The day they died, I learned something I'll never forget—
this world doesn't ignore the weak.
It erases them.
It's been fifteen years since I came to this place.
But not a day has passed where I truly felt I belonged.
I wasn't born here.
I was born on a world called Earth.
A place where gods existed only in stories, and power was earned with sweat—not spirit stones.
Then one morning, I opened my eyes…
and I was in the body of a ten-year-old boy.
In a world where empires rise through qi, and a single cultivator can tear mountains in half.
Where the strong walk like gods,
and the weak aren't even counted as people.
I had no system.
No bloodline.
No fate-defying treasure.
No master waiting in a ring.
Nothing.
But I had something I never had before.
A father with tired hands and kind eyes.
A mother whose voice was the lullaby of every night.
And a little sister who smiled like the world hadn't yet turned cruel.
We weren't cultivators.
We weren't warriors.
We weren't important.
But for the first time in two lifetimes,
I had a home.
And for a while… that was enough.
The sect recruiters came three months ago.
They wore robes that shimmered with spiritual light,
and eyes that looked through people like we were made of fog.
The village gathered like it was festival day.
Even I… I hoped.
Because I was a transmigrator.
And transmigrators always awaken something.
A system.
A secret technique.
A sliver of fate.
Anything.
So I stood in line with the other children, barefoot in the dust, my heart pounding.
Waiting.
Praying.
The jade stone glowed for some.
Flickered for others.
When it touched my hand—
Nothing.
Not even a spark.
The elder didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
He just looked at me.
Like I wasn't worth breathing near.
Like I wasn't a person.
Like I was a smudge on glass—something to wipe away.
That day, I learned another truth.
In this world, if you can't cultivate,
you're already dead.
This morning was quiet.
I ran errands.
Bought sweets my sister loved.
Laughed at something stupid.
Felt sunlight on my skin.
And then I went home.
Or…
I tried.
But when I turned the final corner—
There was no house.
No neighbors.
No trees.
No life.
Only a crater.
Charred earth.
Ash.
And smoke that swallowed the sky.
My legs moved before my mind did.
I ran.
"Father!
Mother!
Little sister!
I brought your favorite—please! Where are you?!"
I searched.
I screamed.
I dug through fire with shaking hands.
Burned my skin.
Cut my palms open on broken tile.
I already knew.
But hope is a cruel thing.
Even when your heart knows the truth,
it still whispers,
"Just a little longer…"
All I found was silence.
And bones.
I don't remember when I collapsed.
Only that my knees hit stone.
And I didn't get back up.
Someone dragged me away.
I heard whispers.
"They say it was a demon."
"Two cultivators were chasing it."
"The demon shouted, 'Let me go, or I'll destroy the town!'"
"And one of them said… 'Then destroy it. You won't escape justice.'"
And so—
They fought.
Three monsters in the sky.
And five hundred people below,
turned to smoke.
We weren't enemies.
We weren't even witnesses.
We were just there.
Wrong place.
Wrong time.
Not worth sparing.
Not worth remembering.
Just background noise.
A healer tried to comfort me.
I didn't hear them.
Someone said, "Poor boy. He lost everything."
Another whispered, "If only someone strong had been there…"
"If only we had power…"
That sentence stayed with me.
Why is power only for the few?
Why must the weak beg for scraps just to survive one more day?
If I had power—
even just a little—
could I have saved them?
The question burrowed into my soul.
And in that place where pain becomes something colder—
I made a vow.
In the darkness,
I saw them.
My father, hands rough but gentle.
My mother, her voice soft as rain.
My sister, holding out the sweets I dropped.
"If someone had protected people like us…"
my mother whispered,
"maybe this wouldn't have happened."
My sister nodded.
Tears clung to her cheeks.
And my father—
he looked at me with eyes that held no anger.
Only trust.
"Son," he said,
"If you ever gain power…
Use it for those Heaven forgets."
I choked on my own voice.
"I swear… I will."
They faded.
But something didn't.
A warmth lingered.
Like someone was still watching.
And then I heard a voice.
Old.
Worn.
Sad.
"I never wanted this for you," it said.
I looked around. "Who are you?"
"A messenger," it said.
"I brought your soul here. I thought you'd find peace.
I never thought… it would end in ash."
"Can you bring them back?"
A pause.
"No. Not even gods can undo what fate has already carved into stone."
Silence.
Then—
"But your father's final wish… reached higher than you know."
And suddenly, I felt something enter me.
Not pain.
Not heat.
But purpose.
"I begged the one above me to grant you a gift," the voice said.
"A system.
Not made for killing.
Not made for ruling.
But to build.
To gather.
To protect."
"Use it well."
The voice vanished.
And I awoke.
Ash in my lungs.
Tears in my eyes.
And a line glowing across my vision:
[System Activated: The Protector's Path Begins.]