Year 2100.
Technology had evolved — but not changed.
Cities stretched like mechanical forests beneath artificial skies, towering and cold. The air buzzed with drones, signals, and synthetic wind. Humanity believed it ruled the Earth.
But beneath the polished chrome and corporate neon, in cracks untouched by satellites and sensors, something older breathed.
Ancient societies — secret and eternal — thrived in the dark.
The Murim clans, who called bloodshed enlightenment.
The System-Blessed, walking interfaces made flesh.
The Techno-aristocrats, half-machine minds with divine code.
Supernaturals. Mythics. Demons. Gods.
Each realm ruled in silence, rivaling each other in power, yet united in one belief:
"The ordinary are tools — and tools must never question their place."
Erwin Wail… was one of those tools. One of the billions who didn't matter.
He worked at a mid-tier delivery company, transporting sealed crates between security zones that no longer used real currency. His apartment was clean, but hollow. His phone cracked but functional. His bank account lived on life support.
He wasn't poor.
He wasn't rich.
He wasn't anything.
Erwin Wail was the kind of man whose entire life could be summarized in a sentence:
"He existed."
On paper, he was thirty years old.
In truth, he felt older — not in body, but in exhaustion. Like time had wrung him dry and left the husk standing.
His alarm rang.
6:45 AM. Again.
No pain. No dread. Just… emptiness.
He stared at the ceiling.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Finally, he stood up.
No reason. No motivation. Just… routine.
He breathed. He walked. He worked.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Outside, floating news drones lit up the street like mechanical birds. Loudspeakers chirped synthetic headlines:
"Breaking! Dungeon breach in Sector 12! Murim cultivators dispatched. 13,000 civilians evacuated."
"System-Blessed Hero Astraeon signs 100 million credit endorsement deal. His confirmed kill streak rises to 14,327."
"Blood Moon Society announces engagement between vampire heiress and warlock prince!"
Erwin walked past the headlines without even blinking.
Those weren't his stories.
They belonged to a higher world.
A hidden one — veiled behind ancient bloodlines, inherited blessings, and celestial privilege.
He was just a delivery guy.
And even among delivery guys… he was average.
His coworkers murmured with excitement.
"System Society's opening new recruitment this week."
"Murim accepted 17 new disciples last month."
"Heard even regular humans are getting scanned now — some have latent bloodlines."
Erwin didn't speak.
He had tried. Once.
He remembered standing in front of the glowing gate, heart pounding like a war drum. His hand pressed to the interface — hope rising, shaking.
The machine paused.
Then:
"Compatibility: 0%. Access Denied."
Not a word from the overseer.
Just a single glance. Bored.
"Next."
No anger. No sympathy. No second chance.
It wasn't rejection.
It was erasure.
Years passed.
The dungeons kept opening.
The heroes kept rising.
Gods returned. Deals were signed. Cities rebuilt.
The ordinary kept dying, unnoticed.
People around him awakened — trained, evolved, vanished into glorious academies and divine contracts.
And Erwin?
He stayed behind.
Nameless. Invisible. Still human.
But something had begun to shift. The world was changing — subtly, cruelly.
Taxes increased in the name of "protection."
Surveillance drones loomed over slums, while elites used private portals to skip checkpoints.
Ordinary people lined up for bread rations while the chosen rode dragons through gold-plated gates.
Erwin saw it all.
And deep within his quiet mind… something stirred.
Not rage. Not yet.
Just a flicker.
A whisper, like frost under a closed door.
"This world will not remember you… unless you force it to."
[End of Chapter 1 – The Man the World Forgot]