Help! I'm the Plot Device: Just Here to Save the Heroes

When the World Glitched

The system made a sound that approximated a chuckle. “What happened, host—are you the one who tried to kill yourself this morning?”

Jerry rolled his eyes, a crooked smile. “The situation changed, system. I’m not ready to be killed by someone else. If I want to die, I’ll do it on my own terms.”

The system laughed harder this time. “I will clock you in the morning.”

“Fine.” Jerry eased back onto the bed, drawing the blankets up to his chin. “Good night.”

“Good night, host,” the system replied, softer now.

Jerry closed his eyes, but the embers of thought kept glowing. Something was cooking—deep and patient. He would start at the archives at first light.

🐱🧶🐱

Morning

The system woke him at dawn. Jerry dressed in a blur, the adrenaline from the night refusing to leave his limbs. He nearly bolted out of the chamber when the old eunuch intercepted him with a practiced half-bow.

“Wangye, court is starting — will you not attend?” the eunuch asked, cautious.

Jerry waved him off without patience. “Court can wait, uncle eunuch. I have something more important to do.”

The eunuch stiffened at the unfamiliar uncle, then bowed deeper and let him pass. Jerry did not look back. He went straight to the Imperial Library.

🐱

Grand Library

Hours blurred into the smell of old paper and binding glue. Scrolls, charts, budgets — ten years of governance lay unspooling before him — but nothing mentioned the conquest in the way the people celebrated it. After hours of fruitless searching he slid down the cold marble wall and sat on the floor, exhausted.

“Nothing. Like it never happened,” he said, more to himself than to the system.

Host, if we couldn’t find any details about a conquest people are celebrating right now—that itself is a hint.

Jerry dragged a hand down his face.
"A deeper conspiracy."

A servant padded in with a tray — tea and rice cakes — and set them down by the table. Jerry only waved them away, fingers already fumbling for another scroll. He poured a cup, holding it between his hands for warmth, and stared at the rippling surface.

We won’t find everything in the main stacks. We need the Deep Archives.

He slammed the cup down. The sound cracked in the hush as tea sloshed and stained the table. Dust motes trembled in the air as he turned, resolve hardening. “Then let’s go,” he said.

The under-archives were a different world: a narrow stone stair, low ceiling, scrolls stacked like the ribs of some ancient beast. He unearthed brittle reports until one papered breath later his eyes snagged on a document that read like a confession. Unrolled across his knees, it was a detailed report: the emperor’s conquests, and the incredible spread of Zhao’s power from one kingdom to an empire.

"Defeat after defeat… until the emperor went to the Temple of Shenluan and offered a sacrifice. From then on, victory after victory. The final, decisive war—against the kingdom of Qiannan—was won the same night Prince Zhao Yuanzhou was born. People claimed he was Heaven’s mandate incarnate. The emperor never lost again. His son inherited his bloodline, defeating the Shadow Clan."

Jerry exhaled sharply. "System, which temple is this—Shenluan Temple?"

A mountain temple on the outer border. It touches the Demon Empire’s lands.