When indiscriminate slaughter enforces justice, destruction safeguards peace, violence eradicates evil, war pursues tranquility, and killing protects the many... the monster he’d become suddenly found this world beautifully simple.

Time: 2240.

This city stood at the world’s pinnacle.

Dongchuan Guang—a metropolis that thrived two centuries ago, then vanished in nuclear fire. Today, it rose again, dazzling the globe.

Day or night, its streets surged with crowds and traffic. Never silent. Never still.

Corporate titans, global celebrities, government elites, and starlets all gathered here.

Skyscrapers pierced the clouds, orderly yet overwhelming.

Luxury cars, glamorous women, endless parties—a paradise for the wealthy.

For dreamers? Also paradise. And hell.

Opportunities and challenges intertwined with traps. Here, everything had a price. Even lives.

This city embraced all: triads and police, justice and sin, light and shadow.

Throwing fortunes away was commonplace. Extreme luxury painted a vibrant, absurd dreamscape.

No one remembered its past: a century ago, plague and radiation turned it into a lifeless ruin.

Now, thanks to one man—one savior—it roared back to life.

---

Winterstride World Tower dominated the city’s glittering heart. The world’s most famous skyline’s most famous center.

The city’s heartbeat.

280 floors. Over 2,500 meters tall. Piercing the clouds.

On the Sky Terrace, a man sat atop the edge, wind whipping his clothes. He gazed down at the city below.

Young—early twenties. Ordinary face. But his eyes held authority. A confident smile lent his sharp features charm… and danger.

Black casual pants. Army-green trench coat. Hair and fabric fluttered wildly, yet his calm remained unbroken. He surveyed the world from 2,000 meters up.

"Dongchuan Guang’s nightscape…" he murmured, smiling. "Never gets old."

Below, neon lights painted the city in electric colors. Humans were invisible—less than ants. Cells, perhaps.

*Bang!*

The terrace door slammed open.

Two figures emerged: a suited man in sunglasses, and a foreigner dressed like Sherlock Holmes.

"Whoa—the wind! Oh! My hat!" The foreigner’s hat tore free, vanishing over the edge into the 2,000-meter abyss.

"Ah! Friends! Welcome!" The man on the ledge spun around, grinning, hand outstretched.

"Hello, hello!" The Holmes-like foreigner shook his hand, fluent Chinese rolling off his tongue.

"World Serpent, sir," the suited man bowed.

"Go. I’ll handle our guest."

"Yes, World Serpent." The man bowed again and left.

"World Serpent, I’m a writer—Carmen. My name card—" The foreigner fumbled for his wallet, voice trembling with awe.

Meeting this legend was impossible for a nobody like him. The World Serpent—a savior, city founder, tower owner. His whims swayed nations. His frown doomed worlds.

Yet the man before him seemed… young. Gentle, even. Nothing like the myth.

"Call me ‘Mister.’ And ‘Nameless Serpent.’ I prefer the quiet name." The Chinese man smiled.

"Of course… Nameless Serpent, sir. My card." Carmen handed it over.

The Serpent glanced at it, scratching his head. "Carmen. Shall we chat here or inside?"

"Inside, please, sir," Carmen shouted over the gale, cheeks flushed.

"Of course."

They entered the tower.

Busy professionals in sharp suits rushed past. The two casually dressed men stood out—yet every person they passed paused.

"Good evening, World Serpent."

"Good evening, World Serpent."

"Good evening, World Serpent."

Even faces Carmen recognized from magazines bowed deeply. The Serpent nodded warmly to each.

Only then did Carmen believe: this young man *was* the legend. That effortless aura. That unshakable confidence.

They stopped before an ornate door.

"After you, Carmen." The Serpent opened it with a flourish.

"T-thank you." Carmen bowed, stepping inside—and froze.

No luxury. No art. Just a bed. A wooden desk. Two stools. Only the floor-to-ceiling window, framing the entire city, felt out of place.

"Make yourself at home." The Serpent closed the door, settling onto a stool by the window.

"Ah—sorry!" Carmen scrambled to sit opposite him.

"Let’s talk."

"Wait—just a moment…" Carmen pulled out a pen and notebook.

"A pen? Paper? Antiques!" The Serpent chuckled.

"Family heirlooms, sir."

"Fascinating. Now—why are you here?"

"I’m a writer, sir. I wish to interview you. To turn your life into an epic novel."

"Such an honor? Ask away." The Serpent turned back to the window.

"Thank you. Forgive my bluntness… but you’re not entirely human, are you?" Carmen’s voice stayed steady. His palms sweated.

Rumors whispered the World Serpent was a monster. A myth. No one knew the truth.

Silence.

The Serpent turned slowly. His gaze pinned Carmen like a serpent’s stare. Cold sweat slicked Carmen’s back.

"You’re right. I’m not human."

The tension snapped.

"R-really?" Carmen’s pen hovered.

"Yes. ‘Mimics.’ That’s what humans called us two centuries ago. I’ve lived two hundred years. I’ve seen much." The Serpent’s smile returned, but his eyes stayed distant.

"Two hundred years? Truly? Then… tell me your story." Carmen scribbled furiously.

"I saw this world’s rise and fall. When pens and paper ruled, before e-books erased them."

"I witnessed legendary monsters rise… and fall."

"I fought humanity’s strongest warrior. Watched her slip away before my eyes."

"I battled the mightiest artificial monster."

"I saw Dongchuan Guang burn in nuclear fire."

"But I never saw the Third World War—the war between humans and monsters."

"I walked this world after its destruction."

"I fought myself."

"I joined wars between humans, monsters, and machines."

"I buried family. Friends. Lovers. Until this hollow peace arrived."

The Serpent gazed out the window, smile fixed. His words held no warmth.

"It all began back then…"