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

Upon hearing Annan's words, Philip's expression froze slightly.


He couldn't help but force a bitter smile, "Your Majesty, please don't tease me like this..."


"Is it merely teasing?" Annan chuckled and said, "Could it be that I am wrong? You have indeed lived for a very, very long time..."


Elves are silver-blooded people, born with condensed souls.


Though they may only be considered vassals to dragons... ordinary elves, wanting to live for two to three hundred years, should have no problems. Even if Philip's bloodline wasn't pure, and he was merely a half-elf... after all, he had reached the Gold tier.


By reaching the Stigmatized rank, the soul has already undergone an essential sublimation. It's akin to turning bronze into gold.


Chapter 395 Reverse Charge