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

Even as they walked among the ruins of the Elves from a thousand years ago, Maria and her companions did not feel oppressed or fearful.


The place was so damaged that it was impossible to recognize any signs of a city. It looked like the remnants of an ancient civilization from thousands of years ago, walls crumbled and broken, or like a city washed over by missiles after a war. The original shapes of the buildings were almost unrecognizable.


It was even hard to tell whether a fallen wall was originally from here, half-disappeared, or if it had flown in from somewhere else.


Maria suddenly froze, stopping in her tracks.


The wind around her brought her more messages.


A very light whispering sound emerged by her ear. It was the remnants of something invisible… the influence named "Whispers of Elegance."


It felt as though a breeze brushed past her ear—Maria's hair moved as if by itself.


Chapter 392: The Dancer of Death's Throat