New Admin Function Unlocked

Given that the community was called the Doomed Novel Gallery, most of the people who found their way here were not exactly living easy lives.

Sure, there were occasional cases like love peace, who was simply prepping for academy entrance exams—but there were also worldviews like killer’s, where dozens of assassins were hunting her and her life hung by a thread that frayed every few minutes.

So I’d told myself I wouldn’t be surprised by whatever kind of person showed up.

That was before this guy started leaving comments like these.

His username was HollyTrust. On the board, he was the type who constantly peddled praise and told everyone to believe in God. People like him weren’t rare, surprisingly. love peace herself had gone all-in on a pacifist concept, after all. HollyTrust was simply a theist.

Strangely enough, though, that “God” of his was starting to feel more and more like it pointed to me.

What had begun as near-spam praise and worship gradually turned into the desperate pleas of someone starving for rescue. The flood of posts had gone far past anything you could write off as a joke. Honestly, by this point, it was starting to scare me.

No matter what I posted, HollyTrust had started worshipping me with fanatical devotion. I had no idea why. Things had gotten weird ever since I started uploading ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Archmage’s research journals—but the full-blown mania only kicked in after I put up a post like this:

The content was simple enough: use warp magic, and you can move to another dimension. We had all been transmigrated into different novels. The original doctrine held that interference between worlds was impossible—but after I posted that entry, the rules changed.

Someone else could save the world inside our novel.

If movement was possible, so was influence. In other words, for people trapped in despair, warp magic was nothing short of a colossal hope.

Take, for example, a world slammed by some enormous disaster, a country with nothing left in its stores. People there would have to kill just to scrounge food. Now flip it—imagine being transmigrated into a peaceful world, one that even had magic. Those people could mass-produce food, and their labor efficiency would be so high that the prices would be dirt cheap.

If the latter could supply goods to the former, what would that mean? For the desperate, it would be salvation itself.

I could roughly guess HollyTrust’s situation. He was almost certainly stuck in a hopeless world. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t be hunting for a god this hard, clawing after salvation like this.

Calling the admin or operator “God” was one of those ancient community pastimes—just another meme in the endless parade of board jokes, right up there with posts like [Upvote if you hate the Admin]. But this HollyTrust guy didn’t seem to be joking.

“What the hell is this?”

I muttered to myself—and before I knew it, Choi Yebin and love peace, who had gotten up at some point, were drifting toward me.

“Is something wrong?”

love peace—Riena—asked, and I showed her the Doomed Novel Gallery floating in the air.

“Eeeek… this person is a little scary. Why is he doing this?”

Choi Yebin nodded.

“Looks like you’ve picked up a stalker.”

“Riena, Choi Yebin. This is HollyTrust’s post and comment history. Dig through it with me—see if there’s anything useful.”

I sent love peace (Riena) and killer (Choi Yebin) each a private message with HollyTrust’s full writing record. There was simply too much to comb through alone, so I put the girls beside me to work.

Before long, Choi Yebin spoke up in her usual dry tone.

“I think I know why he’s like this.”

“Why? What did you find?”

“It’s in his older posts. This person is probably a Saintess in a world that’s already collapsing. Generally speaking, a Saintess grows stronger the deeper her faith runs—but looking at this, that world doesn’t seem to have a proper god at all. HollyTrust, from his early posts, begged every kind of deity for rescue. Buddhism, Christianity, religions I’ve never even heard of—he kept posting, desperate for a god to answer.”

Then Riena cried out from the side.

“I—I found something too!”

She turned her Gallery window toward us and pointed. There sat a single comment from HollyTrust, alone on the page.

I checked what he’d commented on—and it was his own post. The title read:

HollyTrust had a history of uploading prayers day after day—appeals that read like a diary, chronicling his circumstances one entry at a time.

“This person… isn’t there any way we can help him?”

Riena said it while staring at HollyTrust’s comment with open pity. I hesitated for a moment.

Do I really need to take that kind of risk?

Every time I warped into another novel, my body got slapped with restrictions. They usually lifted after about twenty-four hours—but the danger was the real problem. If I wanted to use Admin Warp to send HollyTrust supplies, I’d have to go to his world myself. I wasn’t exactly itching to shoulder more risk.

Decision made. I’ll ignore him.

And then—

I looked at the new Admin function and let out a short laugh.

Maybe HollyTrust really had been blessed by the gods after all.

After parting ways with love peace, I returned to my original novel. The moment I arrived, I ordered the Magic Tower disciples to bring me a massive stock of potions.

“What do you intend to use such a large quantity for?”

“A test.”

“Understood.”

Over a thousand low-grade potions. A substantial amount—but not remotely difficult to source. The Magic Tower was packed with skilled mages, and most of them could handle alchemy. Factoring in how alchemy efficiency scaled with a mage’s level, I could have stamped out a thousand low-grade potions by myself in no time. And thanks to my status as a war hero, I could mobilize the Tower’s mages however I pleased.

Easy to buy with money, easy to make myself, easy to mass-produce with assigned hands—and yet the thing still delivered solid, reliable wound recovery. Perfect for a test.

“Are you really going to do this?”

Choi Yebin asked in a worried voice, but I nodded.

Then I wrote a post on the spot.

The comment section went nuclear. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Normally half the replies would have been people calling me a troll—but because I’d released Part 3 of the Archmage’s research journal not long ago, people seemed to assume I was stating facts rather than baiting them.

I planned to scatter a thousand low-grade potions across a thousand people—just to confirm the items transferred cleanly, without defects.

Two hours later, I checked the post with a flutter of anticipation.

3,733 comments.

It was the highest comment count any post in Doomed Novel Gallery history had ever hit. Most of them were people begging for free feed they didn’t even understand—but a few took shots at me instead.

Unfortunately for them, those comments were about to get buried under a concentrated barrage of community fire.

Because just then, I heard a cheerful little chime.