CHAPTER 1.1 : Cold Boot: The Stealth Protocol Begins.
He was not born cold , he became it." That line lived in him for years. Before the numbness, there was chaos. Before silence, there was fire. This isn't a story for the loud , it's a record from the shadows. A survivor's log from a broken world.
Peter wasn't born cold , he became it. Somewhere between the brutal systems of the empire that raised him and the silence he chose to survive, he awakened. Not into light, but into code. Into a new realm where noise was deadly and silence was a weapon. This book isn't about traditional strength. It's about how forged emotions unlock skills, how soul compression grants survival, and what happens when a man rises with nothing but his will , and a system.
There were no guides, no guardians, no high-tier mentors to boost him up the ranks. Just nights in the Ashlands, heavy breaths, and a mind refusing to collapse even as the world hunted it. What's written here is not fantasy. It's a recovery file. A system-generated record of trauma turned into stats.
This is Peter's log. His blueprint. His protocol. For the ghosts who walk the Iron Clans unnoticed, for the ones who had to activate their core alone, for the ones whose passive skills were born in silence , this is for them.
CHAPTER 1.2 : Era of Summer Holiday – Part One (1 June - 2 July).
The summer didn't start with light , it started with silence." Peter didn't respawn with hope. He spawned into emptiness. But there was something clean in that void , like the loading phase after surviving a corrupted world event.
The summer began like a low-rank storm hiding an elite boss fight. Peter didn't expect a system refresh , not clarity, not chaos, not peace. But deep down, his core was recalibrating. And silently, the update installed.
Each morning loaded slow, glitchy, half-alive. The townspeople in the sector moved like bots. So did he. But in that stillness, he felt safe. Disconnected from the system noise. Peter didn't want party invites. Didn't want guild chats. Just solo mode. He wasn't sad. He was just… off-grid.
It wasn't burnout. It wasn't even soul freeze. It was like standing inside a paused battlefield, waiting. He had survived several failed missions , betrayals, broken trades, data corruption, emotional bleed-outs, status debuffs from addiction. And suddenly… system silence.
Peter had uninstalled his vices. Cold reset. 14 December, cycle 2024. The internal toxins were gone. The cravings pinged now and then, but he ignored them. There were deeper system threats to debug.
June was his stealth run. He stayed invisible, grinding soul XP through silence. He walked under dead moons, synced with ancient music relics, and thought of everything and nothing. Some days, he felt like an unranked NPC. Others, like a player forging a hidden class.
There were times he caught his reflection in the Blackwater River and felt proud — not because he had leveled up, but because he hadn't rage-quit. Peter was still here. No HP potions. No party buffs. Just raw regen.
And no one noticed.
But Peter did.
He began writing logs again. Began syncing small emotions , not powerful bursts, just quiet pulses, like forgotten skills returning after cooldown. Part of him didn't want to heal. Healing felt like vulnerability. Like removing armor. But he knew he had to. Not to ally with others. Not to fall for clans. Just to free up mental storage.
That month taught him how to run solo without aggro. It taught him how to walk through silence without triggering fear scripts. He didn't broadcast his progress. Didn't chase coins. Didn't quest for approval. He just ran the raw code — clean, unfiltered.
Thus was the beginning of something.
Something no one saw but Peter.