A_literal_Sunfish

It’s 2100, and Vincent Carter – Ying – is a twenty-year-old virgin with a penchant for profanity, he has but three guiding principles:

“In a world where honour and valour seem like unaffordable luxuries, cowardice remains the pragmatist’s ultimate virtue. Spinelessness isn’t shameful, it’s simply self-preservative romance.”

“Doubt is unironically the cheapest superpower a person can have, after all if it’s human, it’s probably plotting something. And if it’s plotting something, it’s probably hiding something. And if it’s hiding something… well, you get the idea. So question everything, one sceptical step at a time.”

And lastly,

“Muscle heads – because who needs brains when you can just flex your way through life? Couldn’t be me, I’ll tell you that much.”

Armed with nothing but these… questionable (?) values, as well as experiences shaped by a hellish life in the slums, Ying dives headfirst into the latest VR sensation – Cultivation Climax, a world brimming with great magic, ancient mysteries, and blood-curdling conspiracies just waiting to be unravelled.

 However, because Ying’s life is just that kind of special, he is greeted with a rather ‘lovely’ surprise upon opening his eyes to the new world…

Ding!

[Your misfortune is truly astounding!]

[You have awakened the absolute WORST talent for Cultivation!]

‘…’

“…W-what?!”

Yes, what indeed.



https://www.royalroad.com/profile/633482/fictions. I'm the author.

The Forsaken-Grade Cultivator

Down in the depths of a certain unassuming library, in a desolate room that looked like it was carved from a single piece of stone, a fierce battle was in full swing.

Bright flashes of silver flickered into existence time and time again as two gladiators clashed, sending blood, flesh and life rippling through the stale breeze of the dark expanse.

One of them seemed to be sporting a few more injuries than the other, but his unfeeling eyes didn't reflect anything. No pain, no anxiety, not even the usual excited thrill one would normally derive from such an uphill battle.

His gaze was unsympathetic, and his expression was stalwart—like an unmoving pillar of stone.

And despite the wounds of his body growing in harrowing progression, he appeared completely unperturbed by it all.

Versus Qing Lo