Chapter 1: The Demon and the Saint

The Steel Ball Run race, a grueling cross-continental marathon spanning approximately 6,000 kilometers, began at 10:00 AM on September 25, 1890. Starting on the Pacific shores of San Diego and ending in New York, it was humanity's first attempt to traverse the North American continent on horseback.

The competition was open to participants of all nationalities, races, social statuses, and skill levels. Even the transportation requirements were minimal: anything rideable, whether horse, vehicle, or even just walking, was allowed.

It was a wildly ambitious undertaking, especially considering that motorcycles were still rare and horses remained the primary mode of transportation. To make matters even more challenging, participants were forbidden from switching transportation during the race, which would take over two months to complete even with daily travel.

But none of this mattered to Loops.

Firstly, she couldn't afford the exorbitant entry fee of $1,200, which had already deterred most potential participants. Even if she could scrape it together, she wouldn't waste it on a mere chance to compete.

Secondly, despite the organizers' lofty rhetoric about inclusivity, the rules implicitly limited participation to humans and their modes of transport.

"Meow."

Clearly, a cat—no matter how plump and adorable—could never qualify.

If there was any tenuous connection at all, it was that Loops happened to be loitering near the race's halfway point. But even that was irrelevant; aside from a few daredevils willing to risk shortcuts, who in their right mind would detour through the water-scarce central desert?

"Warning: Host is severely dehydrated. Please replenish fluids immediately."

"Warning: Host is critically malnourished. Please consume food to restore energy immediately."

The system in her head kept issuing warnings, but in this land of endless yellow sand, where could one even find a single thing that resembled food? Not to mention humans with survival knowledge—Loops was, both before and after transmigration, just a regular cat. This was clearly fatal.

"Hungry." The little furball lay unmoving on the scorching sand. The blazing sun had dried out her eyes so much they were visibly sunken.

The cat could no longer move.

Sure, wild beasts had their own ways of surviving—like using urine to leave scent markers for navigation. But this sandy terrain felt alive, swallowing even footprints the moment they were made.

Locals called this place the Devil's Palm.

From above, the rock formations looked like demonic claws stretching out from the sand. According to legend, it was the cursed impact site of a meteor long ago.

Compasses were useless here. Shifting sands caused the land to move, making mountains vanish or conjure up unmarked canyons on maps.

It didn't even stay in one fixed location within the desert. It wandered constantly, its size and boundary still unknown to this day.

"Meow..."

How many days had passed? The cat had no concept of time. All she knew was that she had never been so thirsty. She could only hear a buzzing in her ears and see endless white light.

This was a warning of imminent death—yet it dragged on for nearly ten hours without taking the weak furball's life.

A miracle, or perhaps a divine sign.

Besides causing disorientation and movement, the Devil's Palm also possessed a lesser-known ability: it could awaken dormant, unknown powers in the human body. This physical manifestation of spiritual energy was called Stand Power.

Perhaps finally remembering to help its poor host, the not-so-intelligent system suddenly spoke up again:

"First-time system binding bonus: One Summoning Scroll, usable to summon a compatible lifeform from the multiverse. Use now?"

The cat didn't respond, her consciousness still hazy.

"Host's vitals are critically low. Countdown to automatic use: 10, 9... 2, 1."

A scroll unfurled across the sand like a roll of toilet paper. The warm air froze, and humidity appeared in the middle of the desert, bringing a brief comfort to the water-starved cat.

Then, the sand suddenly split open into a swampy mire, oozing foul and malevolent intent.

The sudden moisture helped the cat regain some awareness. Her fur stood on end, and she instinctively raised her tail in a last-ditch warning gesture.

Then a thick, muffled voice full of amused interest echoed beside her:

"Girl, your desires are as rich as a gambler's wallet."

A tall, fat figure emerged. Its massive body needed two overcoats sewn together just to be covered. Though described this way, it wasn't human at all.

Its skin was slick like an aquatic creature, its limbs short and stubby, mimicking human form. Its head was nearly bigger than the rest of its body, with no visible neck. Its gaping mouth could swallow a human whole—not an exaggeration—with small, uneven teeth that were only "small" relative to itself.

Thick whiskers, as wide as a human arm, jutted from both sides of its upper lip. From the cat's low angle, those sinister little eyes were completely hidden by them.

It was a bizarre creature, somewhere between a toad and a catfish, and wore an incongruously tiny gentleman's top hat.

A demon—one not of this world.

"Meow—" the cat gave a feeble warning cry.

The demon studied her for a long while—or more precisely, the dark, near-materialized spirit energy emanating from her.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the cat clearly saw the demon grin with its disturbingly large mouth—though its natural appearance already resembled a constant grin.

As if seeing straight through her heart's deepest desire, it spoke:

"Let me guess. Right now, you're craving a feast like a leaky slop bucket craves leftovers. My lady, why don't we strike a deal—exchange your extra whiskers for a gourmet meal?"

A cat's whiskers are never expendable.

But compared to her growling stomach, they suddenly seemed less important.

"Meow." Though not quite understanding, the cat agreed to the deal.

To a cat, the human world was always full of incomprehensible things.

"Meow!" This time was her last burst of strength, urging him on.

The demon grinned again, diving headfirst into the swamp it had created. As it did, the cat's whiskers vanished.

When the demon resurfaced, storm clouds blocked the sun. Wind roared and kicked up sand, followed by a downpour heavy enough to drink straight from the air.

But the "feast" promised to the cat was not what anyone would call food.

It was a dried, mummified spine—just one part of a corpse.

"Eat."