White River City. The Noodle Stall.
The sun had set, but the street was brighter than noon.
Hundreds of torches illuminated the wrecked noodle stall. Soldiers in heavy iron armor formed a perimeter, holding back a crowd of thousands.
In the center of the crater, the City Lord of White River City, a cultivator at the Foundation Establishment Realm, was sweating profusely.
He stood over the hole where the Sovereign's gold coin lay. He had wrapped his hands in Spirit Silk, channeled his full cultivation base, and pulled until his veins nearly burst.
The coin did not move.
"City Lord," a trembling advisor whispered. "Is it... is it a demonic artifact?"
"Idiot!" The City Lord slapped the advisor. "Look at the aura! It is pure, condensed Golden Element energy. The density is terrifying. This isn't a coin... it is a compressed star!"
The City Lord looked at the trembling old noodle seller, who was cowering behind a broken stool.
"Old man," the City Lord said, his voice trembling with reverence. "The scholar who ate here... describe him again."
"He... he liked the noodles," the old man stammered. "He said they tasted like 'life'. And he left this tip."
The City Lord's face went pale. "A hidden senior. A peerless expert playing in the mortal world. He left this treasure not as payment, but as a test. Or perhaps... a warning."
He turned to his soldiers.
"Hear my order! This noodle stall is now a Forbidden Holy Ground. Build a pavilion around this crater. No one is allowed to touch the Divine Coin. And this old man..."
The City Lord bowed deeply to the noodle seller.
"...is now the Protected Keeper of the Divine Treasure. Anyone who disrespects him disrespects the City Lord's Mansion!"
The Sovereign had merely forgotten to adjust the coin's weight. But in doing so, he had accidentally turned a noodle seller into the most politically powerful mortal in the city.
Iron Blood Sect. Outer Disciple Quarters.
While the mortal world panicked over a tip, Lin Fan was realizing that power had a price.
He sat on the wooden bed of his new residence—a small, drafty hut assigned to Outer Disciples. He had received his grey robe and a token marking his status. He should have been celebrating.
Instead, he was convulsing.
"Gah!"
Lin Fan gripped his stomach, curling into a ball. Cold sweat soaked his back. A feeling of hollowness, like a black hole opening inside his gut, was consuming him.
[System Warning: Energy Depleted.]
[Alert: The 'Glitch Essence' has been fully metabolized.]
[Alert: The Heaven-Devouring Art requires constant fuel. Without external energy (Qi/Blood/Spirits), the Art will begin to consume the Host's own Vitality.]
Lin Fan looked at his hand. The skin was looking slightly grey, less vibrant than an hour ago.
"I... I'm eating myself?" Lin Fan gasped.
[Affirmative. The Heaven-Devouring Art is a Dominating Technique. It does not generate energy; it steals it. You fought a Stage 4 cultivator using a burst of strength. That burst cost you.]
Lin Fan raided the small supply bag given to him by the sect. It contained three dry Spirit Rice balls. He shoved them into his mouth, swallowing them whole.
The hunger subsided for a mere second before returning. It wasn't enough. The Spirit Rice was low-grade trash.
"I need... meat," Lin Fan panted. "I need blood."
He realized the terrifying trap of his Golden Finger. He was powerful, yes. He could punch above his weight class. But he was like a fire that would burn out instantly if he didn't keep throwing logs onto it. He couldn't just meditate like other cultivators; he had to hunt.
Bang.
His door shook.
"Lin Fan! Come out!"
The voice was arrogant. Lin Fan sensed the Qi signature—Qi Condensation Stage 5.
Lin Fan gritted his teeth, suppressing the hunger pangs, and opened the door.
Standing there was a young man with slicked-back hair and a fan, flanked by two lackeys.
"I am Liu Ming," the youth sneered. "Cousin of Deacon Zhao. I heard a servant got lucky and broke my cousin's arm."
Liu Ming stepped forward, releasing his aura to suppress Lin Fan.
"You think becoming an Outer Disciple saves you? In the Iron Blood Sect, without a backer, you are just a bigger ant. Deacon Zhao works for the Tiger Faction. You have offended us."
Lin Fan leaned against the doorframe. He was weak. His body was eating itself. If he fought now, he would have to burn his own life force to win. He might win, but he would permanently damage his foundation.
"What do you want?" Lin Fan asked coldly.
"Kneel," Liu Ming pointed at the dirt. "Break your own arm. And hand over your monthly Spirit Stone allowance for the next year. Do that, and I might let you live."
Lin Fan's eyes narrowed. The hunger in his stomach growled. He looked at Liu Ming's neck. He could see the pulse.
If I eat him... I would be full.
But he couldn't. Not here. Too many witnesses.
Just as the tension reached its breaking point, the ground shook.
The Forbidden Zone. The Sovereign's Palace.
"Boring," the Sovereign sighed.
He was back on his throne. He had tried reading a cultivation manual from a local sect (stolen via telekinesis), but he tossed it aside after three pages.
"Trash. 'Circulate Qi for ten years to gain the strength of one ox'? Who has time for that?"
He looked at the holographic map of the continent.
"This world is stagnant," the Sovereign declared. "The cultivators are too cautious. They sit in caves for centuries. They need... motivation."
He snapped his fingers.
"Unit Alpha, bring up the schematic for Project: Roguelike."
"Displaying," Alpha replied.
A blueprint appeared in the air. It was a design for a massive structure.
"In my world," the Sovereign mused, "when players got bored, the developers would release a Dungeon Update. An endless tower of monsters, loot, and death."
He stood up and raised his hand. The power of Absolute Manifestation surged, far greater than when he created the car or the coin.
"Let there be a tower," he commanded. "One hundred floors. Each floor a pocket dimension. Fill it with monsters from my memory banks. Put a leaderboard on the front door. And for the rewards... populate the loot tables with 'trash' from my storage."
He pointed a finger at the map, directly at the Mist-Shrouded Mountain Range, right next to the Iron Blood Sect.
"Deploy."
Iron Blood Sect.
Liu Ming was just about to slap Lin Fan for his silence when the sky turned purple.
RUMBLE.
Everyone—Lin Fan, Liu Ming, the Elders on the mountain peak—looked up.
Clouds swirled violently. A massive rift opened in the heavens.
Something colossal descended. It was a pagoda, black as obsidian, piercing the clouds. It was so large that its shadow covered the entire sect.
It slammed into the forest five miles away.
BOOM!
The shockwave knocked everyone to the ground. Trees were flattened for miles.
As the dust settled, a beam of golden light shot up from the tower, writing words in the sky that could be seen by the entire province.
[The Tower of Heavenly Trials]
[Floor 1 to 100]
[Enter and Ascend. Glory or Death.]
Liu Ming, lying in the dirt, stared at the tower, his face pale. "A... A Secret Realm? A Legacy of an Ancient Emperor has descended?"
Lin Fan pushed himself up. He felt the energy radiating from that tower even from here. It was the same energy as the Glitch Raptor.
It was pure. It was delicious.
The System in his head pinged wildly.
[New Objective: Enter the Tower.]
[Analysis: The Tower is filled with High-Purity Essence Sources.]
[Survival Probability: 10%. Reward Potential: Infinite.]
Lin Fan looked at the terrified Liu Ming, then at the tower.
"You want my arm?" Lin Fan whispered, a craze-filled grin returning to his face. "If you want it, come find me in the tower."
He didn't wait. Ignoring the hunger, ignoring the sect rules, Lin Fan turned and sprinted toward the crash site. He knew that inside that tower lay the only food that could satisfy his cursed body.