his last will, he wished… for a second chance to make things right.
<>
With that final paragraph, Zhang Feng saved the last chapter of his novel. He pushed back the glasses resting on his nose, rubbing his tired eyes before letting out a long, satisfied yawn at a job well done.
'Wait till the readers see this. Those comments will be coming in like water!' he mused as he minimized his writing document and returned to his desktop. He eyed the game icons there but restrained himself, goading his mind away from temptation.
He was an author—a full-time one at that—so he didn't need a soul to tell him he needed to come up with his next idea as soon as possible.
His last work, the one he had just finished, was roughly two thousand chapters long, with over fifty thousand fans. He needed to surpass that with an even better idea, but… how?
Zhang asked himself this while thinking for a while, eventually rising from his seat.
"Maybe I should take a breather," he muttered, turning away from his laptop and stepping outside his room. Since hunger gnawed at him, he simply picked up his coat and decided to go out.
Though he spent most of his time indoors writing—plotting, planning, and revising—he had at least done a good job keeping his surroundings clean.
Stepping outside, Zhang was greeted by a view that struck him with unexpected awe. It instantly reminded him of his age—late twenties—and how stepping outside after a few months felt strangely… foreign.
Seeing girls, children, and groups of people moving about reminded him sharply of his loneliness. But who was he to complain? He knew the mantle of being an author before he chose to carry it.
Zhang yawned and began to walk from his house toward the busier parts of the road. He mixed into the crowd quickly and found it difficult to navigate, almost feeling swallowed by the world he had detached from for so long.
Luckily, not much had changed since the last time he went out, so he managed to find his way through the busy streets in no time, heading toward a personal spot he had come to love.
Zhang finally reached a bridge—silent, serene, and almost bereft of people. In his hand was a nylon bag filled with rice balls he had bought on the way, planning to enjoy them peacefully.
Walking to the edge of the bridge, he rested on the railing and stared into the clean water below, watching the koi fish swim gracefully, their vibrant colors slicing through the calm surface.
The Shinai Bridge had always been a place of inspiration and peace for him. It felt almost sacred now, coming here right after finishing his novel, and—
"Man, I need a girlfriend… am I going to wallow in this forever…" he muttered under his breath.
A clang echoed from behind him—sharp, metallic, like something heavy had been dropped. Probably a piece of luggage.
Zhang ignored it at first, assuming it was a passing person. But as the disturbing sound repeated—metal clashing on stone again and again—he frowned and turned around in confusion.
A man stood before him.
But not a normal man.
He was badly battered and torn apart in ways that defied reason. It looked like a Halloween costume with ultra-realistic graphics, except… something was undeniably wrong. His flesh, his armor, the eerie aura around him—none of it looked fake.
"Hello? Can I help you?" Zhang asked, a bit uneasy as he noticed the near human-sized sword in the man's hand—chipped, cracked, and stained in frightening ways.
"You!" the man's voice trembled, yet held a terrifying weight of authority. "You are the cause of it all!"
Zhang blinked in confusion. He dropped his bag of rice balls onto the railing and raised both hands high. "Dude, I don't get you at all. What did I cause? I've literally been in my house for days. Please be specific."
His brain rapidly played through scenarios—if worst came to worst, he could jump off the bridge, or scream for help if this guy was some lunatic.
"I am Theodore Vance! And for my loved ones who died, and my world that perished, I must kill you!"
Too fast for Zhang to react, the man—Theodore—soared forward with his sword raised overhead.
Zhang stood frozen, stunned beyond comprehension. This was a character he had written. His novel character. Standing before him looking exactly as battered as he had described in the final chapter—and now coming at him with murderous intent.
'Is it me, or am I hallucinating rubbish?'
His answer came swiftly.
The chipped end of Theodore's blade tore through his neck in a clean, merciless slice—beheading him in an instant.
A swift exit, but…
'Did I just get killed by my novel character?'