He Existed
Year 2100.
Technology had advanced, but not transformed.
Drones hovered overhead like synthetic vultures. Neon cities flickered, feeding off the lives they enclosed. Skyscrapers pierced smog-soaked skies, hiding the stars beneath data streams and silent wars.
The world moved faster.
But nothing had really changed.
People still suffered.
People still died.
And those with power still laughed.
They just did it in fancier clothes.
Hidden from public view—beyond the screens, beyond the press conferences, beyond the carefully constructed lies—existed ancient societies that never faded, only adapted.
They were the Upper Society.
The Murim Clans, wielding Qi like living blades, who called bloodshed enlightenment.
The System-Blessed, chosen ones with UI interfaces burned into their souls—walking avatars of divine code.
The Techno-Aristocrats, whose minds fused with forbidden machinery, rewriting biology itself.
Supernaturals like witches, ghosts, and cursed lineages.
Mythics—nine-tailed foxes, elves, dragons hiding behind corporations and palaces.
Demons, clothed in charisma.
And above all, the Gods, who governed fate like an entertainment channel.
These societies operated in parallel, not in secret—but behind veils so thick, humans never thought to look through them.
They fought wars. Made pacts. Tested weapons. Sacrificed cities.
All while humanity kept scrolling.
Erwin Wail, age 30, was not part of any of them.
He wasn't blessed.
He wasn't chosen.
He didn't have a bloodline, a relic, or a birthmark of fate.
He delivered cargo.
Mid-tier company. 11-hour shifts. No benefits.
He had a phone that lagged when he swiped too fast.
An apartment that echoed every time he coughed.
He wasn't poor. He wasn't rich.
He was nothing.
One of the many forgettable billions who existed between headlines.
His alarm rang.
6:45 AM.
The screen glowed a soft red, almost apologetically.
Erwin stared at the ceiling.
He didn't feel dread.He didn't feel hope.Just… silence.
He had been waking up for thirty years.And for at least ten of them, he had no reason to.
No parents. Both gone in a drone accident the media never covered.No siblings.No friends left.No partner.No dream.
Nothing to look forward to.Nothing to look back on.
He rose.
Showered in lukewarm water.
Ate dry cereal.
Slipped on his uniform.
Checked his app for today's route.
Spoke no words.
Outside, the world pretended to be alive.
Floating headlines blared from overhead drones:
"BREAKING: Dungeon opens in Sector 13! System Hero Astraeon handles breach solo—14,327 kills confirmed!""NEW COUPLE ALERT: Vampire heiress Marrion and Warlock Prince Noctus to wed at Twilight Court!""System Compatibility Test begins this week. Will YOU be chosen?"
The crowd below cheered.Children clapped.Vendors sold fan merch of heroes.
Erwin walked past it all.
He remembered the day he applied to the System Registry.He stood in line for six hours.
There was a white gate. Glowing. Holy.
A scanner checked your palm.
He pressed his hand against it.
Nothing happened.
"Compatibility: 0%.""Access Denied.""Next."
They didn't even look him in the eye.
He wasn't rejected.
He was discarded.
That day, the boy named Erwin Wail died a little.
But dying in pieces is acceptable.
The world encourages it.
Years passed.
The Upper Society grew bolder.
Dungeons appeared with increasing frequency—cracks between realms.At first they were threats.
Then… they became profitable.
Guilds were formed.Sponsorships signed.TV deals made."System Heroes" were now celebrities.
And somewhere along the way…
"Protecting the world" became a business model.
Erwin watched his coworkers leave, one by one.
Some got blessed.
Some got recruited.
Some disappeared into dungeons, never returning.
Erwin stayed.
At lunch breaks, people whispered.
"Heard Murim's testing next month.""My cousin got 12% compatibility!""System Hero Astraeon is opening his own academy!"
No one spoke to Erwin directly.
They didn't hate him.
They didn't mock him.
They simply didn't register him.
He was a placeholder in the crowd.
One night, while walking home, Erwin saw a boy being mugged by a mana-infused thug.
He thought about stepping in.But stopped.
Not out of fear.
Out of pointlessness.
The boy's scream was cut short by a shadow that crashed from above.
A System-Blessed hero descended like a meteor.
Camera drones followed instantly.
Within seconds, it turned into a livestream.
Not a rescue. A performance.
Erwin stood in the corner, unseen.
He whispered, bitterly:
"They save who's convenient."
Three weeks later, he sold his apartment.
His car.
His savings.
Everything he owned.
He didn't say goodbye to anyone.
No one would have noticed.
He packed a bag and boarded a train heading anywhere.
"If this world doesn't need me," he muttered,
"Then I'll walk until it does."
What started as aimless wandering soon turned into something else.
Erwin began to see the world beneath the skin.
Abandoned ruins sealed by golden sigils.
Outposts erased from maps.
Entire towns swallowed by dungeons and never spoken of again.
He saw a mother weeping as her son was absorbed into a recruitment capsule, labeled "System Compatible."
He met a girl in a village who was "harvested" for her rare bloodline.
He followed the trail of survivors.
And in the wastelands of a desert with no name…
He found a fortress.
Old. Broken.
But alive.
They pointed weapons at him when he arrived.
They didn't trust him.
But when he spoke the words:
"I wasn't chosen either."
They let him in.
They were the Outcasts.
Former members of every Upper Society faction.
Rejected. Banished. Betrayed.
Not weak.
Just unwilling to follow the rules.
They told him the truth.
The dungeons weren't natural.
They were made.
Engineered by the Upper Society as part of a twisted entertainment hierarchy.
The world was never broken.
It was designed this way.
And those who resisted?
Labeled as threats.
Silenced.
Erased.
Erwin listened.
And for the first time in years…
He felt something.
Rage.
Purpose.
Fire.
He returned home one last time.
To where it all began.
Where he met the only person who still remembered him.
Jhon Miles.
His best and only friend.
They laughed.
Shared a drink.
Spoke of childhood.
Of old video games.
Of simpler days.
Erwin thought maybe—just maybe—this world hadn't taken everything.
Then… a dungeon breach occurred 35 km from their city.
Erwin didn't panic.
There were always breaches.
Heroes always arrived.
Except this time…
they didn't.
The monsters came.
And no one stopped them.
Jhon was torn apart in front of him.
Saving him.
As Erwin crawled through the blood of the only person who gave a damn whether he lived or died…
He looked at the skyline, expecting help.
It never came.
And he realized:
The Upper Society didn't come late.
They came late… on purpose.
Because people like Jhon? Like him?
They weren't valuable.
They were just background characters in someone else's game.**
He didn't scream.
He didn't pray.
He simply whispered into the night:
"You made a mistake leaving me alive."
[End of Chapter 1 – He Existed]