Max woke up with a start, his chest heaving as if he had just escaped the jaws of death itself. His dark brown hair was damp with sweat, plastered against his forehead like a second skin, and his deep blue eyes—unnaturally vibrant in this world of muted colors—darted frantically around the room. His fair skin glistened under the soft morning light that filtered through tattered curtains, casting fractured patterns across his cramped quarters. Though only seventeen, the intensity in his expression spoke of someone who had witnessed lifetimes.
"What the hell..." he muttered under his breath, wiping sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. The digital clock on his bedside table read 6:17 AM, but the mana detector beside it pulsed an ominous red—indicating higher than normal concentrations in the area. Outside his window, sirens wailed distantly; another breach, perhaps, or just a routine drill. In this world, you could never be too careful.
His fingers, still quivering, reached for the glass of water on his nightstand. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat as he gulped it down desperately. Setting the empty glass back with a soft clink, Max closed his eyes and sat perfectly still, trying to calm the hurricane raging within his mind.
For several minutes, he remained motionless, his breathing gradually slowing as he centered himself using the meditation techniques taught at the Academy. Finally, he broke the heavy silence, speaking aloud as if to anchor himself to reality.
"So... I guess this is reality," he said, his voice laced with equal parts disbelief and resignation.
The holographic projector on his desk flickered to life automatically, displaying the day's alerts: "Dungeon breach in Sector 7. All civilians advised to remain indoors. Class A adventurers requested at the southern perimeter."
Max ignored it, too consumed by the flood of memories surging through his consciousness. "I don't know how," he whispered, "but after falling asleep yesterday, I started remembering... everything." His voice dropped even lower, as if afraid someone might be listening. "Memories of my previous life. A world where there were no monsters, no dungeons, no elves or dragons or dwarves." He laughed bitterly. "Just peace. It was so different from this nightmare we call home."
He stood up, walking to the window to gaze at the reinforced city walls in the distance. The morning sun glinted off the mana-infused barriers that had been erected after the last major incursion—a desperate attempt to keep the horrors at bay for just a little longer.
"Back there," he continued, fogging the glass with his breath, "the government didn't need to fight just to survive. Adventures weren't a necessity—they were a choice. And most of all..." A genuine smile crept onto his face. "Games. They were everywhere. Not for training, not for survival. Just... fun."
He turned back to his room, eyeing the training simulator in the corner—a mandatory installation in every citizen's home since the Great Accord of 2387. "It's so hard to believe—in that world, they had only computers and mobiles. They were so... primitive. But despite their limitations, they created amazing games. Using such low-powered devices, they managed to bring people joy, creativity, and fun."
His hand traced over the simulator's cold surface. Unlike the sleek, responsive neural interfaces of this world, the games he remembered were tactile, imperfect, yet somehow more human.
"And here?" He gestured around him. "We have computers, mobiles, neural interfaces, and even game cores... but our games are nowhere near what they created. We only use them to train ourselves, to improve our chances of survival." His eyes hardened with determination. "But in that world, games were made for fun, to enjoy."
A notification pinged on his wrist communicator—a reminder for his mandatory combat training session at 8:00 AM. Max dismissed it with a swipe.
"I have to change that," he declared, his voice growing stronger with each word. "With the knowledge I have of games from my previous life, I'll show this world what real games can be. Not just tools for survival—but windows into imagination, creativity... humanity."
As the thought crystallized in his mind, the air in the room seemed to shift, growing denser, almost electric. Then, a voice—smooth as silk yet ancient as time itself—echoed directly in his mind.
"Yes, host. You must make games to grow stronger."
Max's entire body went rigid, his enhanced reflexes immediately activating as his right hand reached for the emergency mana weapon concealed beneath his pillow. "Who's there?!" he demanded, his voice wavering despite his attempt at bravery.
The voice responded with an almost amused calmness. "I am the system. You might already be familiar with me from the webnovels in your previous world."
Max's jaw dropped as the implications crashed over him like a tidal wave. His hand fell away from the weapon as he sank back onto his bed. "Wait... you're the one who gave me these memories, aren't you?" he asked, struggling to process this new reality.
"Yes," the system replied, its voice neither male nor female, yet somehow comforting in its certainty. "You were selected as the host, and as a novice gift package, it was decided to grant you the memories of your previous world."
A strange glyph appeared in Max's field of vision—a complex pattern of light that seemed to shift and change the longer he looked at it. Status bars and numerical values hovered at the edges of his perception, just like in the games he remembered.
"So... that's how I got those memories," he whispered, his mind racing with possibilities and implications.
The system's voice continued, steady and unwavering. "I am the Creator System. With my assistance, you can bring your knowledge of games to this world and use it to grow in power."
Max's eyes widened as the system displayed a world map in his mind's eye, showing the current territories controlled by different races—humans clinging to the remains of North America, elves spreading through Europe and Asia, dragon territories dominating Africa and parts of South America, with dwarven strongholds scattered throughout mountain ranges across the globe.
"As the host is aware, your world, which is also called Earth, was exposed to mana 400 years ago. With it came dungeons, and from the dungeons emerged monsters." The images in Max's mind shifted to show historical footage he recognized from school—the First Emergence, when portals tore through reality in major cities worldwide.
"In this peculiar situation, many individuals awakened to fight these creatures. However, countless countries perished, and many lives were lost, as the awakened individuals were initially only at F or E ranks."
The system conjured images of the early battles—poorly equipped humans with minimal magical abilities facing hordes of nightmarish creatures. Max's stomach churned at the realistic depictions of devastation.
"After years of relentless battles, America became the last stronghold, protected by a handful of S-rank individuals," the system continued. Images of the legendary "Seven Shields" appeared—heroes whose names every schoolchild learned, who had sacrificed everything to hold the line. "They fought valiantly, but the tide of monsters seemed endless."
The imagery shifted again, showing massive vessels descending from the skies. "Then, one day, the elves, dragons, and dwarves arrived on Earth. Having lost their own planets to the same mana corruption that now plagued Earth, they came seeking a new place to live."
Max watched, fascinated despite himself, as the historical footage showed the first contact meetings—tense standoffs between human representatives and the otherworldly visitors. "Their arrival sparked fierce battles across many continents. Eventually, they claimed different regions as their own."
"After much conflict, the leaders of all races convened and made a pact: no race would invade the territory of another." The system showed footage of the famous Treaty of New Geneva, when human representatives stood dwarfed beside dragon lords and the impossibly beautiful elven dignitaries.
"Humans, however, could do little to oppose this agreement, as their ranks included only a handful of S-rank individuals, while the other races boasted many SS-rank powerhouses. Knowing the thoughts of humankind, the other races shared knowledge with them to avoid appearing ungrateful for taking over their planet."
Max's hands clenched into fists. The historical accounts taught in school always painted the sharing of knowledge as generosity, but the system's phrasing exposed the truth—it was merely a token gesture to pacify a conquered species.
"So that's how humanity managed to survive," he murmured, bitterness evident in his tone.
The system continued impassively. "It was through this knowledge that humans learned about the dungeons. When adventurers killed the monster bosses on each floor, they discovered gems. These gems were fragments of the dungeon seed and could be used to build training grounds."
A new array of images appeared—various ranks from F to SSS, with comparative power levels and abilities. Max had seen similar charts in his training manuals, but never with such detail.
"These training grounds allowed individuals to grow stronger, with ranks ranging from F to SSS. However, creating such places required adventurers with the potential to connect to dungeon cores."
The system paused, then added, "To identify these individuals, they must hold a dungeon core and let their mana flow into it. If the core glows, it means they have the potential to create worlds of varying ranks, depending on the core's power. However, such individuals are rare. Only 10% of each race possesses this capability."
Max leaned back on his bed, running a hand through his still-damp hair. His mind raced with the possibilities his newfound knowledge presented. In his previous memories, he had been a passionate game designer—someone who understood the intricate balance of challenge and reward, immersion and accessibility.
"But to recreate the games from my previous world... it'll take too much time," he said, frustration evident in his voice. "The details, the mechanics, everything... my brain might just burst from the effort. And I don't even have enough mana to build those games quickly." He glanced at his personal mana meter on his wrist device—barely E-rank, nothing special.
The system's calm voice interrupted his spiral of doubt. "Host does not need to worry. The system can handle the calculations and turn your imagination into reality by using your mana more efficiently. You simply need to visualize it."
A translucent interface appeared before Max's eyes, showing complex mana equations and energy conversion rates that would allow him to create far more with his limited resources than should be theoretically possible.
Max's expression transformed, a genuine grin spreading across his face for the first time since awakening. "Really? You're like a golden finger," he said, referencing the cheat mechanisms from the webnovels of his remembered past.
The system remained silent at his joke, its lack of response causing Max to chuckle softly to himself. For the first time since receiving these dual sets of memories, he felt a sense of purpose taking shape within him.
"Alright," he said, his voice filled with newfound determination as he straightened his shoulders. Outside, another siren wailed, but this time he barely noticed it. "If that's the case, let's get started."
A notification chimed softly in his mind as the system displayed his first quest:
[QUEST INITIATED: Create your first game using the Creator System] [Reward: Increased mana capacity, System feature unlock] [Time limit: 7 days]
Max smiled, cracking his knuckles as he moved toward his desk. In a world obsessed with survival and power, he would remind everyone of something they had forgotten long ago—the simple joy of play.
THROW GEMS