Zora had transmigrated into a book.

In her mind, a voice resonated—the Oracle. [Congratulations on your second chance at life! Your mission is as follows—]

[Target the villain while he is still at his weakest. Capture his heart and prevent the impending end of the world.]

Before her, a boy in tattered clothes, covered in wounds, lay dying in the snow. Despite his state, he forced himself up, his eyes wide with a fierce, glaring gaze as he launched a final, desperate strike for survival.

Zora, left with no choice, stripped the boy of his ability to harm her. She let golden threads seep into his flesh and bone, allowing her to manipulate him at will from that moment on. The villain became her unique puppet, a means to prevent him from destroying the world.

The Oracle’s face was frozen in shock: [???]

Zora put the boy to work washing clothes and cooking meals, tasking him with gathering supplies and treasures. She truly treated him like a servant—occasionally feeding him, listening to his input, keeping her promises, and raising him with the same earnest care one might give a puppy.

Any social interactions she disliked were tossed his way. He would usually carry out the tasks perfectly, a faint smile on his lips.

Though he was bound to obey her, the boy was not beaten or oppressed. Instead, he lived the life of an ordinary servant and was even permitted to practice cultivation.

"To be honest," Vane said, "...when we first met, the fact that you neither took my life nor treated me like a beast was already an act of mercy."

Zora ignored him. Zora_staring_into_blank_space.jpg

"..."

Vane nodded. "I understand. I will become your most powerful... puppet."

The Oracle: [?]

The Oracle: [Wait... You’re acting as his servant, his father, and his mother all at once, and you still think this way? Is there something wrong with your head?]

It wasn't until Zora eventually crossed paths with the original protagonists of the book that the Oracle truly understood what "abnormal logic" and "stunningly unique comprehension" looked like.

More terrifyingly, the mission was actually being completed.

The Oracle: ...Beyond speechless.

Chapter 1: The Transmigration

Zora opened her eyes.

Before her was not the circular stone ceiling of the Arena, but a world of pure white. Heavy snow weighed down withered branches until they sagged; the sky was cloudless, though largely obscured by the surrounding trees.

Where was she?

As someone who had been locked in the Arena since childhood, surviving match after match, Zora’s vigilance wasn't actually as sharp as those who feared her like a venomous snake might imagine.

After all, the Arena was merely a circular stage ten meters in diameter.

So, had she been moved here without noticing?

A cold wind swept past, and a voice appeared right on cue.

[Hello, Host! Since the Host has died, you have been granted a second chance at life—you only need to complete the missions issued by the system to be resurrected!]

The voice faded, and aside from that, all was silent. The snow muffled all sound, swallowing the clamor of living things, leaving only a hollow stillness.

Wind moved through the trees, occasionally whistling.

Zora was still wrapped in a dark, padded coat. She stood up, her boots sinking an inch into the soft snow, yet she stood exceptionally steady and straight.

The Oracle saw her look left and right, then stare expressionlessly into the depths of the woods, ignoring it entirely. It called out again: [Host? Host! You are currently inside a book. Your mission is to capture the heart of the villain and prevent him from destroying the world. Once completed, you can choose to return or stay in this world.]

Zora looked down. In the snow lay a thumb-wide stream of red liquid, trembling as it flowed until it reached a spot a meter away from her, where the freezing temperature caused it to congeal and stop completely.

There was no warning of immediate danger nearby; this was likely the aftermath of a finished battle.

She followed the trail, her feet sinking and rising as she walked through the deep snow.

[Host! Can you hear me!! Host, host, host!]

Only then did Zora press her hand to her head, frowning. "...Am I sick?"

The Oracle: [You’re not sick! I’m a real existence!]

According to the Oracle, this was a high-magic world of cultivation, far beyond the low-magic, backward world Zora came from. It was more dangerous and vast, and she was the host brought here by the system after her death to complete the mission.

Zora accepted the fact that a strange thing was residing in her mind quite peacefully.

Rather, aside from the flash of blades or the warmth of food, almost nothing could stir her heart.

But as she walked, another person’s memories arrived abruptly, forcing her to stop and lean against a tree.

Those memories had been snatched by the system from the mind of a deceased cultivator, exchanged for a chance for that soul to reincarnate into a galactic world. It wasn't everything—only the knowledge that person had acquired. Their social relationships were largely unknown to her, and she only understood a bit of the common sense of ancient life, such as eating and lodging.

It was as if the system had shoved a gigabyte of study material into her head.

Well... maybe not a full gigabyte. That person might have been a loafer who dabbled in everything but mastered nothing. The only things they had truly delved into were some heterodox, "crooked path" tricks.

Once she finished digesting it, a book appeared in her mind.

The expression on Zora’s still-youthful face immediately darkened.

She looked dead serious. Because she was only fourteen and had spent her entire life in the socially isolated Arena, her features held a unique blend of ignorance and stubbornness, like a young cub raised in the mountains without any guidance.

"I hate reading."

[You have to read it anyway. It's only about five hundred thousand words; you can finish it in a day or two. This is the treasure that will save your life!]

At the mention of saving her life, Zora looked closer.

Fifteen minutes passed, and she hadn't even finished the first three hundred words of the first page.

Zora’s eyes began to glaze over.

[...You are definitely daydreaming, aren't you!?]

Zora: "...It’s too cold here."

[Sigh...]

[Fine. Once we’ve settled down, I’ll read it to you. You just listen.]

The Oracle continued to nag, more anxious than the person involved. [Oh, right. Follow the bloodstains quickly. That’s where the stranded villain is. He hasn't joined an immortal sect yet. This is the perfect time to offer him warmth while he’s weak.]

Zora followed the red blood on the ground. The woods were cluttered, making the path ahead hard to see. After a few meters, she took another step, and the dense branches finally parted, revealing a clear space.

Before her was a patch of flat ground, containing only snow, corpses, and frozen red.

Three bodies. It seemed a fierce battle had taken place; two of them were a team, hunting the third. The factions were clearly divided.

[Quick, the villain is in there. Take care of him, and you’ll secure the status of the savior who saved his life!]

Zora walked over to one of the bodies, swapped the woman’s padded outer robe for her own, and put her own jacket on the corpse as an exchange.

Only now did she look a bit more like a local.

Behind her, the teenage "corpse" who had fought against two people lay prone on the ground. Suddenly, he coughed out a puff of white mist as if coming back to life, the vapor vanishing instantly against his face. He lifted his head slightly, his mouth and forehead covered in bruises. He was in a wretched state, his clothes unable to block the freezing wind, his body covered in wounds.

His eyes, however, were like a wolf’s—strikingly bright. His pupils were clear and sharp, overflowing with wary, vicious emotions as if he intended to devour someone.

"What is the mission?" Zora asked softly.

[Target the villain, capture his heart, and prevent the villain from destroying the world.]

The boy was clearly at the end of his rope.

Zora’s expression remained the same—looking quite innocent and naive—but her hand unhurriedly drew a blade strapped to her thigh beneath the robe. The edge was sharp, having harvested countless lives; the bright white light reflected off the snow, momentarily dazzling.

Vane was already too weak to maintain any action. He couldn't move; his primary cultivation meridians were severed, and the power he had painstakingly gathered had vanished.

He could only glare hatefully as the girl approached step by step. Even though she carried no killing intent and looked like an ordinary person, he still used the last of his strength to throw a small knife.

Zora tilted her head to dodge it.

He wanted to kill her.

[? Wait, what are you doing?]

"Stopping him."

With a single slash, as easy as cutting through tofu, a neat blade mark appeared on the boy’s ankle. Warm blood scrambled to pour out.

He let out a muffled groan, clutching a handful of snow.

In the next instant, the blade moved to his wrist. Intense pain followed. Vane’s rasping voice sounded in her ear, like a trapped beast on the verge of death.

The moment the wound appeared, he blacked out.

Zora let out a long sigh and wiped her forehead, feeling she had perfectly completed half the mission. Her mood was light.

"If he's crippled, he won't be able to destroy the world anymore. Next is the 'capturing his heart' part."

[...] The Oracle watched the whole process dumbstruck. It took a long time before it started screaming: [What are you doing! You crippled him! He's the villain of the book—he’ll definitely have all sorts of opportunities to resurrect and reshape himself. What happens when he comes for revenge then!]

[Idiot! You’re an idiot! And cold-blooded! How is it possible to 'capture his heart' like this!]

Zora showed a hint of confusion.

The Oracle took a sharp breath. [Logically speaking, he hasn't destroyed the world yet. You shouldn't have turned him into this.]

"Oh," Zora paused, then asked, "Do I need a reason to kill or cripple someone?"

In the Arena, she either killed or died. Who would stop to see if someone had made a mistake? Besides, crippling someone meant one less danger in the future. Why wouldn't she do it?

[...]

The Oracle felt a headache coming on. Her unique upbringing had resulted in an abnormal way of thinking.

"He just tried to kill me." Zora found a loophole and retorted as if filing a complaint.

He wanted to kill her, so she crippled him—she considered that merciful. Zora thought to herself.

The Oracle sighed again. [Generally, most hosts are heart and soul devoted to being good to the target. Who starts by pointlessly torturing the target's body? Who’s going to like someone who tortures them... This is going to be hard now. I’m afraid he’ll come for revenge, let alone anything else.]

"Will he be very strong later?"

The Oracle said seriously: [Very strong. In the end, he actually surpassed the original protagonist and successfully destroyed the world.]

The Oracle sighed incessantly, full of regret that it had bound itself to a heartless block of wood.

Zora automatically filtered out the noise.

In any case, her initial intention was simply to ensure he had no mobility so he couldn't harm her. Only then could they talk about other things.

She tried dragging the boy. There was a cave not far away.

However, an unconscious person is heavier than a conscious one. His entire weight pressed against her, and since she wasn't the strength-focused type, she couldn't move him.

She let go of his arm, and the boy’s slightly raised upper body crashed back onto the snow.

Zora crouched in front of him, staring at him blankly for a moment.

She rarely used her brain; she was usually very straightforward.

The winter air in the woods was biting, the light cold and vast, the snow like sand.

Amidst the Oracle's pained voice, the girl, with a serious face, placed her frozen hands over the boy’s wrists. The warm blood continued to flow, gushing across her palms. It felt wonderful.

The Oracle’s crying stopped abruptly, replaced by a strange squawk. [Ack—Are you using him as a hand warmer?]

"Mhm. It’s so cold."

[...]

A host earnestly using a dying target for warmth—a scene never before seen in a thousand years. The image was too bizarre; the Oracle wanted to gouge its own eyes out.