They built a shrine.
A whole damn shrine. For me.
Somewhere between flattery and delusion, these people decided I wasn't just powerful—I was sacred.
A small wooden temple now stood at the center of the survivor's base, complete with offerings, candles, and some very questionable clay statues that barely resembled me. The nose was too big. The chin too sharp. But whatever—artistic freedom, I guess.
It was weird.
Kind of hilarious.Also a little disturbing.
Still, I didn't stop them. Why would I? Their worship didn't cost me anything. If anything, it made them easier to manage. They bowed when I passed. Whispered prayers when I stared into the distance. Some even tried to kneel and ask for blessings.
I just nodded like I was wise and mysterious.
Truth is, I was mostly chilling.
They got reckless though. Expansion fever hit them hard. Makeshift buildings sprouted overnight. They chopped down trees, dug shallow wells, built shoddy crossbows that would barely kill a rabbit. Their craftsmanship was laughable. No proper ores, no metallurgy, no forging skill—but hey, points for enthusiasm.
It was somewhere between a growing society and a cosplay village.
In the middle of all that, I remembered something.
The USB drive.My cheat.The Super USB Drive, to be exact.
How had I almost forgotten? I hadn't used it at all since joining the survivors. Surrounded by worship, praise, and petty distractions, I'd nearly let the only real edge I had slip my mind. Idiotic.
I pulled it from the ring one night, held it in my palm. Cool, ordinary. Familiar. It didn't glow or pulse or whisper forbidden secrets. But I knew what it was—potential. Untapped, barely scratched.
I didn't use it that night either. Just stared at it under the moonlight, letting it remind me who I really was.
And then I looked up.
The sky... was wrong.
It had always been wrong. I just hadn't really noticed until now.
The sun stayed in the same place, like someone pinned it there with a thumbtack. The moon moved through its phases, sure—but its position never shifted. It was always there, staring back, like a broken clock that still ticks.
No stars. No drifting clouds.Just a perfect wallpaper of a sky.
That's when it hit me.
Maybe this world… wasn't real.
Maybe I was in some cultivator's inner world, trapped inside a pocket reality that looped on repeat. A spiritual fishbowl. A static terrarium for the soul.
And here I was—acting like a big deal, being worshipped by bugs in a jar.
"God, I hope this doesn't turn into a satire of a cultivation novel," I muttered, half-laughing, half-scared.
I leaned back into my makeshift reclining chair—one of the perks of power—and let the cool wind wash over me. A gentle breeze, impossibly calm. Too calm.
That's when I opened the floating panel in my mind.
The Transmigration Group Chat.
It flickered to life in that familiar blue hue. Same simple interface.
I typed one word:"Alive."
Just like always, only one name remained in the list.[Kaiser (1)]
No replies.No other members.Just me.
I closed it with a sigh.
The breeze passed again.
And for a while, I just sat there, alone with the night. The scent of ash, distant firewood, and stale prayer incense clung to the air.
I barely remembered my parents anymore. Their faces had grown foggy. Earth felt like a dream someone told me about years ago. Sometimes, I'd get flashes—a subway, the smell of rain on concrete, the hum of a refrigerator at 3AM. But nothing ever stuck. Nothing ever felt real.
Maybe it never was.
I stared up at the frozen sky.
It didn't blink.
Didn't move.
Didn't care.
And I just… watched it.Until the stars I knew didn't exist began to blur, and the moon slowly smiled down at me like it knew something I didn't.