The system assigned me a class when I arrived in Dugara.
Not Warrior. Not Mage. Not even a common Scout.
CONDEMNED.
Penal classification. Corrupted soul migration. No support provided.
Everyone assumed I was a criminal. The guilds turned me away. The dungeons tried to kill me before I could reach the first floor. And the system — the great, infallible system that governs every living soul in this world — gave me skills that didn't work, stats that broke the interface, and a System Affinity score that somehow read as negative.
I should have panicked.
Instead, I read the Admin Logs.
Because when my broken interface first opened, the migration script hadn't finished clearing my debug access. And buried inside those logs, between error reports and corrupted soul records, I found a single directive:
Scheduled shutdown in 10 years. All system infrastructure to be decommissioned. Phase 1 initiation: complete.
The system isn't punishing me.
The system is dying.
No one else knows. Not the Legendary-class hero who believes in it with his whole chest. Not the bureaucratic god maintaining it from his archive in the West. Not the woman assigned to monitor me — who can't figure out why her tracking skill won't lock onto my position.
Just me.
So no, I'm not here to save this world. I'm not here to clear dungeons and climb ranks and become the system's chosen champion. I'm here to build something the system can't touch — before it takes everything built on top of it down with it.
The CONDEMNED label might be right about me.
I'm starting to think it is.
A LitRPG progression story about a man who knows the ending before the first chapter starts — and builds anyway.
