Chapter 13

Chapter 13

It stood at the doorway, not entering immediately.

To it, the Unfinished Draft Archive was like a ball of burning mist. With every step closer, its silhouette was rewritten. Ink stains began to appear on its suit collar, and the edges of its gloves curled as if scorched by fire, revealing dense rows of rule-coding beneath.

“Lin Zhaowan.” It spoke, its voice carrying genuine fury for the first time. “Leave the document.”

I sat at the computer and placed my hands on the keyboard.

“Are you afraid of being written in?”

“An author has no right to define a Judge.”

“Then why do you always use my discarded drafts to define me?”

It fell silent for a moment. Suddenly, it raised its hand, and the entire Author Tower began to shake violently. Floating titles crashed down like rain. Xu Zhibai was knocked back two steps by the tremors, while Zhou Rang emerged from deep within the pages and pulled her aside.

“It’s invoking Central Control Authority,” the other me whispered. “Write, quickly! Don’t fight it for sentences; fight it for the narrative.”

I took a deep breath and typed the first line.

“The Rule Hunter was born in a novel that could never be finished.”

A system prompt immediately popped up on the screen:

“Draft being recorded.”

The Rule Hunter stepped through the door. The black book in its hand flew open, and countless sentences soared from its pages, attempting to overwrite my words.

“The Rule Hunter is not bound by the author.”

“The Rule Hunter possesses the authority to terminate the Draft.”

“The Rule Hunter…”

I didn’t bother countering its sentences at all. Instead, I continued writing.

“It believes all stories should have a conclusion, so what it fears most is the lack of one.”

“With every author it kills, it nails down one more rule for the System.”

“Until one day, it was written as the protagonist.”

The Rule Hunter’s figure froze.

This was its fatal weakness.

The safest position for a Judge is to stand outside the story, responsible for judging others. Once it is dragged into the story and becomes a “character” who must experience the rising and falling actions of a plot, its absolute authority is automatically dismantled by the narrative.

It finally grew desperate and lunged directly at me. The other me slammed her hand down on the keyboard, blocking the first strike for me. A large chunk of her shoulder was instantly torn away, looking like a sheet of paper being brutally ripped.

“Keep writing!” she hissed. “Don’t stop!”

I gritted my teeth and continued typing, my hands moving so fast they nearly cramped.

“The protagonist must seek answers.”

“The protagonist cannot skip Chapter Seven.”

“Every time the protagonist attempts to escape, they will return to the beginning of the story to face the people they have killed once again.”

As I hammered out each sentence, another layer of ink lines appeared on the Rule Hunter’s suit. It began to look less like an Executor and more like a character being forcibly shaped. Cracks appeared on its face for the first time-not revealing flesh and blood, but fluttering pages of blank paper.

It stared at me fixedly.

“You are taking revenge.”

I finally looked up at it, my voice very soft.

“Of course I am.”