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

Annan raised his eyebrows, becoming a bit more serious, "What does it say?"


"Because I still do not know to what extent Your Majesty understands me."


Philip grinned, saying, "I don't want to accidentally reveal something you don't yet know while making small talk. It's not just about whether I lose out, but whether you would believe it... If I divulged critical information and yet you did not believe it.


"It would not make me happy, and you wouldn't be pleased either—so that wouldn't be good, would it?"


"...what extent of understanding must I have about you?"


Annan's lips curled up, "I know that before the founding of Noah, you were an Elf—does that suffice?"


He picked up a plate of roasted meat just served by a servant.


Unreservedly, he grabbed a large, juicy piece of meat with his hand and chewed it vigorously.


Chapter 387 Philip: Losing the Smile.jpg