The Protagonist System - 01 Loading

After Song Juyao died and emerged from the virtual world, she learned that her entire life had just been a reality show which was led and controlled by others.

One billion viewers watched this live broadcast, all of them pointing fingers at her and ridiculing her life whilst the director team thought up every possible method to design setbacks for her, pulling her into the mud over and over again.

Then, Song Juyao was reborn. This time, her memory was not suppressed.

This was a crazy world. People were discontent and bored of their lives. They had also lost their enthusiasm for various kinds of entertainment, falling to the point of seeking all sorts of thrills in order to arouse their emotions.

Later, they found a precious treasure. She was perfect. They held her in the palm of their hands and went wild for her. They even regarded her as a God and worshipped her fanatically.

- Description from Novelupdates

The Heavenly Voice was bestowed upon the world, and so the calendar of the Great Dao began. The world entered a new age of digitized cultivation. Humanity activated the immortal destiny seal to become cultivators.

I am Lin Fan and I’ve become a jack of all trades just because of a powerful Encyclopedia.
In the first ever competition organised for trolls, all the other contestants lost. The crowd exclaimed, “Brother, you’re so good at trolling.”
Lin Fan replied, “But I’ve never been trolling…”

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”