[Supernatural Revival] + [No Female Lead] + [Decisive and Ruthless] + [No Saint-like Compassion] + [Not a Lapdog] + [No System]

A summer camping trip turned into a one-way path to hell.

Lin Yi became entangled with an unspeakable "thing." It defied all logic, and with every heartbeat, the resounding bell of death tolled.

In a frantic escape, he stumbled into a decaying ancient temple, where the cold was bone-piercing.

In the darkness, a rusty ghost chain glowed with an ominous light.

Amid the despair of life and death, a brutal, cold power was forcefully injected into Lin Yi, and he became a ghost rider!

He was a living corpse, a cage for a vengeful spirit, and the price was clear and cruel: his life was being consumed little by little by the parasitic ghost.

The ghost's murderous intent was upon him, the temple doors were buckling, and with his life hanging by a thread, the instinct for survival overpowered everything else!

With his eyes bloodshot, Lin Yi shed all hesitation and boldly activated the non-human power within his body!

The eerie light erupted, and a pitch-black ghost domain instantly tore open space under his will.

Lin Yi narrowly escaped, but this was no liberation. The terrifying iceberg of the supernatural revival had merely revealed its tip.

This thorny path of controlling a vicious ghost was one where every step was soaked in the blood of his kind and the curses of the ghosts.

Power is poison; mercy is a grave.

As the world began its descent into the abyss, Lin Yi clutched the cold chain in his hand, understanding a brutal truth:

On this desperate chessboard, to survive, he had to be more ruthless than a ghost and more merciless than a man.

The heavy, bloody chapter had just turned its first page.

Lin Yi: "Welcome to... Purgatory!

When the unpredictable Old Ones awakened, bringing their black mist and crimson moon, the world plunged into an eternal night of decadence. Less than 10% of humanity remained, huddled in the steam-belching Brass City. They exploited the Destiny Dimension to enter horrific dungeons and acquire extraordinary powers, yet they lingered on, on the brink of extinction. Then, the writer stepped forward. "Only the Old Ones can defeat the Old Ones!" Li En, a pink, oval-shaped cell cluster, consulted his diary, his two tiny tentacles alternating in front as he pondered deeply. "So, this is why I was summoned here?"

In this fantasy world where magic and machinery coexist, Sherlock, a commoner, faces a difficult task in becoming a powerful wizard or warrior, ascending to a position of power. Fortunately, fate favors those who work hard. In this world, Chinese and English have become ancient scripts that represent mystery and power. They record magical rituals from the Age of Gods and the origins of steam... "What did I work hard for?" "I worked hard to be reborn in my past life! Otherwise, how would I understand Chinese after traveling through time?" (A Final Fantasy-like worldview + magic + steam machinery)

[Fantasy] [Infinite Stream] [Evil Forces] [Suspense]

(No Romance | Pure Heart and Soul | Grim and Surreal)

I knelt at the peak of a mountain of corpses,

a blood-red thread burrowing into my finger bones like a parasite.

The monks—those cursed souls they called “disaster stars”—

met death with open, festering eyes, reflecting the droplets in my palm.

Even in ruin, they watched.

This is an era sustained by soul power,

where both “righteous” and “disaster stars” are born marked by fate.

But fate is a crooked thing.

My master and I hunted the Lifeng Sect,

a cult of madness and slaughter,

whose disciples would butcher their own families under twisted convictions.

Are they insane? No—

They have shattered their minds to touch something beyond sanity.

In my hand, I carry the healing drops—a pure counter to their venomous gu.

Even the corrupted skies seem to bend in my favor now.

“If the gods allow evil to flourish,

then let me become the one who poisons evil itself.”

Let the monks rot.

Let the threads tighten.

Let the drops fall.

I walk not the righteous path,

but the necessary one.