<...According to a statistic from ABC University, in the country of XXX, 20 illegitimate children are born every 10 minutes. I'm convinced you're one of them, you loser author!>
<...So you reached the top of the rankings and now you're getting cocky? Know your place. You're nothing but a third-class author!>
These kinds of comments are what earned me the title: The Damn Reader.
Every author on site XXX hated me. No one escaped the sting of my tongue. And to be honest, I was just... honest in my critiques. Why do these people keep writing such nonsense? Forget recycled plots — not even a drop of creativity!
I wasn't criticizing for the sake of it — I was trying to improve the overall quality of webnovels. I loved novels. But honestly, the dogshit being written these days was just painful. Where was the art of storytelling?
Thinking of that, I couldn't help but scoff and glance at my phone screen.
Any second now, the notification would come.
DING!
"Chronicles of the Lightseeker: New Chapter Released!"
A new chapter.
There it is.
That novel was my favorite, The Chronicles of the Lightseeker.
I hated it.
The worldbuilding was chaotic and complicated for no reason, characters died without meaning, and the protagonist… oh god, the author had completely lost his compass. He ruined every good idea the story had.
I'd written about Chronicles of the Lightseeker more than any other novel. My title— The Damn Reader — was known by every reader in its comment section.
The story takes place after the year 2025 when a mysterious entity named "Arzan the System Master" appears. He initiates something called "The Trials," which unleashes countless disasters on humanity, nearly wiping them out.
In these Trials, individuals received a class and an ability from Arzan, then were thrown into another world and tasked with completing a mission to survive.
Decades later, humans had evolved through the Trials in the post-apocalyptic era. Survivors became strong enough to strike a deal with Arzan:
Instead of randomly choosing people, humanity would select 100 talented youth aged 16 to 20 each year to send to Arzan, who would then subject them to the Trials.
Anyway, the story was set in the year 2430, centuries after Arzan's arrival. It followed Mervyn Pendragon, the ideal knight born to save the world, on his journey to grow stronger and stop the incoming invasion.
And of course, it had all the usual clichés, the chosen one, the academy arc, the young master and noble faction drama, legendary class, Monster Realm invasion, etc...
Honestly, the novel was... ugh, how do I put it? As bad as it was, something about it pulled me in.
It felt like a rookie's stumble like someone was genuinely trying to break the mold and join the ranks of elite authors on their first try. As the wise say: "Reach for the heavens in one step!"
It was a mash-up of every famous novel at the time, in concept and world mechanics.
And yes, to some extent, this author wasn't the only one doing that. Isn't it expected of them, anyway, to create novels that can go viral and make a profit? So copying popular works wasn't surprising.
The problem with this author was that his narrative compass was completely warped. The man was impaired.
I sighed.
[Chapter 1346]
TAP.
I read the new chapter, and rage bubbled up again. I nearly threw my phone, but I stopped myself. I couldn't help it. I had to type:
The shameless author was dragging out the plot again!
The replies came in fast:
I ignored them. The fury was still burning inside me.
Deep down, nothing pissed me off more than wasted potential.
Once, I beat the hell out of my cousin just to provoke him. I wanted him to hate me, and go to the gym, and get stronger. The guy had amazing genes. I couldn't let him go to waste.
And he did it. Lost weight. Got stronger. Of course, he came back and beat the crap out of me too, but I had no regrets. It was worth it.
That's just how I was. I kept reading these trash-tier stories not because I liked them, but for that 1% chance that the plot would improve.
Chronicles of the Lightseeker was the perfect example. The issue was… its author was a bastard. He refused to listen to any review, writing only to please himself.
I slammed the desk and gritted my teeth, then opened my PC.
"TAP! TAP!"
[Volume 11]
I made a new file, and then started typing into it:
[…Chapter 1346. The events are still going in the same direction. The main group, led by Mervyn, heads through the academy gate to Seren Café to relax, completely unprepared for the upcoming invasion. Ignoring how this contradicts Mervyn's established character, who vowed never to repeat his past failure, we see…]
[…I'm starting to lose hope in this trash. 3 more chapters and I'm dropping it.]
I wrote a long review. I corrected the plot in my version. Added dozens of notes.
When I finished, I felt like a weight had been lifted. I exhaled, relieved.
Looking at the screen, filled with edited versions of all eleven volumes, I smiled without realizing it. Honestly, I was proud of this.
It was the only way I could sleep without going insane. I rewrote the events the way they should've been, as a "What If" story in my head.
Of course, I could've just posted it as fan fiction. But I was above that.
Why go this far? Was I obsessed? No. But if I didn't get it out of my system, I'd lie awake, stuck in my imagination.
Three more chapters and I'd finally quit this trash. Come to think of it, it had been a few years since I first started reading this novel. I felt nostalgic… and clicked on Chapter 1.
[Chapter 1 – Light]
When I opened the chapter, I blinked."…Huh?"
I frowned.
The screen was blank; only the chapter title appeared. No content.
Did I delete it by mistake?
"Sha!!"
Suddenly, the text began to appear below the chapter title, one line at a time:
Cold spread through my chest.
These words...I hadn't typed them.
It felt like someone was talking directly to me.
Had someone hacked my PC? A stalker? A mad fan?
"Woosh!"
A blinding white light exploded from the screen and swallowed me whole.
"!!!"
I blinked.
When my eyes opened again, the light had faded… and I realized I was somewhere completely different.
No desk, no laptop.
Before me was a grand hall, glowing gold.
I instinctively raised my hand to block the light.
"!!!"
Nausea hit me. I clutched my head.
"Damn it..."
Pain split through my skull.
A man stepped forward, hairy, bearded, middle-aged. Dressed sharply. He looked at me with concern.
He placed a hand on my forehead.
Warmth spread from his fingers, easing the pain away.
My heart pounded. My chest felt tight.
...His face. It wasn't unfamiliar.
Two years ago, there was a contest on-site XXX to design the best AI-generated novel cover. The prize was $10,000.
And that was because "human" artists were lazy bastards who didn't want to help the authors with that. So basically, AI>Humans.
The winning design featured a middle-aged man with glowing red-blonde hair, eyes like the sea, and a thick beard. He was the head of the Greygon family, Alaric Greygon, from Chronicles of the Lightbringer. The father of that 3rd-class villain, the young master who annoyed the protagonist until he died like a dog...
That's why I recognized him.
...Because I was the one who won that contest.
My heartbeat quickened. Heat surged behind my eyes.
I looked around quickly, panicked until I spotted a silver goblet nearby.
Without hesitation, I poured its contents…
…then saw my reflection.
It was the face of a young teen around seventeen, Hair and eyes… just like Alaric Greygon's.
That same fleshy-colored hair and piercing blue eyes.
The moment I saw it, my knees buckled.
The blur in my vision worsened.
Oh, dear god.
I knew I was fucked.
There was no doubt.
It was him.
The only person who could make someone cold-blooded as Alaric Greygon wear that look of worry.
Wasn't this…the loser 3rd class young master - Amon Graygon?