To secure a Minimum Guarantee (MG) contract on Webnovel or Ringdom, the English translation must be more than just accurate—it needs to have a "High Fantasy" or "Techno-Occult" texture. I have polished this into a style that highlights the "God-perspective" and the system-like elements editors love.
Chapter 1: The Observer of Logic Collapse
London's fog is a damp, dreary grey to mortals, but through my vision, it is a cascading torrent of disintegrating silver code.
I sit in the shadow-drenched attic of Bookstore No. 404. Beneath me, a wooden chair creaks. Its physical attributes are hemorrhaging; in my senses, it is simplifying into an unstable geometric cube. It isn't just the chair—the entire world is "thinning." When the Gods departed with Absolute Logic, they left behind a world like a punctured bucket, its reality draining into the abyss through cracks named "Void."
[System Synchronization: 3.4%]
[Memory Fragments: Severely Damaged]
A line of faint silver characters flickers across my retinas. I cannot recall my true name; only the name "Shilii" echoes in my consciousness, a sound like crushed ice falling into deep water. I cannot remember the full face of the man who once gave me warmth—the one they called Code. I only remember the roar of the world's logic shattering as he vanished.
Now, I am nothing more than a precision scale without a base, swaying precariously in the nothingness.
"Still haven't found it, Shilii?"
David's raspy voice drifts up from downstairs. Accompanied by the bitter scent of burning tobacco, it is a faint but genuine physical signal.
"No," I reply softly. My voice carries no echo in the hollow attic.
I need an anchor. A mortal medium capable of bearing my high-dimensional will—someone to walk through this collapsing reality on my behalf.
Suddenly, the wind chimes at the shop door ring sharply. It isn't a mere vibration, but a violent, distorted "dissonance" crashing into the bookstore's logical field.
I hold my breath. My vision instantly toggles to [Thermal Induction / Logic Weight] mode. Through the rotting floorboards, I see a youth enter. Amidst the sea of walking corpses that are the city's inhabitants, he glows like a crumpled ball of fire. He is swathed in tiny, self-contradicting geometric ripples—"Noise." A glitch in the world that reality hasn't had the time to patch yet.
His name is Xu Shangxi. A mortal boy with a sketchbook and a gaze defined by a profound sense of estrangement.
He has no idea that he hasn't walked into a bookstore, but into a contracting logical black hole.
I watch as David guides him toward the attic. Every step he takes treads on the fragile edge of reality. That deep-seated distrust he holds for the world makes him the perfect "vessel" in my eyes.
"What you're looking for is up there," David's voice sounds like he is baiting a sacrificial lamb.
The boy climbs the final step. In the dim light, he sees me.
I feel his pupils contract, his heart fluttering at a chaotic frequency. In my sight, his silhouette begins a strange chemical reaction with the surrounding darkness—the germination of "Residual Warmth."
"Who... are you?" he stammers.
I say nothing. I stand, my silver hair shimmering in a void-born breeze. I approach him and, with a flick of my finger against the air, I peel back the veil of reality.
In that instant, the boy's expression shifts from confusion to sheer terror. He no longer sees an attic piled with old books. He sees the truth through my eyes: suspended strings of code, walls flaking away into nothingness, and... that colossal eye in the sky, woven entirely from the Void.
"Remember this second of fear," I whisper.
I reach out, my fingers cold as a blade, and press them firmly against the webbing of his thumb.
"AAAGH!"
He lets out a piercing scream, but within my domain, the sound is processed into absolute silence. Grey energy pours from my fingertips, searing a jagged, broken ring into his skin like a branding iron.
[Authority Transfer: 1.0%]
[Medium Established: Success]
"This is your price, and your medal," I lean down, whispering into his ear, feeling the authentic tremors of his agony. "Xu Shangxi, from this moment on, you are my eyes in the mortal realm. Every line you draw with your pen shall become a stitch to mend this broken world."
He collapses, drenched in sweat. The brand on his right hand pulses with light, as if breathing for me.
I return to my wooden chair, watching his retreating, panicked figure. Outside the attic, the fog continues to collapse, but within my logical domain, a single silver star has quietly flickered to life.
The seed is planted.
The moment his pen snaps, the moment his obsession erupts... my authority shall return to this world.