Wang Xian stared at his father, whose grip on the bloodied shovel remained tight. There was a glint in the older man's eyes—one that hadn't been there before. Something primal. A spark of adrenaline, of... hunger.
"Dad," Wang Xian said carefully, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow, "you've already cleared the room. We're all level five now. The rats here are the strongest thing I had."
His father let out a breath of disappointment and lowered the shovel with a sigh.
"A shame," he muttered. "Just when I was getting into it."
There was a pause, the kind that stretched into unease.
"Actually… can you help me with something?" Wang Xian asked, changing the subject quickly.
"What is it?"
He pointed to the far side of the farm. "I need you to move the rat corpses into the back room—the one to the west."
His father's brow furrowed. "That one? Didn't you keep scorpions and centipedes in there?"
"Yeah."
"You're going to feed them with the rats?"
Wang Xian nodded.
That was all it took. His father didn't press further. Together, they carried the mangled bodies—cold, stiff, leaking faint trails of black blood—and dumped them into the darkened room beyond. The stench was thick and chemical, something that didn't belong in nature anymore.
Afterward, Wang Xian turned to his parents. "You should head home for now. I'll catch up soon and explain everything."
His mother looked like she wanted to object, but his father gently tugged her arm. "Let's go. Give the boy some space."
The iron gate slammed shut behind them, the latch locking with a hollow clunk.
Alone again, Wang Xian returned to the breeding room. From beyond the walls, he heard the start of something new: faint skittering, a wet chittering, the hiss of segmented legs scraping across stone.
"Let's hope this works…"
He murmured the words without much conviction.
Then—buzz buzz.
His phone vibrated violently. Wang Xian pulled it out, and the screen lit up with a flood of notifications.
Most were the same as his previous life—panicked messages, confused theories, rising chaos.
"Is this a prank by some global hacker group?""Alien invasion?""Government simulation theory confirmed??"
Theories flew. But one explanation rose above the noise—one Wang Xian remembered clearly:
This is not a transformation. This is a return.
Many scholars had already proposed that the universe was inherently virtual—a simulation too complex for its participants to realize it wasn't real. They believed the digitization of Blue Star wasn't a change, but a reveal—a glitch, or a choice by those managing the simulation to flip the switch and expose the truth.
Some even suggested this was a game mode inserted into the system—like a developer flipping from sandbox to survival.
And if that was the case…
"Logging out" might mean death.
Some believed those who ran out of lives—their death counters reaching zero—were simply booted from the simulation. Kicked to a different server. Or… deleted.
No one knew for sure.
And nobody sane was willing to test the theory.
Even now, a few extremists had already thrown their lives away in the name of proof. But no one came back.
Wang Xian scrolled past more alerts—statements from telecom companies and tech giants.
They warned of "data anomalies," "supernatural threats," and possible alien code corruptions. They urged the public not to use system abilities, calling them dangerous, even demonic.
Hypocrites.
Wang Xian snorted. As someone reborn, he knew the truth behind their fear.
Digitization had destroyed their business overnight.
The world's new system functions—communication, forums, social interfaces—were embedded in every person. Free. Instant. Indestructible.
Phone companies. Internet providers. Social media platforms. All obsolete.
Their panic wasn't about safety. It was about survival. And they were already losing.
Bored, Wang Xian closed the messaging app and focused on the new forum function now available through his status interface. A direct connection to the entire digitized population.
He set up his ID without hesitation:
Username: Prophet
The forums were still quiet. Only a few early adopters had begun posting—mostly speculation and nonsense. But that wouldn't last long.
Wang Xian began to type.
[Post Title: Changes Under Data – Why Level and Class Matter]
Body transformationTerminal illnesses? Missing limbs? Born blind or deaf?Just die once. You'll respawn whole.Suicide under the system wipes defects—rebuilds the body from your core data template.Painful truth, but also a second chance.
Leveling upYour level is everything.Stronger, faster, tougher—and eventually, supernatural.Right now, only wild monsters give EXP. Dungeons and quests are still loading.Kill. Survive. Evolve.
Classes and Job TransfersThere are three kinds:
Automatic Transfer:Triggered by unique conditions. Linked to your actions and personality.(Example: a blacksmith remains a blacksmith until he creates something extraordinary.)
Shrine Transfer:In every city with over 100,000 people, shrines have begun to appear.At Level 10, you can visit one. Complete the trial. Pass or fail. No retry.
Warning:Don't level past 10 without a class.Every level after 10 gives bonus stats tied to your class.Without one, you're throwing that potential away—forever.
Hidden Classes:Rare. Powerful. Often tied to bloodlines, artifacts, or insane luck.But don't chase legends.You are not the protagonist.You are not chosen.
He reread the post once. Then again.
Yeah… this will shake things up.
With a tap, he hit [Submit].
The Prophet had spoken.
Now the world just needed to listen—before it tore itself apart.