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

When Annan had just entered the Pure White Mask Shop,


he distinctly felt a familiar yet bizarre atmosphere, as if he had stepped into a graveyard.


The air around him became cold and quiet, the noise dissipated... it suddenly became very quiet.


If ordinary people came here, they would probably feel inexplicably uneasy. They would feel cold creeping over their bodies and leave as quickly as possible.


And this feeling, Salvatore would mostly not perceive it.


Because his soul had reached the silver stage, such level of curse contamination simply couldn't shake his mind. He couldn't even feel the anomaly here.


this mask shop wasn't really intended to have many "ordinary customers."


Only those whose purpose was specifically to "buy the pure white masks" would come, the casual browsers would probably want to leave as soon they stepped through the door.


Chapter 423 Great Curse: Smoke Mirror