For generations, the world had obeyed the System.
It governed life, death, and the very flow of existence. Every child born would awaken at sixteen, their fate etched in light and code. Healers healed, archers struck true, stonesmiths shaped mountains. Life, in every corner of the world, moved according to the System's perfect design.
People told stories of the dungeons — dark places of unimaginable danger — where only the brave or the blessed could survive. Gates would appear without warning, swallowing cities or forests whole, and the System would decide who could enter, who could conquer, and who would perish. In every legend, in every whispered tale, the System was absolute. Immutable. Divine.
Yet even in a world so carefully ordered, the old tales spoke of a time when the rules could be broken. They called it the coming of the True Monster — a child so unlike any other that the System itself would falter, if only for a moment. Most dismissed these stories as myth, the ramblings of desperate sages. But every myth is born from truth.
And on a night of thunder and shadow, the myth became reality.
In the royal palace, atop a hill overlooking the capital, the queen's cries echoed through marble halls. The king's hands shook as priests and mages monitored the crystal orb — the System's lens on every newborn, glowing with certainty and power.
Then, as the child took his first breath, the impossible occurred.
The System faltered.
Light flickered across every orb and screen in the world. Dungeon gates shuddered. Mana currents twisted and choked. For sixty seconds, life itself seemed suspended.
And in that silence, a voice — not human, not divine, but all-encompassing — whispered through the minds of every watcher:
> "The True Monster has been born."
When the System rebooted, it did not recognize what had happened. It struggled, reassessed, and hesitated — and when the child's profession finally appeared, it was something no one had ever seen.
> Occupation: Death's Incarnate
The nobles gasped. The priests fell to their knees. Even the king stared, pale and trembling. The air around the child pulsed with cold, quiet power, bending shadows and life alike. Flowers wilted, animals fled, and the faint glow of the System hesitated around him, as if uncertain whether it should accept or fear him.
He was no longer merely a prince. He was something else. Something beyond the System. Something that would one day force the world to remember that even the perfect order could break.
And in the hearts of those who had witnessed it, a single, terrible thought was born:
The world will never be the same.