The path of salvation.
Long and arduous.
Yet Servia walked it without pause.
Whenever she thought of giving up, whenever the cold loneliness gnawed at her, whenever thunder roared and lightning split the sky—
Her fingers would instinctively tighten around the hilt of her sword.
Yearning for that illusory reunion.
To strive for it, to become the light itself.
Over time, the grand mission of salvation became etched into the soul of the hero, merging with her very truth.
It was a brilliance so radiant that even the Undying Monarch of the Endless Netherworld would stagger in awe.
It was light.
It was courage.
It was the gratitude of countless lives, worlds, and planes.
A radiance too beautiful to behold.
"H-How…?!"
The Immortal One looked down in shock, staring at the "Holy Sword" impaling its body, confusion twisting its features.
But soon.
That shock twisted into mockery.
The Immortal One prepared to strike back.
A Seventh-Circle Wizard governed life, death, and fate—unless overruled by a higher authority, such as the Root of Death from the Endless Netherworld, no harm could truly touch it.
"Mindless insect…!!"
The power to rewrite laws surged once more, rippling through the world and beyond.
The Immortal One tore free from the blade’s restraint.
And the battle between it and Servia reignited.
Cold yet warm "blossoms" bloomed across the sky of the soul plane, where law clashed against law, where the undying waged war beyond life and death.
Planes crumbled. Chaos rewrote itself.
The battlefield drowned in the blood of the immortal.
Two Seventh-Circle Towers emerged from the void, gathering immeasurable light and heat, unleashing ruinous beams of runic energy that forcibly erased legions of the undead.
"Something’s wrong."
Time passed.
The Immortal One, once certain of victory, now sensed an anomaly in its body—its expression twisted in horror.
"My essence… how could—"
"Shing!"
A blade forged from the will to save worlds, carrying the gratitude of countless realms, struck at the perfect moment—erasing the very concept of the Immortal One’s existence.
A path the Immortal One had never foreseen.
A miracle deemed impossible.
Yet now.
The hero, in the form of her sword, delivered the final blow.
"Wizard… did I…"
"Did I win…?"
Servia fell from the sky, crashing onto the shattered earth of the Netherworld.
Her face was weary, her body drenched in blood.
No one answered her. The only sound was the mournful wail of the spectral wind.
Loneliness crept into her heart.
Tears welled in her eyes once more.
But the hero was strong. She swallowed her sorrow, rose in silence, and stood again.
Gazing up at the Netherworld’s sky, she felt countless watching eyes lurking within the suffocating despair of death.
They were the rulers of other soul planes within the Endless Netherworld.
Among them, beings far beyond Seventh-Circle Wizards.
Those hailed as Eighth-Circle—or even Ninth-Circle—the pinnacle of existence.
"Wizard…"
"I think… I’ve become as willful as you."
"I can’t… turn away from suffering worlds anymore…"
Staggering to her feet, Servia accepted the "inheritance" of the fallen Immortal One—the authority over this soul plane of the Wizard’s world.
Only then did the watching gazes withdraw.
The hero sought no dominion, but she knew—if she refused, another Immortal One would seize this plane.
"I need… time…"
Dragging her battered body forward, Servia smiled bitterly.
Her own thoughts frightened her.
She wanted to purge the Undying Monarchs of the Endless Netherworld, to rewrite its laws, to ensure no world would suffer as the Wizard’s world had.
"If the Wizard knew… they’d scold me…"
"But now…"
"They can’t stop me…"
Silence.
Then, the sound of falling tears.
To become an Immortal One, one must walk the path of soul and truth.
Eternal life.
Undying existence.
These were the privileges of the immortal.
Yet endless time eroded their desires and humanity. All they craved now was greater power, higher ascension.
Self-enlightenment proved too arduous.
So, the Immortals chose a shortcut—seizing control of the soul planes within the Endless Netherworld.
Through them, they communed with the Netherworld’s ancient mysteries.
Time birthed laws within the Netherworld, imposing limits on the Immortals.
They could not freely corrupt the living worlds.
They could not claim unlimited soul planes.
Thus, a fragile order was maintained.
But how could the Netherworld’s nascent instincts truly restrain the Immortals?
Even the Netherworld itself was a calamity—merely drifting near other worlds would bring ruin.
In her journeys across planes, Servia had witnessed too much suffering.
And so, she resolved to change it all—to correct this twisted world at its root.
She would overturn all creation!
……
"Audacious! How dare you?!"
"Kill her!"
"Let this plane be shattered if we must!"
After years of silence, the hero known as "Servia Clawphire" launched her assault on the other soul planes, erasing one Immortal after another.
At first, the Immortals watched indifferently.
They assumed she sought the Netherworld’s authority.
The strong naturally claimed more planes—so none intervened.
But as time passed, the truth became undeniable.
Servia’s slaughter never ceased. Even after seizing the maximum number of soul planes allowed by the Netherworld’s laws, she continued her relentless purge.
Naturally, her defiance provoked retaliation.
Seventh-Circle Immortals united, joined by Eighth-Circle overlords, to hunt her for eternity.
Yet the outcome defied expectations.
Somehow, her slaughter of Immortals still aligned with her truth of salvation.
The hero fought on, growing stronger with each battle, retreating when necessary—until, against all odds, she ascended to the Eighth-Circle.
Her blade grew heavier, each strike carrying the weight of entire worlds—heavy enough to erase even the eternal.
"Have you ever heard… the weeping of worlds?"
With those words, her sword cleaved through a fragment of the Endless Netherworld.
Some faltered. Some grew curious.
Even the Ninth-Circle, the so-called Creators, descended to challenge her.
But Servia no longer fled.
She burned herself as kindling, igniting the flames of salvation.
"Muscle Enhancement!"
"Agility Boost!"
No profound spells.
Just two of the most basic, zero-circle incantations.
Yet her drawn blade moved faster than time, struck harder than space itself—converging the will of countless living worlds to carve an undying light into the Endless Netherworld.
agon king storylines. At the start, I obtained the "Ultimate Lackey System" - the more I act as a lackey, the stronger I become. What else could I do? I chose to become the personal henchman of the ultimate villain, Su Muwan. I provoke all sorts of chosen ones, snatch away their opportunities, and commit every evil deed imaginable. You ask who's behind me? Hmph! You're not worthy of knowing my lady's name! ...... ....... I am Su Muwan, the eldest daughter of the Su family. Since childhood, I've possessed extraordinary talent in martial arts, which led to my arrogant and domineering personality in my past life. I was even foolish enough to repeatedly challenge those favored by heaven, ultimately resulting in a tragic death. In this life, I must behave and absolutely cannot walk the same path again!! However... SLAP!! "So you're the Dragon King, huh?!" When I saw my little lackey swagger over and viciously slap the Dragon King who was hiding his identity, I felt my heart sink. Su Muwan's suspended heart finally died as she watched Qin Luo, her utterly loyal lackey, standing before her. She fainted on the spot from shock. Heaven is determined to destroy me!! (Pure love 1v1, light-hearted, no angst, single female lead, villain, reincarnation, lackey)
pression Bureau] Transported to a fantasy world overrun by demons and monsters, Gu Qingfeng becomes a jailer in the Demon Suppression Prison of the Great Yan Dynasty's Demon Suppression Bureau. From this point on, bizarre cases frequently occur in the Demon Suppression Prison, once known as hell on earth and infamous for its gloomy, terrifying atmosphere! Why do the demons and monsters in the prison wail miserably every night? Why has the corpse demon, capable of transforming into various beauties, donned black stockings and switched careers to become a foot massage therapist? Why has the eye demon, expert in soul-snatching and illusions, turned into a VR headset? Why is the fox spirit performing otaku dances? Are all these occurrences a twisted expression of demonic nature, or a descent into moral depravity? After peeling away layer upon layer of mystery, all clues ultimately point to a jailer named Gu Qingfeng. Gu Qingfeng: "Hehehe... My dear demons and monsters, whose card shall we flip today?"
] [Lone Wolf, No Male Gaze] [Protagonist is pursued early on; extreme protagonist-stans, stay away!] The "Carnival Paradise" descends and slowly devours the real world in the form of a game. By chance, Zhu Yan awakens the talent [Roleplay], becoming one of the first beta players. He thought he could develop safely, but after clearing the first instance, he is branded by humanity as the chief culprit behind the game's spread—a traitorous villain. A villain? Who would ever... become one! He'll be the villain! From then on, Zhu Yan is not only a player but also a lackey for the Carnival Paradise. Between the straight path and the crooked path, he chooses the con. With his left hand, he dons the villain's mantle, staging scenes within instances, infuriating players who decry him as a despicable traitor, all while the game happily promotes him. With his right hand, he joins the non-human organization "Fangcun Mountain," which opposes the Carnival Paradise, transforming into a mysterious player who slaughters game bosses, earning cheers of "Long live the expert!" from fellow players. Gradually, Zhu Yan rises to become an S-rank human player in Fangcun Mountain's archives, while also being the Carnival Paradise's certified top game Boss. But when the final war erupts and both major factions place their hopes in him— Players tag his various aliases: "Experts, this offensive depends on you." The Carnival Paradise's supreme Boss throws an arm around his neck: "Bro, you're the iron, I'm the steel; you can't let me down again!"
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
