Top Review:
World of Transcendence.
A novel that floated between cult acclaim and collective embarrassment—a dream stitched together by teenage fantasy and adolescent delusion.
Revered by some, ridiculed by many.
In a world where dragons flew beside mechas, the only thing predictable was how badly the story fell apart.
It had everything.
Technology bleeding into magic.
Mechas flying beside dragons.
Supernatural beasts battling A.I.-driven gods.
The laws of science sat next to ancient runes like old drinking buddies, and nobody dared to question the logic.
In this world, anything was possible—at least, that's what it claimed.
But reality—within the fiction—told a different story.
Only one person mattered.
The Protagonist.
A messiah with a perfectly chiseled jawline and a voice that made murderers cry.
His power?
Charisma. Empathy. Kindness. Morality.
A man who could defeat tyrants by holding their hands and whispering something about pain and childhood trauma.
A man whose sword struck down gods—only if they were male.
Enemies didn't stand a chance—unless they were beautiful women with trust issues.
Those, he saved.
Those, he loved.
Those, he converted.
Through love. Through teary speeches.
Through blushes and misunderstandings and healing magic that conveniently required physical contact.
And so, his harem grew.
And grew.
And grew…
Readers clung to those moments. The way the villainess slowly melted under his gaze. The quiet mornings after war. The endless chorus of "You changed me, my Lord…"
Some praised the setting—rich, layered, boundless in theory. A sandbox without walls.
But over time, cracks began to show.
People noticed how the male antagonists—no matter their depth—were always too far gone to be redeemed.
They died.
Gruesomely. Quietly. Off-screen, sometimes.
And when questioned, the story would whisper back:
"They couldn't be saved."
But the women? They could stab the protagonist's mother, burn down an orphanage, poison a city's water supply—and still be welcomed into his bed after a single tearful confession.
It was a story designed for boys who wanted to be gods with gentle hearts.
A tale about recognition, charm, limitless love, and the belief that you can have everything if you're just a little more special than everyone else.
And then—there were the "accidents."
He tripped on a tree branch once.The branch turned out to be a rare magical relic.
He fell into a ravine while jogging. Landed beside a treasure chest no one had ever found for thousands of years.
Inside?
A stamina potion… and a legendary weapon, of course.
The World of Transcendence promised grandeur—a sprawling epic of gods and demons and impossible power.
What it delivered?
A harem of tearful confessions, conveniently timed "accidents," and a protagonist so perfect he made saints look like sinners.
It was a comedy of convenience.
He saved villains with a smile and he defeated tyrants with a speech.
A divine comedy wearing the mask of a fantasy epic.
And in the end—twenty volumes later—when the Demon God finally fell, the protagonist took the villain's daughter by the hand…
And added her to the harem too.
That was the moment it ended.
With a kiss.
With controversy.
With readers hating it… and loving it… all at once.
A novel that flew too close to the sun, then landed in a rose garden… full of busty demon girls.
"The World of Transcendence." The best… and worst thing ever written.
1.2M 👍 2K 👎 200K ❤️
....
"Damn it."
William's voice broke the stillness, low and bitter.
He lounged on the crimson velvet sofa, one leg crossed over the other, elbow propped lazily on the armrest, eyes half-closed yet storming within.
He exhaled through his nose and chuckled darkly.
"I remember that review," he muttered. "The one that got nearly a million likes…"
His eyes traced the ornate carvings on the ceiling absently as his thoughts unspooled.
"The one that said this novel had everything—mecha, magic, politics, dragons, sci-fi nonsense, dungeon crawling, ancient gods—but no goddamn consistency."
He paused. Something surfaced from the back of his mind.
"But... Why can't I remember how William Rose died?"
The question hung in the room like a knife suspended in air.
He narrowed his eyes. He knew the story. He'd read it in his teenage years. But time… time blurred everything.
The only fragments that stuck were the moments that made no sense.
"Volume four…" he muttered.
"That's when the protagonist adds a Breakling to his harem."
And just like that, the pieces began falling into place.
"Right… there are no gods or demons in this world."
He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, as if speaking to the gods he now knew didn't exist.
"Only labels."
Magic-wielders were called Demons.
Aura-wielders were Knights.
Both are human.
But the people of this world, in their fear and superstition, had rewritten history—branding the gifted with names soaked in prejudice.
"And the worst part?" he murmured, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.
"It's hereditary."
Magic begets magic. Aura begets aura.
And the ones who couldn't wield either?
Just plain Human—the lowest rung in this warped society.
He opened his palm and looked at the faint light flickering across his fingertips.
"But when a Knight or a Demon mates with a Human?"
He smirked.
"Sometimes… nothing is born. Sometimes… a powerless human."
"But once in a blue moon… a Breakling appears."
He scoffed softly.
"Like me."
The words felt foreign and yet undeniable.
Only in the later volumes did the story clarify it: a Demon and a Knight could birth a Breakling—a being of fractured lineage and unstable gifts.
He stood up slowly, barefoot against the marble, walking past the curtain-swaying breeze, and back to the sofa.
"The knights still called themselves human. But demons? They weren't even allowed that. Just outcasts dressed in magic."
The log pulsed, capturing every word like scripture.
"In Volume ten or eleven…" he muttered, tracing the timeline in his head.
"That's when the real demons showed up, Monsters from another realm. That's when they finally admitted that our demons weren't demons at all—just mages. Just humans with magic."
"And, of course, the protagonist…" he said with mock reverence, "…makes a grand alliance between Knights and Mages to fight the 'real' evil."
He sneered.
"'You're not demons anymore, you're mages now.'"
"Because, you know, once an actual apocalypse rolls around, it's nice to have allies with fireballs."
"As always, only he could do it."
The log beside him flickered—recording everything, quietly.
"He forged the pact. United the mages and knights against the greater threat. A political savior with a smile that made villains cry."
William reached out, brushed his fingers along the spectral edge of the floating screen, watching the words scroll down.
Then more memories surged.
"Then came Volume Thirteen… that was when they realized the world was even bigger. They discovered dragons, mechs, interdimensional travelers. Hell, I think someone showed up in a goddamn exosuit."
He chuckled again.
"And they didn't even blink."
By now, his tone had gone from bitter to amused, like a man watching a fire consume a theatre and still applauding the performance.
"Then, Volume fifteen…"
He closed his eyes.
"The protagonist sends that same half-demon harem girl into a dungeon. She'd always been the weakest of the group."
"But that dungeon could only be accessed by the Breaklings."
"And she comes back a month later, stronger than before."
His fingers curled against the armrest.
"She had mastered something called Aether—a fusion of aura and magic. A technique created by a bored ancient dragon, probably during a lunch break or something."
He let out a dry laugh.
"With the help of the protagonist, She easily became one of the strongest harem members in his party."
"After she spreads the technique into the world, that's the evolution of power, the start of a new race of warriors… and the world gave a new title for Breaklings."
"Aetherbloods."
"Because why not."
He rubbed his temples, sighing.
"Then came the usual. More fights. More 'bonding.' More lovers."
He glanced sideways at the floating log.
"And then…" he said softly.
"The protagonist slays the Demon God and then marries his daughter."
"And all his harem clapped and smiled like obedient bridesmaids."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
William's gaze returned to the ceiling. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper:
"…and the story ended."
He sat in that stillness, lit only by moonlight and memory. The curtains swayed gently again, but this time it felt colder.
He turned to the glowing interface again.
[LOG ACTIVE]
Every word he'd spoken… had been recorded.