Dying was expensive.
Ren Zexian knew this better than anyone. As a senior forensic accountant for the federal government, he had spent the last decade tearing apart the hidden ledgers of billionaires. He knew that even in death, there were probate costs, inheritance taxes, and funeral fees.
But as he gasped for air, his lungs filling with the taste of sulfur and rotting meat instead of the sterile oxygen of an ICU, he realized a horrifying truth.
Waking up was going to cost him even more.
"Get up, trash! The quota isn't going to fill itself!"
A whip cracked. The sound was wet and heavy, like leather slapping against raw meat.
Ren's eyes snapped open.
He wasn't in a hospital room. He was lying face-down in a slurry of gray mud and jagged metal scraps. Above him, there was no sky—only a ceiling of rusted iron plates that stretched on endlessly, dripping condensation that smelled like old copper.
Where is this?
He tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled. They were thin, malnourished sticks of bone wrapped in pale skin. These weren't his hands. His hands had been callous-free, stained with ink and coffee. These hands were scarred, bleeding, and caked in grime.
A headache split his skull open. It wasn't a migraine; it was an data transfer.
Ren Zexian. Age 17. Bond-slave of the Iron-Tooth Scrapyard. Level: Mortal (Malnourished). Cause of Death: Exhaustion.
Memories that didn't belong to him flooded his cortex. A world without a sun. A massive, infinite tower called the Gilded Spire. Cultivators flying on swords made of pure capital. And the slaves—the 'Debtors'—who lived in the mud of the lowest floor, stripping scrap metal to buy another day of life.
"I... transmigrated?" Ren whispered, his voice raspy.
He had died exposing a conglomerate's fraud, only to wake up in a cosmic sweatshop.
Before he could process the absurdity of it, a chime rang out. It didn't come from the world around him. It rang inside his soul.
[Ding!]
[System Rebooted. Host Identity Confirmed.] [Welcome to the Grand Ledger.]
A translucent golden screen materialized in his vision. It hovered over the mud, glowing with an arrogant brilliance.
— USER PROFILE —
Name: Ren Zexian
Rank: Debtor (Class F)
Cultivation: None
Current Assets: 0 Karma
Current Liabilities (Inherited): 5,000 Karma
Net Worth: -5,000 Karma
[CRITICAL ALERT] [User is insolvent. Interest payment missed.] [Time until Liquidation (Total Existence Erasure): 23 Hours, 59 Minutes.]
Ren stared at the screen. The accountant in him woke up before the survivor did.
"Negative five thousand," he muttered. "And liquidation in twenty-four hours."
In this world, 'Liquidation' wasn't a metaphor. It meant the Grand Ledger would reclaim the Qi that made up your soul to pay off your debt. You wouldn't just die; you would be deleted.
He had twenty-four hours to make a profit, or he would be erased from history.
"Hey! Are you deaf?"
A boot slammed into Ren's ribs, flipping him over into the mud.
Ren groaned, clutching his side. Looming over him was a massive man wearing leather armor reinforced with scrap iron. He held a whip that crackled with faint, static electricity.
A Overseer.
"You've been sleeping for ten minutes, Ren," the Overseer spat, his yellow teeth baring in a sneer. "That's ten minutes of stolen time. That's coming out of your rations."
Ren looked up. His instinct from Earth kicked in—assess the threat, analyze the leverage.
But as he looked at the Overseer, his left eye suddenly burned. It wasn't pain. It felt like someone had poured liquid gold into his iris. The world flickered, and numbers began to cascade over the Overseer's head like a corrupted spreadsheet.
[Target: Overseer Ma]
Current Value: 150 Karma
Projected Value (1 Day): 151 Karma
Risk Assessment: Low Return / Low Volatility.
Note: A stagnant asset. Not worth investing in.
Ren blinked. What is this?
He looked away from the Overseer and down at the pile of scrap metal he was lying on. The golden text shifted instantly.
He looked at a rusted iron rod. [Rusted Iron]
Current Value: 0.01 Karma
Future Value: 0.01 Karma (Junk)
He looked at a shattered piece of copper. [Scrap Copper]
Current Value: 0.05 Karma
Future Value: 0.05 Karma (Junk)
"Get up!" Overseer Ma raised the whip again, electricity buzzing. "Go dig in Sector 4! If you don't find a Spirit Shard by sundown, I'm selling your organs to the bio-refinery!"
Ren scrambled to his feet. "Going. I'm going."
He limped away toward the mounds of trash, his mind racing.
He could see the value of things. Not just what they were worth now, but what they would be worth. This wasn't just an appraisal skill. It was insider trading.
He reached Sector 4, a mountain of industrial waste discarded by the lofty sects in the Middle Realms above. To them, this was garbage. To the Debtors, it was a minefield.
Ren started digging. His hands bled, but he ignored it. He scanned every item rapidly.
Junk. Junk. Junk. Slight profit. Junk.
The numbers were depressing. The trash here had already been picked clean. If he only found scrap metal, he would earn maybe 2 Karma a day. He needed 5,000.
"I need volatility," Ren muttered, his eyes scanning the debris frantically. "I need something mispriced."
He climbed higher up the trash mountain, away from the other slaves. The air grew thinner, the smell of sulfur stronger.
Then, he saw it.
It was sitting in a puddle of toxic sludge—a black, charred lump of wood. It looked like a piece of burnt charcoal, something you'd kick aside without a second thought.
But when Ren's left eye focused on it, the golden text didn't just appear. It exploded.
[Object: Scorched lightning Wood (Dormant)]
Current Value: 0.5 Karma (Appears as burned timber)
Hidden Attribute: Contains a condensed trace of Heavenly Tribulation Lightning inside the core.
Activation Requirement: Exposure to blood.
Projected Value (After Activation): 10,000 Karma.
ROI (Return on Investment): 2,000,000%
Ren's heart stopped.
Ten thousand Karma.
That was enough to pay his debt, buy his freedom, and still have enough left over to hire Overseer Ma just to fire him.
He reached out, his trembling fingers closing around the black lump of wood. It was warm.
"Found something, rat?"
Ren froze.
He turned around. Three other slaves had followed him up the mound. They were gaunt, desperate men with hollow eyes. They held jagged shanks made of sharpened scrap metal.
"You're smiling," the lead slave rasped. "People only smile here when they find something good."
Ren clutched the charcoal to his chest. He looked at the three men.
His eye flashed.
[Target: Slave A]
Current Value: 2 Karma
Future Value (10 Minutes): 0 Karma (Deceased)
Ren's lips curled up. It wasn't a smile of joy. It was the cold, predatory smirk of a man who just realized he was the only shark in a pool of minnows.
"I found a way out," Ren said softly. "But I'm afraid the market is closed for you."
He tightened his grip on the wood. The jagged bark cut into his palm. His blood dripped onto the dormant core.
Activation Requirement Met.
A low hum began to vibrate in his hand, sounding like the distant roar of thunder.