The beeping was the first thing, and the last thing. A steady, metronomic dirge counting down the empty seconds between one labored breath and the next. Alaric Vance lay in the hospital bed, a twenty-four-year-old man folded into the shape of a question mark by pain. His world had narrowed to the scent of antiseptic, the feel of stiff sheets, and the hollow, gnawing void the doctors called Selwyn's Atrophy—a rare, elegant name for a monster that ate nerves and muscle, leaving a conscious mind trapped in a failing sculpture of flesh.
He'd long since stopped reading the get-well cards. The flowers had wilted. The visitors had dwindled to his exhausted mother, her smiles as thin and strained as hospital gauze. The future was a closing door, a shrinking circle of light.
Then, the voice.
It didn't come through his ears. It manifested in the still air between beeps, a vibration in the marrow of his bones.
"Do you wish for more?"
Alaric's eyes, dry and itchy, stared at the water-stained ceiling tile. Hallucination. The final stage. A chemical sigh from a dying brain.
"This world has sentenced you to silence. But another… another sings with conflict, thrives on will. A world where a determined soul can grasp the heavens and shake them. Do you wish for a second life?"
The voice was neither male nor female. It was the sound of possibility itself, cold and glittering like a star. It was everything the beeping monitor was not.
What's the catch? The thought formed in his mind, the last reflex of a cynic.
"Catch? There is only potential. A system to guide you. A path to power. A chance to spit in the eye of a fate that sought to erase you. Is that not worth any price?"
It was a liar's question, wrapped in the only truth Alaric cared about anymore: an ending to this helplessness. He had no strength left for suspicion. He had only a vast, yawning hunger for not this.
Yes. He thought it with every fading shred of his will. Anything. Just… let me move.
"Contract accepted."
The beeping flattened into a single, endless tone. The ceiling tile melted into a vortex of impossible colors. There was no pain, only the sensation of being unraveled and hurled across a gulf of roaring silence.
Consciousness returned as a symphony of agony.
It was a different pain. Not the deep, systemic withering of Selwyn's, but a sharp, localized brokenness. He was on hard, packed earth, dust in his mouth. The air was startlingly crisp, laden with the scent of pine and distant incense.
"Look! The cripple's trying to get up again. Pathetic."
A shadow fell over him. A young man, maybe eighteen, with a sneer etched onto handsome, cruel features. He wore robes of coarse grey. Behind him, two others snickered.
"Come on, Alaric the Useless," the leader drawled, kicking a puff of dust into his face. "The Elder said to sweep the Courtyard of Dawn. You've been lying here for an hour. Even a dog would be done by now."
Memories that were not his own seeped into his cracking mind. Alaric. Orphan. Taken in by the Azure Sky Sect out of pity. A spirit root shattered in a childhood accident—unable to cycle Qi, barely able to walk. The sect's designated whipping boy.
This was the brutal xianxia world. And he was at the very bottom.
The bully, Marcus, leaned down. "Maybe we should help you. A little motivation." He raised his foot, aiming for Alaric's twisted leg.
Rage, hot and clean, cut through the disorientation. In his past life, rage had been a useless fire, burning only himself. Here, it felt like fuel. He tried to roll, but his new body was a traitorous, weak thing. The kick connected, a bolt of white-hot pain shooting up his thigh.
THUNK.
A wooden broom clattered down next to his head. "Get to work, trash," Marcus spat, before turning and swaggering away with his cronies.
Alaric lay there, breathing dust and despair. So this was it. A second life of pain and humiliation. The voice had been a cosmic sadist. He pushed his palms against the gritty earth, muscles trembling. Every movement was a negotiation with failure. He managed to get to his knees, his vision swimming.
[Celestial Game System Initializing…]
The words appeared in the center of his vision, in a font of brilliant, cheerful gold. They pulsed with a soft, inviting light.
[Welcome, User Alaric!]
[Congratulations on your new journey!]
[Your path to immortality begins now!]
A transparent, blue-hued interface materialized. He saw a simplified avatar of his own broken body, with several red, pulsing markers over his leg and spine: [Status: Meridian Fracture (Severe). Congenital Qi Blockage.] There were tabs: [Status], [Quests], [Inventory], [Skills], [Map]. It looked like the UI of a premium role-playing game.
A wild, desperate hope flared in his chest. A cheat. A system. This was the guidance the voice promised.
[New User Quest Generated!]
Quest:[First Steps of a Hero]
Objective: Walk ten (10) consecutive steps without falling.
Reward: [Minor Qi Nourishment Pill] x1, +5 System Points.
Failure: None. The System believes in you!
The childish, encouraging tone was a bizarre contrast to the throbbing pain in his leg and the taste of dirt in his mouth. But the reward… a Qi Nourishment Pill. In the memories of this body, such pills were treasures for outer disciples, doled out monthly to aid cultivation. For someone with blocked meridians, it was a cruel joke. But maybe the system's pill was different.
It was a goal. A tiny, quantifiable objective in a world that had already tried to crush him.
Gritting his teeth, Alaric used the broom as a crutch, hauling himself upright. His legs shook like saplings in a storm. He took one staggering step. Then another. The pain was a constant, shrieking companion. He focused on the blue quest counter in the corner of his vision: [2/10].
Step three. His bad leg buckled, and he caught himself on the broom, knuckles white. He dragged the leg forward. [4/10].
Sweat dripped into his eyes, mixing with the dust. He could hear distant sounds of training—shouts, the crackle of elemental techniques—a world of power moving on without him. [6/10].
His breath came in ragged gasps. Every step was a mountain. This was worse than his final days in the hospital. That had been a slow sinking. This was an active, strenuous futility. [8/10].
On the ninth step, a wave of dizziness hit him. The world tilted. He swayed, the broom handle slipping. He was going to fall. The quest would fail. He would be back in the dirt, and Marcus would find him again…
No.
With a guttural sound that ripped from his throat, Alaric threw the broom aside. He stood, for one terrifying second, on nothing but his own two wrecked legs. He took the tenth, lunging step, and collapsed forward, his hands slapping the hard ground.
But he had moved forward. He had not fallen backwards.
[10/10]
[Quest Completed!]
[Congratulations, User Alaric!]
The chime was sweet, triumphant music. The [10/10] flashed and dissolved.
[Rewards Claimed: Minor Qi Nourishement Pill (x1), System Points +5]
In his [Inventory], a single slot now held a depiction of a pearlescent pill, glowing with a soft, internal light. With a thought, it materialized in his palm. It was warm, and a delicate, herbal fragrance wafted from it, cutting through the dust.
This was it. The first fruit of his labor. The first proof that this system, this Celestial Game, was real. The pain in his leg was still there, the humiliation still bitter in his mouth, but beneath it, a new sensation ignited.
It was the fierce, intoxicating flame of progress. He had been given a task, and he had conquered it. He looked at the pill, then at the distant, towering peaks where the true disciples of the Azure Sky Sect soared. A grim, bloody smile touched his lips.
The game was on. And Alaric, who had already lost everything once, had just learned how to play.