Sima Liangjie, a high school sophomore, was utterly lost.

One moment he’d been minding his own business—the next, he stood knee-deep in a frozen wasteland.

Biting wind howled!

A crisp flute melody pierced the air!

Mercenaries astride cross-lances roared in fury!

This was unmistakably the final boss raid in *Frostbloom*, the latest VRMMO—specifically, the assault on the Iceflower Evil God Dragon in Frostbound Dragon Valley!

A barrage of colorful magic spells rained down on Liangjie. Yet each hit felt like a massive paralytic injection—numbing, distant.

This wasn’t a dream. Not after taking this much damage.

“Wait—what’s happening?! Someone explain!” he yelled.

But instead of his proud, standard Mandarin, a deafening dragon’s roar tore from his throat.

*He’d become the Iceflower Evil God Dragon.*

“Scared of this old bird?! Push harder! Crush it in one go! Let Crimson Mercenary Corps make Reno Continent history—become the first Z-rank guild!” bellowed a red-haired punk below.

*Old bird?*

Memories flooded Liangjie—his first days in *Frostbloom*, the taunts still raw:

*“Go play Minesweeper, noob!”*

*“Can’t heal? Quit pretending to be a healer!”*

*“Hide behind the tank again and I’ll camp your respawn till you lose your underwear!”*

*“You’re a fossilized newbie! A true dinosaur!”*

Liangjie’s draconic face flushed crimson. At ten stories tall with wings spanning twenty, these ants didn’t even deserve the insult.

“Who you calling ‘old bird’?!” His roar unleashed a glacial blast. Instantly, the red-haired brat—and everything within ten miles—froze solid.

“W-wah! The团长’s KIA! One-shot!” Panic erupted.

*Huh. He was their leader?* Liangjie idly scratched his chin with a claw, forgetting he was now a skyscraper-sized dragon. *Should I crush him? Keep him as a trophy?*

Crimson Mercenary Corps stared, dumbfounded. Their new团长 finally choked out:

“N-no wonder it’s the ultimate boss! Only the strongest could make such a lewdly human expression! RETREAT!”

The mighty S-rank guild dissolved into scrambling insects.

Liangjie blinked at the empty snowfield. Only glittering gear and spell scrolls remained.

“Holy crap—I’m rich!” He grimaced. His claws were too huge to even lift the largest shield.

*If only I could turn human…*

Bones cracked. Joints popped. Liangjie squeezed his eyes shut—

A flash of white light. When it faded, a human stood there: 170cm tall, snow-white hair cascading to his chest like a certain Sorceress’s, muscles sculpted and powerful.

“This is me?” He spun, admiring himself, then instinctively scratched his chin. “God, it’s good to speak properly again.”

*For a guy who should’ve been red-eyed in an internet café, trailing thousands of players grinding this very boss when the place exploded—only to wake up as the boss himself—*

*—some mental buffering was required.*

Liangjie stilled. He’d crossed over *with* game knowledge. As the ultimate boss. Excitement trembled through him.

*Time to shake the world.*

Neck cracking like dry timber, he eyed the loot. Time to claim his spoils.

He pounced like a starving wolf.

“ASHROTH’S JUDGMENT?! S-rank weapon! And—HELL’S DECREE scroll?! This is a forbidden-tier spell! Sold for 100,000 gold last season!” He was drooling. A Z-rank pauper reborn.

Memories stung:

*Scavenging trash for a week just for a D-rank ragged cloak…*

*Griefing a rich kid for a D-rank Windstride scroll—only to get spawn-camped till he nearly lost his underwear…*

*Don’t remember! Tears might fall!* —So lamented Sima Liangjie, history’s strongest boss.

Revenge from Crimson Corps? He’d considered it. But in *Frostbloom*’s lore, *every* A-rank guild on the server had failed to beat this dragon. One S-rank guild? A sneeze would scatter them. Besides—who’d suspect a human?

Minutes later, A-rank+ gear and scrolls formed two neat piles. Over a hundred A-rank weapons. A dozen S-rank. Forbidden scrolls galore.

Then reality hit.

*How do I carry all this?*

A spatial bracelet would’ve solved it—commonplace in-game, storing items in pocket dimensions. Liangjie sighed, collapsing onto a pile of scrolls.

Then—a voice, soft as melting snow:

“C-c-can you… give those b-back?”

“Hah?” Liangjie turned. A pink-haired girl with glasses peeked from behind a snow maple tree, half her face hidden. Adorably petite.

“How’d you survive? Come here, little miss.” His psyche had warped—from pauper to warlord, from bookworm to god-dragon.

“I-I’m Fan Qiandai. F-fell when the副团长 retreated… passed out… just woke…”

*Ten words straight? A miracle.*

Her face burned. “N-none of your business! Who are you? W-where’s that old bird?!” She shrank back, scanning the valley.

“It’s the Iceflower Evil God Dragon! ‘Old bird’? Ignorance is terrifying.” Liangjie relished the darkness in his voice. “Gone. Got bored cleaning up trash.”

She exhaled, tongue poking out cutely. “Phew!” She stepped forward—then vanished behind the tree again, scowling. “Y-you’re naked!”

*Right.* Liangjie’s face flamed. He snatched spell scrolls, haphazardly tying them around his waist. Realizing he’d bound a *fire* forbidden scroll there, he yanked it off, swapping it for an Earth Wall scroll.

“Ah! I’m a bard,” he announced, flashing a mysterious smile while kicking fire scrolls far away.

“A *bard*?!” Fan Qiandai’s stutter vanished. Her eyes widened in realization. She stepped out, face flushed but posture rigid, bowing deeply. “I-I’m Orange Division, A-rank. Which Division do you serve, sir? Purple Division, perhaps? I’ve never met a Purple member, but they say you ten are eccentric… yet terrifyingly strong. Please… confirm your rank!”

She peeked up. Liangjie was leering. She lowered her head, eyes flashing murder beneath her bangs. Suspicion flared.

*Red Division? Black Division?* Liangjie narrowed his eyes, mind racing through game lore. “What year is it? How long until Demon King Lucifer appears?”

The question struck Fan Qiandai like lightning. Only Reno Continent’s king—and bards of the highest echelons—knew of Lucifer. She’d learned scraps from her Blue Division sister, Fan Qianfeng.

This man *had* to be Purple Division. A demigod. Her suspicion melted into starry-eyed worship.

“R-Reno Imperial Year 980s, sir,” she breathed. “As for Demon King Lucifer… this humble one knows too little to answer.”