The gods died long ago, yet the Heavenly Dao still runs as usual.
Ten thousand years of cultivation amount to nothing more than another reboot in the cycle of countless dead civilizations.
They say cultivation means defying heaven.
But I know the truth: heaven never gave us a choice.
I am a “bug the Heavenly Dao forgot to delete,” a nobody, a failure abandoned by the script.
I have no spirit root or cultivation, cannot temper my body, and cannot ascend.
But I can see the world’s “code” and rewrite the “settings” of fate.
You’re destined to become a saint?
Sorry, I deleted your protagonist script.
You’re fated to ascend?
Let’s see what happens if I change the logic so “ascending equals exploding.”
Others cultivate spells. I cultivate the truth.
Others follow the Heavenly Dao. I tread a path of mountains of corpses, shattered worlds, and the remains of gods.
When every script across the heavens is torn to pieces and the gods fall from the sky,
I, with my mortal bones, shall seal the heavens, not to become a god, but to give all living beings a chance to survive.
