Not praying for ten strings

The Night Has Come, and kermesinus moon ascends in the sky.
Hoarse whispers flow at the street corners, and brass steam machines spew out bloody mist.
Your brain is singing a hymn, eyes are chanting a melody.
Skin cracks, and flesh buds swell.
Amidst the Mist, the wall of flesh that has devoured thousands of corpses wails endlessly—
"Weep not, our players don't bite, they just want to play with you."
Annan, the lone strategist, the top player, the savior of the mist-covered continent, the leader of the Thirteen Saints, the friend of the Twelve True Gods, the king of pioneers, "the Just", the Gatekeeper of the Fourth Calamity, the uncrowned deity, advised kindly.

Super Righteous Player

The deeper Annan ventured into the dungeon, the more he felt a bone-chilling coldness.


Especially since he had just broken into a sweat, and it had not completely dried yet. Now he felt even more acutely the pervading chill in the air.


"...This basement of yours, senior, is quite a tough environment,"


By the door, where it was close to the Philosopher's Stone, the temperature had soared over fifty degrees; whereas here in the dungeon, it's at least below zero—it's practically like a cold storage... Annan could even clearly see the white mist he exhaled with every breath.


He searched around the dungeon for a bit.


The first thing Annan found was the Black Fire that Salvatore had stored away.


They were all kept here, right against the wall. The white frosty air descended like a light veil, completely enveloping these Black Fires.


Annan suddenly remembered something as he looked at these Black Fires.


Chapter 189: Magic Mirror_1