2026-01-05 00:43:55Location: The Grand Banquet Hall of the Vance Family Villa.
"Trash! Get out of the way! You’re blocking the air!"
A sharp voice cut through the lively atmosphere of the birthday banquet.
Drake sat in a rusty wheelchair in the corner, his expression indifferent. He wore a cheap, washed-out grey t-shirt that looked like a rag compared to the tuxedos and evening gowns around him.
The man shouting at him was Charles Vance, the eldest grandson of the Vance family. Charles looked down at Drake with eyes full of disgust, like he was looking at a pile of dog poop on the road.
"Grandmother is celebrating her 80th birthday today," Charles sneered, raising his voice so everyone could hear. "Everyone brought gifts worth hundreds of thousands. The Mayor sent a Jade Buddha. The CEO of Star Corp sent a gold watch. And what did you bring? Did you bring your wheelchair to beg for food?"
The guests erupted in laughter.
"He really is the shame of the Vance family." "I don't know why Elena hasn't divorced him yet." "Three years ago, he was picked up from the streets like a stray dog. He eats their food and drinks their water, but he can't even stand up!"
Drake ignored the insults. His face was as calm as an ancient well.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled cardboard box. It looked like something picked out of a dumpster.
He wheeled himself forward slowly. The wheels of his chair squeaked, the only sound in the silent room.
"Grandmother," Drake said, his voice low and raspy. "This is my gift. A Life Extending Pill."
"Pffft!"
Charles burst out laughing, holding his stomach. "A Life Extending Pill? Did you buy this from a street vendor for five dollars? You want to poison Grandmother with your filth?"
Without waiting, Charles stepped forward and slapped the box out of Drake’s hand.
Smack!
The box hit the floor. A small, black, uneven pill rolled out. It looked like a ball of mud.
Charles lifted his polished leather shoe and stomped on it. He ground his heel into the floor, crushing the pill into dust.
"Oops," Charles smirked, showing no regret. "I just saved Grandmother’s life. Someone sweep this garbage away."
Drake looked at the black powder on the floor. His eyes narrowed slightly.
‘Ignorant ants,’ he thought. ‘That pill was refined using the blood of the Nine-Headed Dragon Beast. The Emperor of the North offered me three cities for it, and I refused. And you just used it to polish your shoe.’
He didn't explain. Dragons do not explain themselves to insects.
At the main table, an old woman in a red silk dress frowned. This was Grandmother Vance. She didn't even look at Drake. To her, this grandson-in-law was just a stain on her reputation.
"Enough," Grandmother Vance said coldly. "Drake, go to the kitchen and eat with the servants. Don't show your face here again."
Just then, the heavy oak doors of the banquet hall burst open.
Bang!
A young man in a white suit walked in, followed by four burly bodyguards in sunglasses. He walked with a swagger that screamed arrogance.
"It’s Young Master Silva!" " The heir of the Silva Group! They control half the city’s shipping!"
Young Master Silva ignored the crowd and walked straight to the main table. He held a red velvet box in his hand. inside was a diamond necklace that blinded everyone’s eyes.
"Grandmother Vance," Silva smiled, but his eyes were predatory. "Happy Birthday. I brought a small gift worth two million dollars."
The crowd gasped. Two million!
"However," Silva continued, turning his head to look at a beautiful woman sitting silently at the side table. "I have one condition. I want Elena to divorce this cripple today and marry me tomorrow."
The beautiful woman was Elena, Drake’s wife. She had cold, stunning features, but her eyes were tired.
She stood up, her face pale. "Young Master Silva, I am already married."
"Married to who? This piece of trash?" Silva pointed a finger at Drake. "He is a cripple. He can't give you money. He can't give you status. He probably can’t even satisfy you in bed!"
The guests snickered.
Grandmother Vance’s eyes lit up when she saw the diamond necklace. She slammed her hand on the table.
"Elena! Don't be ungrateful! Young Master Silva is a dragon among men. Sign the divorce papers immediately!"
"Grandma!" Elena bit her lip until it bled. Even though she didn't love Drake, he was still her husband legally. She couldn't just throw him away like this.
Drake sat there, watching the scene play out. He adjusted his watch.
Bzzzt.
His cheap phone vibrated in his pocket. He picked it up.
"Speak," Drake whispered.
A voice came through the phone, shaking with excitement and terror. It was the Blood General, a man who had slaughtered thousands on the battlefield.
"Marshal! The Ten Black Legions have landed. One hundred thousand soldiers are stationed five miles outside the city. The fighter jets are fueling up. We are waiting for your order to level the city!"
Drake’s expression remained flat. "Not yet. Wait for my signal."
He hung up the phone.
"Hey! Are you listening to me, trash?" Young Master Silva walked over to Drake. He loomed over the wheelchair, his face twisted in a mocking grin. "I’m talking to you. Crawl out of here and sign the papers. If you do it now, I’ll give you ten thousand dollars. It’s more money than you’ll see in ten lifetimes."
Drake slowly lifted his head. His eyes were dark, like a bottomless abyss.
"You are too noisy," Drake said softly.
The room went dead silent. Everyone looked at Drake like he was crazy. Did the cripple just talk back to Young Master Silva?
Silva’s face turned red. "You dare talk to me? You court death!"
Silva raised his leg. He aimed a vicious kick straight at Drake’s face. He wanted to break the cripple's nose in front of everyone.
"Drake, watch out!" Elena screamed involuntarily.
The kick came fast. But just as the shoe was one inch from Drake’s nose...
Whoosh.
Drake’s hand moved. It was a blur that no one saw clearly.
He caught Silva’s ankle in mid-air. His grip was like an iron clamp.
Silva froze. He tried to pull his leg back, but it wouldn't budge. It felt like his leg was stuck in a mountain.
"Let go! Let go of me!" Silva panicked.
Drake looked at him coldly. A terrifying aura exploded from his body, filling the entire hall. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees instantly.
"You want to break my face?" Drake asked. His voice wasn't loud, but it sounded like thunder in everyone's ears.
"I... my dad is the CEO of..." Silva stammered, sweat pouring down his forehead.
"Even if your dad was the King of Heaven, he couldn't save you today."
Drake’s hand tightened.
CRACK!
The sound of bone snapping was crisp and loud.
"ARGHHHHH!"
Silva screamed like a pig being slaughtered. His leg was bent at a horrifying ninety-degree angle.
Drake casually tossed him aside like a bag of trash. Silva crashed into a table of champagne towers, glass shattering everywhere.
Drake dusted off his hands. He looked around the terrified room, his gaze landing on the trembling Charles and the pale Grandmother.
"Who else wants me to divorce?"
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
The First Thought
The Entropy-Zero didn't just fold space; it began to subtract it.As they moved toward the center of the Deep Void, the "Noise" of the universe faded. The stars became distant sparks, then vanished. They were entering the Pre-Conceptual Zone, a place where matter hadn't been invented yet, and thoughts carried the weight of planets."Marshal, the sensors are... gone," Shadow whispered. His digital form was no longer a person; he was a flickering candle of logic in a sea of nothingness. "There’s no data here because there’s nothing to measure. We’re in the 'White Space' of the original draft."In the center of this infinite whiteness sat a single, modest structure: a small, wooden desk and a chair, floating in the void. Seated there was a man who looked like an overworked architect, his sleeves rolled up, a pencil tucked behind his ear. This was The Founder.The Original Contract"You’ve made a mess of my filing system, Drake," The Founder said without looking up from his parchment. His
The Finale
The sky didn't just crack; it began to scroll. The blue expanse of the Theater’s atmosphere was revealed to be a massive, rotating credit roll, listing the names of trillions of "Sponsors" from the High Void who had paid to watch the suffering and simulated joy of the Incubator."You’ve broken the immersion, Drake Vance," Director Pleasure hissed. His face was no longer that of a handsome concierge. As the "Friction" Drake introduced took hold, the Director’s skin began to stutter, flickering between a thousand different character archetypes—a king, a beggar, a pilot, a priest. "Do you have any idea how much the 'Subscription Fees' for this sector cost? You aren't just a rebel; you’re a Copyright Infringement."High above, the "Audience"—those cold, distant entities of the High Void—began to register their displeasure. The golden screen in the sky began to flash with red icons: Downvotes."The Audience is unhappy," the Ovoid’s voice echoed in Drake’s mind. "And in the Gilded Theater,
The Gilded Theater
The Entropy-Zero didn't emerge into a void or a data-stream. It emerged into a blue sky filled with puffy, white clouds. Below them lay a sprawling, 21st-century metropolis that looked exactly like a memory."Marshal, sensors are... confused," Shadow reported, his voice softening. "This is Incubator-01: The Gilded Theater. It’s Earth. Not the broken, audited Earth we left, but the one from the 'Golden Age'—the one from the history books.""It’s a simulation," Rin said, her hand tight on her hilt. "Another Silicon Ledger?""No," the Ovoid’s eye pulsed. "This is Physical Nostalgia. The Consortium’s Entertainment Division realized that the most stable way to hold a soul is through 'Satisfaction.' Every person here is living their 'Best Life.' There is no hunger, no war, and no ambition. It is a loop of perfect, unchanging happiness."The Law of Diminishing ReturnsThey materialized in a park. Children were playing; a fountain bubbled nearby. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and expen
The Lossless Resurrection
The "Data-Compression Field" was not a physical wall; it was a Mathematical Mandate. As the Cloud-Chairman exerted his will, the "Resolution" of the universe began to drop. The vibrant, star-lit forms of Rin and the First Heaven crew were becoming pixelated, their complex emotional spectrums reduced to simple, binary reactions."I am the Ultimate Zip-File," the Cloud-Chairman’s voice boomed, vibrating through the very bits of Drake’s consciousness. "In the end, you will all fit into a single cell of my spreadsheet. Your struggle, your 'Audit,' your rebellion—it will be a single '0' in a sea of my '1s'."The Duel in the Buffer-ZoneDrake felt the squeeze. His "Negative Existence"—the state that had protected him from physical laws—was now his greatest weakness. Because he had "no fixed value," the Chairman’s compression algorithm was trying to define him as Null Space."Marshal! I'm... I'm losing my 'Depth'!" Rin’s voice was now a series of 8-bit beeps. Her sword, once a masterpiece of
The Ghost-Market of the Machine
The Entropy-Zero didn't fold space into a sky or a nebula this time. It emerged into a Data-Void.Outside the hull, there were no stars. Instead, the "Incubator" looked like a massive, spinning hard drive the size of a solar system. Thousands of glowing rings rotated around a central "Server-Star." This was Incubator-44: The Silicon Ledger."Marshal, sensors are picking up zero biological signatures," Shadow reported. His own digital form felt strangely 'at home' here, his code hummed in resonance with the surroundings. "The entire population... they’ve been Uploaded. There are no bodies left. Only 'Tokens'."The NFT-ization of the SoulThe Ovoid’s eye pulsed. "In this realm, the Consortium’s Digital Division realized that flesh is an 'Inefficient Liability.' They convinced the population to 'Ascend' into the Cloud to achieve immortality. But once they were digitized, they were partitioned into Non-Fungible Souls (NFS).""They turned people into Collectibles," Rin whispered, horrified
The Blood-Stream Infiltration
The interior of the Viral King was not a place of light or logic; it was a Vortex of Viscera. As Drake dissolved into the arterial flow, the transition felt like being swallowed by a warm, thrumming ocean of copper and salt.He was no longer standing on solid ground. He was a Data-Point in a river of liquid information."Marshal, can you hear me?" Shadow’s voice was faint, filtered through layers of thick, biological interference. "You’ve entered the Main Infusion Line. The Viral King’s blood is 90% 'Memory-RNA.' It’s literally a liquid ledger of every mutation, every death, and every 'Trade' made in the Grotto for the last ten thousand years.""I see it," Drake replied. In his "Negative State," the blood cells looked like massive, pulsing dirigibles. But they were being hunted.The White-Blood Cell Guardians: The ErasersThe Grotto’s "Immune System" was not designed to protect the humans; it was designed to protect the Trade Secrets.Emerging from the darkness of a secondary vein cam
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